Second Victim [February 17, 1964, 10:00 pm - continued from Groznyj Grad Tour, Part II]

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

[Completed - continued in Second Victim, Part II]

Kassian let the badge Liadov had tossed fall to the ground next to him, instead of making an attempt to catch it, keeping his hands on his rifle and his gaze trained.

"Sorry," he said, quickly. "No disrespect, Major."

He knew it would look that way anyway, given his background, and general disdain for the MVD. Things had changed, though, in ways he hadn't even sorted out yet.

But a sniper who lost focus, even for a moment, was usually sooner or later a dead sniper. Kassian had a faint scar at his hairline that attested to that sobering truth, save for the fact he'd been extremely lucky.

He kept what Liadov had just said about a second body in the back of his mind, a cold and remote fact. Detachment. A sniper's armor against the world.

Or at least Kassian's armor, though lately it had developed a few chinks.

The knowledge that he hadn't seen or talked to Isaev all day, not since they'd woken up that morning, lurked like a shadow in peripheral vision, one that was just a little too defined to ignore.

"I'll use it when I need it," he told Liadov, referring to his MVD clearance. "Go ahead get back inside. I'll cover you, and report when I've reached someone."

Technically, he should have called Imanov first, given that they were partners in this venture. Or at least tried Ocelot's frequency as the MENT had requested. Either would have been acceptable variations on standard operating procedure, but as Liadov retreated to the door, Kassian tuned his CODEC to Isaev's frequency instead.

Comments

[krasnogorje.livejournal.com]

It was a good evening for night patrol, or as good as night patrol could be. A clear and cold night, filled with all varieties of things that might help her forget that she would be spending the next eight hours shivering on the side of the Krasnogorje summit, guarding one of the few paths in or out of Groznyj Grad.

It was good fortune that she had drawn the same shift as Iapetus for the next few weeks. She had every intention of sitting next to the fire with a nice cup of coffee and passing the hours with idle conversation. Maybe the older pilot would have some sort of wisdom to share in regards to her idea of patrolling the mountain by helicopter.

There was but one messy detail to be resolved before shift change at midnight, something the Captain had mentioned after dinner. ‘Katina, the investigators wanted to speak with you about the night the greenhouse burned…’

So she resolved to find them before her patrol began, with a nod on the affirmative. Thinking that they would still be around their makeshift laboratory, tidying up for the evening, getting ready to depart to their barracks for the night.

Nikanor Liadov, asleep in his bed. That was a thought to entertain her through the night, and she smiled, despite feeling her cheeks flush with pink.


As the hovercraft rose over the tree line, it seemed impossible that investigators who traveled all the way from Moscow would be shut away in such a poor excuse for a lab, far away from the bright, modern equipment of the East Wing.

Or perhaps that was the idea: keep them away from the East Wing, where the Fury lurked and Io and Deimos usually followed, like two khaki shadows constantly flanking the cosmonaut’s jet boosters.

…or keep them away from the mechanical behemoth that slept in the main hangar, where even the flame patrol was not allowed to go…

No, that was definitely the building, the only one that lay so far out from civilization. It was just as Deimos had described. Desolate, hopeless, surrounded by rusted out fuel drums and half-rotten crates. The sort of place dead men went to tell their tales, if the whispers of ashen pale lips fell upon the right ears. Dmitri had found pleasure in describing it to her, grinning widely as he slid his knife back and forth over the honing stone with practiced fluidity.

There were no windows; it was impossible to tell if anyone was home.

Pasiphaë winced as the hovercraft’s bright search light flickered to life, instinctively pulling her night vision goggles on to avoid the blinding illumination. A small clearing there, a few hundred meters from the makeshift laboratory, and the flame soldier was satisfied with a perfect landing in the soft dirt.

The woman found her way in the dark, alone in her world composed of green shades and shadows, until she reached the edge of the bright white circle cut by the flood light.

Io claimed that the investigators were under armed guard. The Ocelot Unit. He claimed to have seen them earlier in the day…

Ocelot soldiers could be hiding anywhere, behind a crate or in the bushes, and the khaki jumpsuit incriminated her as a flame soldier, associated her with the ruthless murderers that would see Liadov hacked to bits in revenge.

They would have seen the search light, heard the whirr of the hovercraft… and they hadn’t opened fire yet…

…still, maybe it would be best to come back in the light of day, at the end of her patrol. Tell the Fury that they were already gone for the evening.

…maybe it would be best to turn around right there, get back on the hovercraft, and go have coffee with Iapetus. Forget the investigators for the night.

Wincing, she took a deep breath, held it, stepped into the light, and nearly screamed when a harmless gray moth flew into her shoulder.

“Not a bullet.” She laughed to herself, as it flapped away into the night. “Only a little moth.”