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

separate investigation that you don’t need to concern yourself with.” He put a hand into his pocket and for a moment Nikita thought he was reaching for a gun, but he withdrew a small hipflask.

“I hear you’re a whiskey man, but I’m afraid I prefer vodka,” he said with the faintest hint of a wink, offering the flask to Nikita. Nikita didn’t move and Burn chuckled. “From what I hear it’s not like you to turn down a drink these days! Fear not, agent, it’s not poisoned,” he said, taking a sip himself before offering it once more to Nikita.

Nikita snatched it from his hand and took a long sip, feeling the cool liquid running down his dry throat. His body craved water but the vodka satisfied some other need. He felt calmer.

“You think the Russians will accept a black man into their ranks?” he asked softly, breaking the silence.

“Did you think the Americans would?”

“I’m not interested in getting into a conversation about who is the most racist; I’m interested in what results I’m expected to deliver in a country known to be the most hostile to my race. Right after I’ve very publicly killed their most prized asset.”

“You need to pay more attention, agent. You’re not being sent as an undercover agent, you’re being sent with the express instruction to let the Russians turn you into a double agent. We don’t imagine you’ll be long in Russia; they’ll want you to return to the US pretty quickly.”

“You think the Russians won’t consider this or be the least bit suspicious?”

Burn pushed his chair back and stood up. “That will all be part of your briefing, agent. Far be it from me to say whether I think there is any merit in the whole plan, but you have a difficult road ahead of you.”

“It can’t be any harder than the road behind me,” retorted Nikita.

“Indeed.” Burn held out his hand. “For tonight, you are free to go home. Get some sleep; tomorrow will be an even bigger day.”

“Have they found the bodies?” Nikita asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Burn looked him in the eye. “Nothing so far, agent, but those waters run fast and a dead body can get carried a long way. Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”

Nikita waited until Burn had left the room, this time leaving the door ajar, before collapsing back into his chair.

He felt numb, but not nearly numb enough. Sarah’s death kept playing over and over in his head. Her delicate face, the moments of warmth and vulnerability she would reveal underneath the tough and prickly exterior, the kisses they had shared. She just couldn’t be gone, it didn’t seem real. Guilt flooded through his entire body. He had thought killing Brishnov would alleviate the hatred, but somehow it had only exacerbated it. It ran cold like ice through his veins.

Finally, he thought of Elysia. It must be nearly time for them to meet in that Baltimore bar. He wanted nothing more than to hold her and get lost in her tenderness and kindness, to tell her all the things he longed to say.

But he knew he never could. Sarah was dead. She was dead and it was his fault. If he hadn’t got involved with her, she would never have been there today. She would still be alive.

He thought back to the KGB training camps. Every single tutor had warned them of the dangers of getting involved with people, not only when on assignment but at all. “You have given your love to Mother Russia, and cannot afford to share that love with another woman,” Denisov had told them all. “A woman will get you killed. Spare them and yourself.”

Killing machines, that is all they are, he thought to himself. Follow orders, kill, murder, spy and betray, and repeat until we are discovered or discarded. No matter how good he was, Nikita allowed himself to realise for the first time that he might never reach thirty, and if he did, he would have defied uncountable odds. There was no room for Elysia.

I’m lonely, Nikita thought to himself, with some surprise. But he was only able to observe it, not feel it. He stood and walked out of the interrogation room, and made his way through the building. It felt surreal after all he had just been through to walk out unchallenged. From outside it looked plain, with no indication of the CIA facility that lay inside. He recognised the area, and as there was no offer of a ride from his CIA colleagues and he wasn’t about to ask, he began walking into town, following his feet and trying not to think.

His feet led him back to his favourite bar and as he walked in, memories of the night Sarah and he had finally got together consumed him. Making his way to the bar, he could see Jess serving another customer. She glanced up at him, trying to finish with the customer, but he purposefully walked to the other end of the bar to where a scruffy-looking young barman was standing.

“Whiskey,” he croaked at the barman, who didn’t ask what kind, but pulled a bottle of Jim Beam from behind the bar. “Will this do?” he asked. Nikita nodded and the barman put a tumbler on the side. “Ice?” he asked, putting the bottle down as he reached quizzically for the ice bucket.

“No,” Nikita grunted, grabbing the bottle and glass in one hand and throwing down a handful of crumpled notes. “Keep the change,” he said as he made his way back to the booth he’d happily sat in so recently, and allowed himself to descend into bitter reminiscence and let the alcohol take him.

At one point, Jess came over to speak to him, but he responded coldly to her questions and poured himself another whiskey as she stalked away looking