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

“It’s not like that, Elysia… I can explain. Meet me at that bar around the corner tomorrow at eight?”

“Maybe,” she said, throwing her long hair over her shoulder and marching away without looking back.

He turned and swiftly marched back to the car, bracing himself.

“Hey, Sarah, I have a couple of leads,” he said, throwing the video tapes onto the back seat, trying to get ahead of any caustic comments she might make. It didn’t work.

“Is that your other girlfriend?” she demanded. “Is that why you wanted to come here? And right in front of me?”

“Come on, who do you think I am, Sarah? I was asking if she’d seen anything the other night,” he said, trying to pacify her.

“She seemed pretty upset for someone you were just asking questions.”

“She didn’t like cops,” he said, sighing. “She said we cause as many problems as we solve around here.”

“Stupid bitch,” Sarah said caustically, and he felt a desire to defend Elysia rise in his chest, but he managed to suppress it. “Doesn’t she know we’re here to help?” She tutted.

“I can’t believe how jealous you got,” Nikita said playfully. She shoved him in the arm, but a slight smile played across her lips.

“Tell me about these leads,” she said.

“I found the gun shop. I’ve got the CCTV footage of our guy. Definitely the same one as in the picture of the guy with Yerin. We may be able to trace his vehicle from the external footage.”

“Now we just need to find out who he is. You said leads, as in the plural…” she said.

“I did. So after I left the shop I was walking down the street and walked past an alley, and this guy with a cap pulled down over his head and sunglasses on whistled me over. He was wearing this thick heavy coat so I couldn’t even say if he was fat or thin, but he said ‘if you’re looking for answers look for Chrastek on 14th Street’. Then he just walked off. I pursued him but he wouldn’t say anything else, just ‘Ridgeon Court’.”

“Some field agent you are,” she huffed sarcastically. “Who the hell was the guy?”

“I know, I know. We’re both in unfamiliar territory here so cut me a break.”

“Come on, leads don’t just appear like that though, Jake, you know that.”

“I know. It stinks but I don’t see what choice we have.”

“We don’t, but it feels wrong. What’s a Chrastek anyway? Sounds Russian, hardly bodes well.”

“I believe it’s a Czech name, although I don’t know if that bodes any better. I guess we’d better go and find out.”

Sarah sighed. “And there was me hoping we would get to clock off early and amuse ourselves today,” she said, stroking his arm coyly.

“If we work hard now, we can play hard later,” Nikita said, trying to flirt but his mind still on Elysia.

“Deal,” she said. “Now where the hell is 14th Street?”

***

They pulled up outside Ridgeon Court on 14th Street fifteen minutes later and looked up at the giant concrete slab that was the block of apartments. It ruined the otherwise picturesque street, right in the heart of Greek Town and the brutalist fifties architecture would have fitted comfortably back in Kamenka, Nikita thought. Along the residential street, men could be seen sitting outside the front of their houses drinking wine and eating olives. For one blissful moment, Nikita was transported back to the Skyros bar of Elysia’s grandfather, with the sunshine, good wine and her perfume.

“Dude, wake up, I don’t want to hang around all day,” chirped Sarah, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Of course, let’s go; don’t forget your firearm.”

She rolled her eyes and climbed out of the car. They approached the building cautiously; Nikita kept his hand firmly on the handle of the weapon at his waist. The entrance to the building was propped open, and walking inside they saw a list of the apartment names. Next to the number six read P Chrastek.

He pointed to it. “That’s our guy.”

“Or girl,” she commented.

“Or girl,” he agreed.

The elevator doors had an old-looking ‘out of order’ sign stuck to them, so they headed for the stairs which were gloomy, damp and scattered with cigarette ends and the occasional hypodermic needle.

“Lovely place to live,” Sarah said. Nikita didn’t reply; instead, his senses were on high alert. He wished he hadn’t had to bring Sarah with him, but it was vital to the credibility of his information.

Nikita hated situations like this — going in blind, with no reconnaissance, no preparation. Always know more than the target, Denisov had said constantly. Now he didn’t know if it was a target, an asset, an informer or an assassin.

If the KGB were prepared to burn Brishnov, perhaps they were prepared to burn him also. But then Brishnov was Yerin’s favourite. Everything about this went deeper than his paygrade.

They climbed the stairs and reached the landing. Nikita drew his weapon and signalled Sarah to stand behind him.

“Oh, come on, man,” she said, pushing his arm aside and marching up to the glossy black door with a golden number six gleaming on it, at odds with the surroundings.

Nikita pocketed his gun but kept one hand loose and ready to fire, nudging Sarah to one side. He could hear Debussy’s Clair De Lune drifting gently from the other side of the door and the sound of footsteps.

The door opened a crack and he could see a bespectacled brown eye of a middle-aged man peer out. As he saw Nikita, he smiled and opened the door. “Ah, our esteemed—” he paused as he spotted Sarah next to him and saw the warning in Nikita’s eyes. “Intelligence services,” he finished, smiling at both and welcoming them in. He’d done it poorly and Sarah looked curiously at them