http://hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] groznyj_grad2007-12-06 11:11 pm

The messenger, cont.

"Another without marks," Rakitin murmured. "I'll bet you anything there's enough sedative in his blood to bring down a timberwolf."

He drew back to the active center of the room like a reluctant iron filing to an inconsistent magnet. Whatever it was that Liadov and Irinarhov needed to discuss, it looked like it would wait.

Ever since the other night...both other nights...Rakitin had done his best to keep out of the way. Nika hadn't talked much to him since, any more than necessary, and he'd followed the cue and backed off.

In fact, it was the young Black Ops man, Aryol, who had approached him, with an open smile and disarming gregariousness.

At the first second Polya had frozen, the alarm of reflex in his head blaring, Nika told him. He told him, and they laughed. But logic had manned the override. He knew perfectly well that that was ridiculous, and all the reasons.

"Either our killer is well trusted, or he's got a skill for sleight of hand."

Nothing they didn't know already, but it helped to follow the old tracks, to look for the divergences that stood out.

Such as....

"This is the first time it's directly involved Major Ocelot and Major Raikov," he hazarded. "Does that mean something?"

[identity profile] nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com 2007-12-07 06:49 pm (UTC)(link)
Nika frowned.

"Major Raikov, that would make sense. Major Ocelot-"

Liadov toyed with a pipette and shrugged vacantly.

"I don't really see how his tangential involvement is significant."

At that point the door burst open, and with it a chill from the less balmy hall outside.

Ocelot closed it behind him with equal vigor, and Liadov raised a mollified brow.

"But when you name the wolf, he comes running."

He glanced obliquely at the sniper and the pathologist.

"Perhaps I'm mistaken."

Ocelot's eyes were narrow, but his body mechanics were tautly controlled.

His eyes searched rapidly, and fell on the table where the jumble of accesselotteries lay benignly.

"What is this?" he demanded, without preamble, pointing to them.