http://raidenovitch.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
raidenovitch.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
groznyj_grad2007-06-27 07:56 pm
raidenovitch.livejournal.com) wrote in groznyj_grad2007-06-27 07:56 pm
Entry tags:
Meanwhile, back at Groznyj Grad... [Night Search Corpus 2]
Raikov's boots struck the floor hard and fast, as he paced furiously around the central building.
He was not pleased. Not pleased at all.
Being thrown off of Ocelot was not the greatest moment, but he could grudgingly admit that Ocelot was needed elsewhere.
So, of course, as soon as they had all left, it had been just him and the Colonel, and a shared wicked grin.
And they'd just settled into the mood when Raikov had been turfed out, again.
He was too annoyed at the whole situation to say much to the Colonel, although he was not personally angry with him. Jesus motherfucking bastard christ, he couldn't concentrate on a thing.
And the worse part was he couldn't go back to his quarters to deal with it himself, not when he was supposed to be keeping tabs on absolutely everyone on-base.
Anyone who came near him right now would live to regret it.
He was not pleased. Not pleased at all.
Being thrown off of Ocelot was not the greatest moment, but he could grudgingly admit that Ocelot was needed elsewhere.
So, of course, as soon as they had all left, it had been just him and the Colonel, and a shared wicked grin.
And they'd just settled into the mood when Raikov had been turfed out, again.
He was too annoyed at the whole situation to say much to the Colonel, although he was not personally angry with him. Jesus motherfucking bastard christ, he couldn't concentrate on a thing.
And the worse part was he couldn't go back to his quarters to deal with it himself, not when he was supposed to be keeping tabs on absolutely everyone on-base.
Anyone who came near him right now would live to regret it.
no subject
When it became obvious that Rakitin wasn't planning to say more, he sighed, steepling his fingers.
"Which leaves this corpse's limbs unaccounted for. Hopefully they won't be found with the next victim."
Now that his worst suspicions had been confirmed, and they were looking at a pattern killer, there was no use pretending he wouldn't strike again.
He raised his eyes to the Colonel, locking onto his gaze and speaking slowly and deliberately, leaning forward and laying his hand flat on the table.
"It is my strong opinion that no one be allowed to roam the Grad without going in pairs. And also..." he paused. "When they're not on shift- I propose a curfew for non-dutied personnel. Confine them to their barracks from sunset to dawn."
Ocelot snorted.
"That's a little extreme. At least as far as my men are concerned."
Nika paused.
"I don't agree. I've seen how things progress."
"But these aren't soldiers, these victims," Ocelot protested, scowling. He averted his gaze disdainfully. "At least, not real soldiers."
Liadov shrugged, raising his hands.
"I can only speak from experience. Do what you will."
no subject
"I wouldn't assume that these limbs aren't his just yet," Rakitin said. "It's a reasonable suspicion, but let me run the tests first."
Or he could just take them all to the lab and play mix and match.
no subject
"Ah, christ, I'm sorry Polya."
He rubbed his eyes.
"Of course...I forgot...we had....more."
Yes, they had two sets of men, by all accounts, if they could just get them put together again.
Well...within reason.
And he was back to nursery rhymes again.
He offered Rakitin a wan, lilting smile.
"I get insomnia on some cases. Hard to turn the wheels off."
It was easier to take his mind off it in Moscow.
A quiet laugh.
"Amusing really."
no subject
"Well...if they aren't - "
He broke off, glancing at Krauss.
"...ah, already accounted for, then wouldn't it be obvious, that someone else was missing?"
Or had missing limbs, but that would be obvious too.
Volgin shook his head. "There must be a way to put new protocols in place, so we'll know sooner if that happens."
He paused, looking to Ocelot, then Ivan. "A system where all personnel will be required to check in on a regular basis with a superior officer, who will report to his superior if someone is unaccounted for. I want the two of you to make sure all departments are notified, and will be expected to conform."
Volgin's brow furrowed. "And I'm inclined to agree with Major Liadov regarding the curfew. See to it, Ocelot. If anyone wants to protest, they can take it up with me personally."
Briefly, his lip curled.
Volgin turned his gaze turned to Liadov. "Is there anything else we should be doing, in order to minimize the killer's opportunities to strike?"
It was like war, Volgin thought. He could see that now. The side that was better prepared and more focused would prevail.
no subject
He scowled.
Just then the door broke open, and a GRU Lieutenant came running in.
The fact that he didn't even break to salute filled Adam with heavy and instant unease.
"Major," he cried.
Irinarhov and Imanov were right behind him, protesting his entry.
Ocelot held up a hand.
The man's eyes were wide, and his chest heaved.
"The showers," he rasped, bending over to brace himself against his knees. "There's an Ocelot. He's dead."
The officer looked up, cringing.
"Strangled," he said.
no subject
"Are you all right?" he said quietly after the Colonel had spoken, unthinkingly laying a hand on Nika's shoulder. "You can take a break, you know--"
The door burst open.
"...or not."
Another body. Already. Shit. How far behind the killer were they?
Rakitin approached the blanching officer and said, "Show me."
no subject
His first thought was Isaev.
Isaev was usually his first thought regardless of the circumstances, but his second thought told him, no.
No, he highly doubted anyone could get the drop on Isaev in hand-to-hand range, regardless of the arena.
In the time it took to strangle a man, Isaev could kill his aggressor with a single blow.
Still, his chest went tight.
"Who?" he demanded.
"Who?" Imanov echoed, at the same moment.
They glared at each other, but the panting soldier just shook his head. "I don't know! You all look alike."
Under his balaclava, Kassian gritted his teeth.
no subject
"Go take care of your brother," he said, through gritted teeth. "And take the fucking MENTs."
Adam already knew who it was.
If he was honest, he'd known long before now.
The transparent man's voice was easy to ignore, but the fucking sign he waved...
Less so.
no subject
Unscrewing the cap, he took a long drink, then looked up to the soldier who had swooped in unannounced to bear bad news. Arching an eyebrow, he offered the flask to the bewildered soldier.
“Und noch einer…” he mumbled to himself, shrugging a bit. “Asche zu Asche, Staub zu Staub. Such a shame.”
no subject
He felt...unsteady. A little out of sorts.
In his peripheral vision Rakitin was charging the soldier to lead the way, the Ocelots were demanding answers of him.
Nika turned.
"Take the flask," he interrupted, loudly. "Nip up and get straight."
The Lieutenant looked at Krauss, then took a swig. Then another. And another.
When he was done, he blinked and wiped his mouth, taking a deep breath.
"I'm ready," he croaked. "But you don't need me to find him. Second floor- the regular showers. He's lying on the tile. He had no pulse."
Nika closed his eyes briefly, to regather his strength.
He was starting to feel a little dazed, not able to connect his thoughts.
Walk it off, he thought, vaguely.
He punched his fist into his palm.
"Are we ready?" he demanded, with effort, clenching his teeth slightly to keep himself grounded and conscious. "Let's not wait until Spring."
no subject
He caught Imanov's eye.
Antagonism seemed to pale now, in the face of the death of a brother.
It wasn't Isaev, he told himself, and he believed it, too, though the urge to call Andrei on CODEC was strong.
The GRU lieutenant avoided their gazes, showing no signs of coming along.
They left him behind.
The group walked quickly, but with economy of motion. Every step bringing them inexorably closer. Rakitin surged ahead. Liadov dropped behind. Kassian and Imanov took the stairs two at a time.
The shower room was quiet, and still.
Half-lit, though only by moonlight through the open window. Kassian didn't touch the light switches.
Vaguely humid, but any warmth in the air from steamy water had since fled.
And there, in the center of the open shower area sat a body, lying on the tile just as the lieutenant had said: male and blond and naked from the waist up, towel around his hips, turned away from them and on his side, as if curled up to sleep.
The signature Ocelot scarf wrapped around his neck several times, the ends pooling onto the floor like spilled blood.
It wasn't Isaev.
Kassian knew the broadness of Isaev's shoulders, the defined muscle of his back. This man was leaner, not as tall.
He tightened his hands anyway, so they wouldn't shake.
Carefully, Kassian circled the body. The dead Ocelot lay in a obscenely peaceful position, head tucked atop his arms, like a child.
He squatted to look at the face.
Kassian hadn't been far off the mark about the dead man's childlike repose, he thought. He knew the boyishly young face immediately, but the expression gave him pause: serene, eyes closed, mouth curved into a gentle smile.
Frost numbed his lungs, but he forced the words out anyway.
"It's Gurlukovich," Kassian said, quietly.
no subject
This... wasn't possible.
Sergei. Sasha. Ocelot's favourite, practically his kid brother, Matvei's friend, the object of his and Andrei's friendly teasing, slightly shy, intelligent and quiet...
Not any more. He was none of those things. He was dead.
Ilya wanted to throw up. He wanted to run.
He'd killed men before, of course he had. He was a soldier. But this... his Sergei, lifeless, not killed by chance, not by his lack of skill, but some sadistic bastard, someone they knew, and Sasha hadn't suspected a thing...
"Oh god," he whispered, quietly, lost in the murmurs of voices around him, that he could barely hear.
Had it not been a brother Ocelot, he would not have reacted nearly as badly. Had it not been a friend...
He direly needed a smoke. Several. Fuck, a whole motherfucking packet, followed by a shitload of slivo to blind himself to the scene before his eyes.
His hands shook slightly, as he tried to calm himself.
I need Andrei, he thought.
He will make this bad dream go away, his subconscious soothed him, uselessly.
no subject
He'd liked Gurlukovich. The kid had always been friendly, in spite of Kassian's reticence, never taking it personally the way others apparently did, nor had he pushed too hard.
After a moment, he looked over at Imanov.
Imanov's face was pale, mouth slack, eyes glassy, and right then, he looked young too.
Kassian walked back to Imanov, stopping at his side.
Imanov didn't look at him.
He hesitated for a moment, then reached out, and put a hand on Imanov's arm. Somehow, given the circumstances, he couldn't hate himself for doing it, either.
no subject
"Gun," he managed, with an unsteady wave of his hand. "Over by the locker bay."
He breathed a few times, closed and opened his eyes. He could feel the cold sweat on his brow but he forced himself to hold his head up.
"He had his sidearm out. He saw the killer."
no subject
He silently reached out for the back of Kassian's hand, and gently pushed it away from him. A polite, grief-stricken, "thanks, but no thanks."
He wanted Andrei, dammit. He would understand. How could the sniper, the stranger in their midst, possibly understand, how many times they and Sergei had laughed and argued and fought and joked...
He couldn't do anything. He couldn't move. He felt like if he sat, did anything, he would break. It was just... too much.
Andrei, Andrei, Andrei, he willed, hoping his friend would somehow sense his distress, and seek him out.
no subject
Fine.
He supposed he couldn't exactly blame Imanov - after all, he wouldn't want Imanov's comfort in a time of distress, but even so, Kassian had been moved to offer his.
Because Imanov was a brother Ocelot, because he was a soldier.
Because he was a human being.
Kassian had embraced men before, near-strangers even, united by moments of grief and suffering.
There were times when it was just important not to be alone. But Imanov's disdain obviously ran deeper.
He would remember that.
Kassian turned, instead, to Liadov.
"Do you think - " he started, then stopped as he saw Liadov's face.
The MENT was paler than Imanov, and sweating. He looked unsteady on his feet.
There were no reason for Liadov to react in such a way, unless -
Kassian frowned, and stepped forward. "Major? Are you all right?"
no subject
Or not. But tired.
So tired.
"I think..." Nika said slowly. "Maybe..."
He sank down against the wall, slowly, with the give of undry glue.
"I got it," he slurred, pawing awkwardly at the tile, as if he would push himself up. "Never mind me."
no subject
"Liadov!" He grabbed Liadov's arm, and slapped his face, hard enough to sting. "Stay with me."
He turned his gaze quickly over his shoulder.
"Rakitin! He needs - he's diabetic. I think he's going into shock."
Death could be rapid, Kassian remembered.
Liadov had told him that, when he'd inquired after the MENT's health in a pause during Kassian's interview. The MENT had smiled wryly at the mention of death, like it had somehow amused him.
He turned back to Liadov.
Hopefully, Rakitin would know what to do.
no subject
And he was aware of Irinarhov, staring into his face, his near-black eyes and piercing raptor-like gaze.
Good, that was good. Hurt. The sniper's shouldering arm was strong, the slap stinging, jolting him momentarily.
He knew he was slipping into incoherence, so while he had a scattered spell of lucidity, he reached forward, graspng clumsily at the sniper's forearms, raising pale green eyes, hedonic and fevered with fatigue.
Locking them onto Irinarhov's and speaking with slow, measured words.
"Breast pocket," he intoned. "Glucogen."
He jerked his hands to clutch the sniper's face, steadying their gazes, pulling him close enough to hear his faltering voice.
"Syringe. Not in the muscle. Adipose. Shallow."
His lips shuddered.
no subject
Blond like nearly all of the Ocelots,fair and pretty when he wasn't hidden beneath a balaclava.
He'd promised to show Ippolit the crocodiles.
Rakitin knew better than to let personal sentiment interfere with what needed to be done. How fortunate he'd had practice. His gloves were already on.
Immediately it was obvious this was different. No elaborately macabre pose. No works of grotesque art. This was a rush job.
Rakitin knelt by the corpse.
"The killer could still be nearby," Rakitin said. "He's still fucking warm."
Liadov was right. A sidearm lay by the lockers, as though knocked away. The amalgam of data didn't fit the modus operandi.
Rakitin's own gun at his hip was a weight of reassurance, for as little good as Gurlukovich's had done him. Whoever this was, he was fast.
"It doesn't fit," Ippolit muttered. Looking down at the still face of the boy who had laughed, and said, You're too hard on him. Looking for information. That's all a body was. Remnants. A message. After the rest had fled. Namu Amida butsu. "Our killer likes everything completely under his control. This must have been a mistake. Maybe he came back here to wash off blood-"
It didn't sink in that something in Liadov's voice had been off until Irinarhov called his name. The sniper's voice was taut with urgency.
Liadov was collapsed against the wall.
For a vertiginous instant, Ippolit thought that the murderer had phased through the gaps in time to slip a knife into Nika's gut.
Then reality snapped back, and Ippolit was peeling his gloves off and joining Kassian at Liadov's side.
Diabetic. He had said something about that. Hadn't he? He'd said it as if it were of no great importance.
"Nika!" Rakitin said sharply. He was pale, and his eyes were unfocused. He was always controlled, composed. Seeing him like this was frightening in ways a strangled corpse was not. "Stay with us."
Ippolit looked to Kasya.
"What did he say?"
no subject
Kassian was already digging in Liadov's breast pocket.
He pulled out a pair of ID badges and a small leather case that had been worn smooth and soft by time and use.
He opened the case. Inside were two syringes and two small vials.
Kassian pulled the vials out, frowning as he examined them. They had rubber tops, he realized, and labels. One was marked “glucogen.”
"I don't know how - " he started, offering the vial and syringe to Rakitin.
"I'll talk you through it," Rakitin said, immediately.
Kassian frowned.
“I’ve only ever injected rats, actually. And, er, dead people don’t need a lot of shots.”
The MENT flashed a brief, apologetic smile. “But I understand the theory perfectly well,” he added.
Liadov's hands slipped, falling from Kassian's face to clutch onto his uniform with waning strength. There was no time to argue anymore.
“All right,” Kassian said.
"Put the needle through the top of the bottle, then press down on the plunger." The MENT mimed the action. "Then turn the bottle upside down, and pull the plunger back to fill it up."
Kassian complied, watching the syringe fill up with colorless liquid.
"Make sure there aren't any air bubbles. Good. Now inject him below the stomach," Rakitin said.
Kassin tugged Liadov's shirt up and his waistband down to expose a strip of pale flesh. Liadov's belly was trim and sleek, but not as thick with muscle as Isaev's. Still, Kassian had to work a little to find a bit of loose skin. He pinched it between his fingers, and angled the needle.
"Just like that. Go ahead," Rakitin told him.
Kassian took in a deep breath, and pushed the plunger.
no subject
He and Liadov were in two different kinds of shock.
He might've not had much love for the man and all his associations, but he would never have just let someone...
Rakitin and Irinarhov seemed to have the situation under control. Neither of them had been so deeply affected as Ilya.
Sergei was still on the floor, ignored. Just another corpse, now.
Ilya's hazy mind wished he could just be administered a shot, like Liadov, to take away all of the shock.
no subject
Nika identified that slight pain sensation with relief and renaissance by now, and he made a low noise of raw gratification at the injection.
It was a sound that might have marked him as a masochist to an objective observer, someone who had never experienced the release of righting endorphins.
And maybe, he thought vaguely, it felt not unlike orgasm- or at least like the eleventh hour reviving kiss of a passing prince.
The recovery from a hypoglycemic episode always astonished him- even as he was regaining his equilibrium and his sense of well-being, he was thinking it shouldn't be so easy.
Just a little sugar, and he was right as rain- provided of course that it didn't go too long, and as of yet it never had.
He was careful; very careful. Always.
Sometimes there were things he couldn't foresee- factors he hadn't considered. Lack of sleep, stress, having a cold- these were all things that were capable of upsetting the perfect balance he'd carved out for himself.
Nika felt the familiar sense of flooding radiation, the swelling wave that reoriented his world, and he nodded slowly, encouraging it, flexing his fingers and feeling his coordination return.
He opened his eyes, very slowly, and looked at Irinarhov with a wanly gratified smile.
"...you did that very well," he said. "I appreciate the assistance."
His attention veered toward the corpse once more, businessminded again, even though he knew better than to push his physical recovery.
"I'm sorry. The timing was terrible. I should have realized..." he paused.
His eye fell on Imanov, who looked stricken, like a pillar of ash that could be blown away at any moment, standing over the other Ocelot's body in quiet disbelief.
"Poor kid," he said, softly. "Get him out of here. Get him drunk."
no subject
"Thank Lieutenant Rakitin."
Kassian tilted his head toward the man at his side. The pathologist was leaning over Liadov, gaze hooded with concern.
Kassian guessed that Rakitin would be able to tell if something was still seriously wrong. To Kassian, Liadov seemed much more coherent now, at least, but still looked pale and weak.
"He told me what to do," Kassian said.
Like a good spotter, he thought.
He gave Rakitin an approving nod.
Liadov's eyes could focus now, Kassian could tell. He watched the MENT look around the room.
Kassian glanced over his shoulder, following Liadov's gaze.
Imanov stood behind them, still looking sick and pale. Kassian didn't have lot of sympathy left for the squad's second, but he supposed, for Isaev's sake, he should find some.
"He doesn't want anything from me," he muttered, but then looked back at Liadov. "I'm going to call Lieutenant Isaev. Just rest for a moment, and then we'll get you to your quarters."
He paused, frowning, searching Liadov's face again for any lingering sign of weakness.
"I'll be right back," he said, both to Liadov, and Rakitin.
Kassian left Liadov under Rakitin's watchful gaze then stepped out into the hall, raising a hand to his ear as he tuned his CODEC back to Isaev's frequency.
no subject
Drowsily, he pushed himself up on his arms and tamped his finger against his ear.
"Isaev," he mumbled incoherently, through the hair that veiled his face.
no subject
He winced, regretting it now, even though he knew it was the right thing.
"It's me," he said into the CODEC, and then paused.
"I have to tell you something, Dasha, but it's not good."
Kassian took a breath, pausing again.
He hesitated, uncertain, unsure of how he was possibly supposed to break this news.
"... are you there?"
no subject
Then he frowned, rubbing his face. Pausing, for a beat.
Even half-asleep, Andrei sensed Irinarhov's inarticulate hesitation.
"...Why do you sound so grim?" he asked suspiciously, with drawn-out reluctance.
no subject
Volgin was not going to be in any sort of mood other than electrical and angry, he foresaw.
But he looked at Adamska, and felt a twinge of pity. The man that had been killed was one of his. That had to hurt his comrade Major.
He rested a hand, cautiously, on Ocelot's shoulder, not very good at expressing such things as apologies or gentle well-wishing, but he tried, anyway.
no subject
He was quiet for a moment, then he raised his gaze and met Ivan's, his eyes like hard little stones of unreflective blue.
"A true Ocelot wouldn't have gotten caught unaware. He would have had been more proactive. Sergei was never with the agenda. He only knew how to react, and it killed him."
He scowled, and shook his head bitterly.
"He could have been a real asset, but the heart wasn't there." Ocelot paused, looking away. "And I couldn't keep spoonfeeding him his motivation forever."
Raikov's expression was unreadable.
"It's better this way," Ocelot said, grimly. "He wasn't cut from our cloth."
If he grieved for anything, he would grieve alone. And he wouldn't grieve for any irreplaceable void left by Gurlukovich's premature exit.
No. He would grieve for the lost potential of the boy he had known, had nurtured.
Ocelot sorely hated being disappointed.
Raikov was still looking at him, and he turned, eyes narrowing.
"What?" he demanded. "Do you think I'm some kind of monster? Should I crank out a few tears?"
no subject
Denial, that was it, he decided at last.
He hadn’t believed his Stefan was dead either, genuinely hadn’t believed it at first, until the grim reality sank in. The silence, and the world all around him seemed dimmer, as if a marvelous golden light had been snuffed out.
And it would do no good to call him out on it, but further his bitter resolve.
Two in one night, he mused bitterly to himself.
Raidenovitch’s gesture, while genuine in intention, had only made things worse. Krauss, however, knew when diversion was the best course of action.
“What do you think, Colonel?” He asked softly. “An immediate roll call to be sure everyone is present and accounted for. I’ll get to it, with your word. It should go quickly with help from comrade Raikov.”
His tone was even, but his warm smile suggested the orders were for the best for numerous reasons.
He started to get up, before Volgin even replied. “Come now, Ivanko. I’ll even take the flame patrol this time.”
no subject
Not wanting it to depart just yet. Hating himself for that.
"Raikov," he said.
A pause.
"Sorry."
He muttered it, meeting the Major's eyes slowly, lingeringly.
"I just need to go shoot off a few rounds. Relax."