The Soviet Comeback by Jamie Smith (best ereader for academics TXT) 📕

him, but Denisov caught his hand and forced him to the door. Closing the door behind Koryan, Denisov locked the door and paused, with his back to Nikita, taking a deep breath before turning and walking back across the room. He picked up a chair and turned it so that the back faced Nikita, straddled the chair and leant his arms on the frame.

He said nothing.

Nikita held his gaze for as long as he could but eventually his will broke. “I am sorry, Lieutenant-Colonel, I failed you.”

“You failed your comrades and you failed your country. The Soviet Union does not tolerate failure,” Denisov said, the contempt oozing out of him. “You are an important asset to us, boy, but not indispensable.”

“I have done my best.”

Denisov spat at the floor in front of him. “You want my pity? The KGB accepts no weakness.”

“I will do better.”

“This I know. First, you must pay for your crimes to Koryan.”

Nikita hung his head; he knew what that meant.

“How long, Lieutenant-Colonel?”

“Two weeks in the cold box.”

“Two weeks? Nobody can survive that!”

“Nobody can survive that, SIR.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Consider yourself lucky; Koryan would have had you die by firing squad. I am lenient because frankly, I’ve wanted to do the same thing to Koryan myself.” He threw Nikita a small smile. “Survive this, and you can survive anything.”

“Please, sir, please, I will do anything. Please not the cold box. For that long. I will die.”

The lieutenant-colonel stood up. “You will be brought food occasionally. Good luck, comrade,” he said, then walked from the room. As he left, two soldiers came in. Nikita began to sob.

“Please, sir, I beg you!”

Despite being chained in a snow-covered stone shed, some way from the compound, his yelling could still be heard from inside the warm building. But they quickly faded as the temperature dropped. Inside the hut, he could hear his comrades’ laughter over the sounds of the rats at his feet. He began sluggishly jogging on the spot, all he could do to keep warm as the chains limited his movement. It was all he could do to stay alive.

Two weeks later, the two young trainees were sent to let Nikita out. They found a man barely conscious. As they unfastened him, he fell to the ground, and they caught him before he landed. He tried to shrug them off but did not have the strength. They dragged him across the snow and inside to the first warmth he’d felt in two long weeks. He made not a sound throughout and his eyes barely opened.

They tossed him on the floor inside, at the feet of Denisov. Nikita looked up from the ground, forcing his sunken eyes open. Looking down, Denisov saw cold rage emanating up at him. The eyes, now, of a killer.

***

Nikita watched Elysia as she disappeared around the corner. Then, exhaling, he leant against the door frame and closed his eyes.

He banged a hand against the door before pulling it shut, blocking the emotions of the real world and cursing himself. The Soviet Union did not tolerate weakness, and would not forgive it. He must be tougher. He must remember the cold box.

Walking back in, he picked up what was left of the bottles of alcohol and emptied them down the sink. Time to become the KGB agent.

No sooner had he emptied the bottle of Kahlua than there was a knock on the door. Putting the bottle down gently, he strode over soundlessly with one hand on the gun tucked into his belt at the small of his back, easing back the safety with a gentle click, and put an eye to the spyhole. He saw Kemran standing there. His handler smiled at the spyhole and gave a small wave.

He opened the door and stepped aside as the Turkmen agent walked in.

“Must feel strange, waiting for me to let you in to my apartment,” Nikita said wryly.

Kemran chuckled. “Good to see you still have your sense of humour after yesterday.” He sat down on the sofa and looked at Nikita. “That was quite a mess we had to clean up.”

“Those were my orders.”

“And by God did you follow them. A statement was certainly made. But remember, one successful mission does not make a successful spy. You are very young, beware of getting cocky because you will make mistakes.”

Kemran looked at the kitchen counter and saw the empty bottle of vodka lying on its side by the sink. “I see the shop girl isn’t your only vice.” He winked. “Or perhaps you can’t have one without the oth—” His words were cut off as Nikita put a hand to his throat and pushed him back onto the sofa.

“Utter one more word and I’ll slit your throat where you sit. You’ve seen Zurga; you know it’s not a problem for me.”

Kemran lifted his hands in surrender, and Nikita relinquished his hold and took a small step back.

Kemran winced and rubbed his throat. “Interesting you say that, because when I looked at it him, he had all the symptoms of a man who had been poisoned.” When Nikita said nothing, he smiled and said, “Don’t worry, Agent Allochka, both of your secrets — the girl and how you killed Zurga — are safe with me. I actually think it was an ingenious tactic you employed; you may yet be as good as they hope.” Seeing Nikita’s suspicious look, he added, “You may not believe it of me, considering our line of work, but I really do deplore violence. It’s unfortunate that life has taken me to a job so mired in it. I want you to succeed, Allochka, so we can get this whole thing over with as soon as possible and I can go back to Turkmenistan and live a life completely unembroiled in politics and espionage.”