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

Kemran shrugged. “Only God knows the answer to that.”

“You should be careful talking of God, comrade. That could be considered treason by those in the Kremlin.”

Kemran laughed. “Ah yes, religion is the enemy of the proletariat, and bolshevism a friend to us all. As long as Soviet Russia remains, my God remains whoever is in charge of my pay check.”

Nikita remained impassive. “That almost sounds like capitalism.”

Kemran shrugged again. “Even our beloved communism cannot deny human nature, my friend. But come, we are not here to discuss theology and politics. I wish no ill upon you or the girl, although I know you do not need me to tell you that you can never see her again, yes?”

Only a barely noticeable slump of the shoulders gave away any indication of his true feelings, but Nikita’s voice was strong and emotionless. “I know. She is just a girl, of no consequence to me.”

Raising his eyebrows, Kemran said nothing more. “I have your orders,” he said, leaning back and interlocking his fingers.

“Yes?”

“You are a changed man.”

“My orders, Kemran.”

The older man pushed his mane of salt and pepper hair back and from the inside pocket of his jacket produced a manila envelope, which he tossed onto the coffee table. “Very well. These were sent through from Brishnov this morning. You, comrade, are going to America. Your tickets are inside.”

“Agent Brishnov? Is that normal?”

Kemran shrugged. “I don’t question where the orders come from. You will be surprised to hear that most people outrank the Soviets’ Greek attaché. I presume he was merely an intermediary.”

Nikita chewed on the information. He leant forward to pick it up, but made no move to open it. “There is one more thing. An enemy remains on the island.”

Kemran sat up straight, eyes alert. “Go on.”

“Zurga knew I was coming.”

In an instant they both had drawn their weapons and the revolvers were focused directly at each other, hovering just inches apart.

“Tell me,” said Nikita, “have you always sold your soul to the highest bidder, or is it just since you were posted to Greece? Perhaps you feel more aligned with nearby Turkey than with Mother Russia?”

“I have sold my soul to no one. Are your accusations based on nothing other than the colour of my skin?”

“Come now, think who you are talking to. Do you think I did not notice the man in the straw hat in the bar? Your knowledge of the girl incriminated you if nothing else.”

Kemran laughed and lowered his gun. “My boy, on an island the size of Skyros, everyone knows about your little fling. It is the best gossip the people here have had in months. The local girl and the black man? It will be the talk here for some time. What benefit would there be to me in betraying you to Zurga?”

Doubt began to creep into Nikita’s thoughts. The old man held his gaze solidly and unflinchingly.

“And who is this man in a straw hat? Hardly a strong point of identification on a Greek island,” Kemran continued.

“We’ll come to that. Giorgos was your source?” He lowered the gun slightly.

“Of course. The man was a mine of local information, and I would have appreciated it if you had not used him as bait.”

Nikita raised the gun again. “His death was not my intention.”

“But an inevitable consequence of your plan nonetheless.”

Nikita lowered the gun and pinched his tired eyes. “Probably.”

“A rather sick twist in the tale of your love affair with the girl, wouldn’t you say?”

“She will never know.”

“Let’s pray you’re right. You will make sure Georgios’s family is well renumerated for his service?”

“I will,” Kemran replied with sincerity. “Now enough of this nonsense; tell me of this straw-hatted man and please tell me you have more for me to go on than that.”

Sitting back down, Nikita said, “He was an older man. His hat was wide-brimmed which cast much of his face into shadow. He dressed to fit in, but it looked as if he had tried too hard. His shirt and trousers were the right style but were brand new.”

“I need more than an old man in clean clothes, comrade.”

“There was one more thing. On his neck was a tattoo. Much of it was obscured, but it almost looked like it could be a swastika. But unlike one I’ve seen before.”

“Now that I can work with. Was it three-pronged?”

“I think so, but I could not be sure. Why?”

“That is the Russian neo-Nazi symbol; they are proliferating back home. But why would Russian Nazis be in Skyros? Zurga was a traitorous son of a bitch, but he only operated with people who would be to his advantage. I do not see how the Nazis would fit into that.”

“He is the one who alerted Zurga. But if he is not your man, whose is he?”

“This is impossible to hide for long on Skyros. But do not let this concern you; you have done the job you came here for and must focus on your next assignment.”

“I will expect to hear an update on the Nazi, Kemran.”

“You think to give me orders, you little shit?”

Nikita smirked. “You know how we need to operate. No loose ends. The Kremlin does not forgive.”

Kemran stood. “You do not need to tell me that, Agent Allochka. Go with God.”

“Or whoever pays the bills,” replied Nikita. Kemran winked and left the apartment, leaving Nikita alone with a tsunami of thoughts and the manila envelope on the tray table in front of him.

CHAPTER 12

Elysia sat behind the counter of the shop, legs crossed and eyes focused on a carving. The shop was empty; it always was. So many hours spent perfecting pieces from Greek