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

“OK, OK! You have made your point, you, brute,” he said, fussing over the painting. He sat down with a sigh. “Taras Brishnov is the KGB’s most secret weapon. The one you call The White Russian, or is it the Black Russian?” he said to Nikita.

“How could you possibly know that?” said Sarah sternly. “That’s classified.”

“I’ve forgotten more things than your tiny Korean mind could ever hope to comprehend,” he said poisonously to Sarah.

Her eyes hardened in fury, and Nikita laid a hand on her knee to calm her. He looked at Petr. “Stop poking the bear, Petr,” he said, “unless you also have something to say about the size of Nigerian brains?” His own eyes were now intense with anger. Petr said nothing. “I didn’t think so,” said Nikita. He withdrew his gun from his belt and laid it on his lap. “Now my patience is being severely tested, so I suggest you start talking. You have my word we will ensure your safety,” he said earnestly.

Petr looked nervously from one to the other, and seemed to cave in on himself somewhat. He looked down at the floor. “Tomorrow Brishnov will assassinate Vice President Gerald Phillips when he announces his intention to run for president on Capitol Hill,” he said in a monotone that sounded a little recited. “He has gone rogue in the face of what he sees as weak Soviet leadership and intends to strike a deadly blow at the heart of America.” He gazed out of the window and added, “I do not imagine it would be his last strike either.” He looked at Nikita benignly. “I cannot deny that it is a relief to have shared this information; now do what you want with me,” he said and held his wrists out in supplication for arrest.

But the arrest would never be made, for at that moment the side of his head burst in a shower of blood and he slumped sideways.

CHAPTER 20

Sarah screamed and Nikita threw himself towards her and dragged her behind the chair, expecting further shots.

Peering from behind the chair, he could see the single clean hole in the window where the sniper shot had entered.

He crept out from behind the chair and moved swiftly to the side of the room and out of sight of the window. With his back to the wall, he tentatively peered through the angle of the window. He ducked and moved to the other side of the window and did the same thing, looking for possible sniper locations. The assassin was clearly a pro, with no sign of them visible anywhere. But they must be close; the destruction to the entire right side of what had recently been Petr’s face was a testament to that. The white shag rug that he had been groaning into only minutes before was now thickly matted with the blood of its owner.

Nikita walked back over to Sarah and as he did, he heard the whistle of a bullet fly past his head and lodge itself in the wall in front of him. He flung himself down to the ground and commando crawled back to where Sarah was.

Her face was white with shock and she was cradling her ankle which was visibly swollen.

“We need to get out of here,” he said to her. “Now.” She nodded silently. “Can you walk?” he asked her.

“I think so; I think it’s only a sprain from the fall,” she said stutteringly.

He helped her up tenderly, but moved her swiftly out of sight of the window. He looked at the other hole in the window and the placement of the bullet in the wall. The shooter had to be on the roof of the building opposite. If he didn’t have Sarah with him, he would back himself to be able to track them down in minutes.

With her arm over his shoulder, Nikita helped her from the crime scene and deposited her in the car, scanning the rooftops as he went for any sign of the sniper. “Wait here,” he said to her, and with his gun held low to the ground made his way back to the apartment. There could be nothing to implicate him for the Americans to find.

Covering his hands with socks from Petr’s bedroom drawer to avoid leaving any prints, he expertly swept the apartment. The apartment was all style but little substance, with nothing of much note.

However, as he did a final sweep of the lounge, he spotted a scrap of paper on the floor under the sherry decanter which had narrowly avoided being destroyed by the first bullet.

He snatched it up and his blood ran cold when he saw it. Hearing sirens in the distance, he stuffed it into his pocket, and hurried from the apartment. The second shot had not been meant to kill him. It was a warning; he had never been more sure, of anything in his life.

***

They were silent as they drove back to Washington. Sarah was shaking and going into shock. He rubbed her leg and stroked her as he drove, hoping that warmth and some human contact would help her to relax. For all her tough exterior, she was a tender soul, and that, he thought, was probably what attracted him to her the most. He smiled at her warmly, and tried to push Elysia from his mind.

They got to HQ and, with Sarah limping badly, made their way as quickly as they could to the offices of the Soviet Counter-intelligence Branch. They walked straight into the office of Sykes without knocking.

“What the hell!” Sykes remonstrated, before seeing the look on the faces of the two agents. He immediately fell silent.

“Boss, you need to hear this,” Nikita said urgently as he helped the still shocked Sarah into one of the chairs. He