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groznyj_grad[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.
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.
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Date: 2007-06-13 02:12 am (UTC)Kassian turned, and gestured for the woman to precede him. "Let's go."
As they walked back to the lab, he glanced at her again.
The woman's hair was short and dark, but cut unevenly, and spiked out in different directions. Her eyes were large; doll's eyes in a delicate doll face, like the broken porcelain countenance of a child's toy he'd found once, in the ruins of Stalingrad, back during the war.
At the time, it had been a salient reminder that mere months before, Stalingrad had been a city of everyday people with everyday lives, and a child had once clutched her precious, expensive plaything in the very building he'd nested in, oblivious of what was to come.
The woman seemed young, probably younger than Isaev and Imanov. More like Charushkin's age, he thought.
She had threatened them, but now he read it more as bravado, the defiance of a cat who fluffed its fur to appear larger and more threatening at the approach of a dog.
"You always need to be armed," he told her in an undertone.
Kassian didn't know why he felt compelled to tell a member of the very unit that threatened his charges that she should carry more weaponry.
Because she was a woman, perhaps. Because she'd been frightened.
"No matter the circumstance. There's a killer out there. You know that, don't you?"
Yes, she knew that, Kassian thought after a moment. He remembered her from the night the greenhouse exploded. She'd been the one to haul the shell-shocked Major Krauss back to her commander.
Perhaps she wasn't as vulnerable as all that, then, but still, he wondered.
As they slipped through the outbuilding's outer door and into the small antechamber, Kassian reached out to put a hand on the inner door, to pause her.
He turned his head to meet her gaze, carefully.
"Do they hurt you?" he asked, quietly, dark eyes intent, brow pulled low by a frown. "Flame Patrol."
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Date: 2007-06-13 07:29 am (UTC)She noticed it in his hands, when he searched her. Calloused, but still gentle. Hesitant, even. Apologetic.
“You seem like the sort of man who would spend his off shifts spoon feeding baby vultures with broken wings, because you couldn’t stand the thought of watching them die.”
The woman looked away for a moment, then back to the Irinarhov and his well-meaning curiosity. “I’ll be honest with you, because you seem genuine. That’s a rare quality around this place.”
She brushed a stray tendril of hair away from her face, tucking it back under her goggles. “First of all, you missed the knife that I carry. It’s not intended for the investigators, or you, or anyone in particular… but you’re right you know, a girl can never be to careful.”
Pasiphaë unzipped the front of her flame suit, pulling the sheathed knife out of the valley between her breasts and offering it to Kassian. Her eyes fell upon the phoenix, tooled into the brown leather sheath. “But you don’t have any reason to trust me.”
When she looked back up at him, she was smiling again, just a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “I’m not as helpless as you may think. You ask if my own brothers hurt me…” The woman paused, as if considering the question for a moment, when in truth, she was considering just how much a stranger needed to know.
“Only once. Deimos tried, in the shower with a knife to my throat. I took it from him…stabbed him in the chest. Stabbed him with his own knife. He spent two weeks in the infirmary, I really thought I’d killed him. There was so much blood, all over the walls and the floor, spiraling down the drain. I really meant to.” She took a sudden interest in the floor. “But he lived, and he’s been nothing but kind to me since then. A brother in the flames. We reached an understanding.”
Again, Pasiphaë looked to Kassian, gauging his reaction to her morbid tale. There was no way to make him understand, and she didn’t know what compelled her to waste her time trying.
“Make no mistake about why I’m here. Some day, the torch will be passed on. Figuratively and literally.”
She shook her head, the offending tendril of hair escaped from under her goggles and trailed across her cheek. “The Fury will never see his mission completed in his lifetime, this world is full of too much evil. Someone will have to continue where he left off. That’s why the flame patrol exists, and in whatever incarnation it continues to exist in, it will always need a leader.”
The woman nodded, “and that’s why I’m here.”
Pasiphaë drew a deep breath. “Now, tell me… what did Major Ocelot mean when he said…a night search?” A slender eyebrow quirked as her mind worked to put together the puzzle.
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Date: 2007-06-13 03:58 pm (UTC)He did not take the knife from her, but glanced at it briefly.
He'd been both wrong and right about his estimation, he saw: no, she was no broken doll, and yes, she was easy to underestimate.
Kassian had wondered if she was a desperate survivor living under the reich of killers and madmen orchestrated by the Fury, but now he saw that this woman was not their victim, but their shepherd-in-waiting.
Her eyes shone clear when she spoke of the mission. He could tell she believed in it. That, he did not doubt.
But she was young. Perhaps not as callow as he had thought, but still largely untried.
He wondered was if time and experience would temper her convictions, or merely strengthen them.
Kassian thought about the night of the greenhouse, the night they'd discovered the first murder, when he and Ocelot had stood on top of the East wing rooftop, and Kassian had spoken to the Fury. Questioned him. Asked him why.
Why the truce of that night, the armistice between Ocelot Unit and Flame Patrol had to be revoked with sunrise. Why the Fury had said that on the next day, they would resume their hostilities as if there had never been an accord.
Kassian had asked why, and the Fury had replied, why not.
He supposed he could write it off as merely reticence, distrust, the man's driving need to provoke.
But something told Kassian that the Fury had been speaking the truth. Even if the cosmonaut had a mission to cleanse the world of evil at one time, he'd lost his way.
"No matter what," he told the woman, somberly, still holding her clear-eyed gaze, "make sure you always have a good reason."
He didn't know if she would understand. Maybe not now. But if she continued along the Fury's path, perhaps she would, with time.
Kassian shifted his regard. "This might be a bad time for an interview," he told her, then stepped up to the inner door. "They found a second body."
[Continued in Second Victim, Part II]