by Jamie Smith
Gabriel nodded acceptingly. “They kept their promise; we are well taken care of. Although, we hadn’t imagined we would be quite so far from civilisation. It must be harder than they thought to hide a black family in Russia.” They both laughed bitterly. “I do worry what it will do to Milena to never have other children to play with. She never complains but sometimes she looks so lonely, it is not fair for her. Every child should have other children to play with. Maybe one day we will be able to return to Nigeria; you never know.”
“I am hopeful that Colonel Klitchkov will release me from my duties once I have returned from the US…”
“If you return from the US,” replied Gabriel. “Do not trust the word of the colonel, Niki. He would as soon throw you to the dogs as go out of his way to help you.”
“When I return from the US,” said Nikita pointedly, “then I will try to take us all home to Nigeria.”
“Truly?”
“Truly, Father, and we can be a family once more.”
“This is not the life I wanted for you. Your eyes have lost their light.”
“I have become who I must to survive.”
“It is not too late for you to turn your back on this life son; we can all run.”
Nikita felt the pull of tears taking him over, before resolving himself. KGB agents do not cry, he reminded himself. “There is nowhere we can go that they would not find us. This is the only way. Whatever they ask of me I will do, without hesitation, because I do it for us,” he said flatly.
CHAPTER 5
The snow was falling as Nikita walked up the track towards where he had left his car on the distance road the next morning. He could still hear his mother’s sobs following the latest goodbye, but he already felt cold to it. His focus had shifted to his next mission, and his heart was steeled against the things he knew he must do.
He spotted small footsteps leading up to the snowman, but did a mock jump when Milena leapt from behind it, giggling. She wore Gabriel’s ushanka; it fell over her round face, forcing her to keep pushing it up.
Suddenly she stopped giggling and looked up at him, her big brown eyes a pool of sorrow at his going.
“Come back, Niki; I love you.”
His steely defenses nearly shattered at her words, and he bent down to kiss her on the forehead.
“I will always come back, Milena, always.”
Without another word, he turned and walked away. Milena watched him until he disappeared into the swirling snow.
***
The KGB safe house was in the Yakimenka District on the west bank of the Moskva River in south central Moscow.
There was no need for stealth — they knew he was coming. He had seen the watchers on the roofs and streets clumsily trying to hide in the shadows. If the spies had not relayed messages of his arrival, the sneering gang of teenage boys following him with exaggerated monkey noises would have.
Must stay calm, thought Nikita, reminding himself that without breaking sweat he could disable them all. He could, and maybe one day he would. But not today — he must stay focused. He suppressed the uncomfortable thoughts and moved towards the concrete block, climbing the wrought-iron stairs. The door opened as he approached, and he moved inside without breaking stride.
He knew better than to expect this secret hideout to be full of high-tech gadgets, but even he was surprised by the sparsity of the room. Peeling wallpaper looked out on a room with only a deeply sagging sofa, an old paint-smudged table and two frail-looking wooden chairs. A gently buzzing electric fire was the only sign of indulgence in the dour, grey room.
Sitting in one of chairs was Colonel Klitchkov, smiling that slightly crazed look he usually sported.
“It’s not the Ritz, but it’s a step up from a shack in Kamenka; am I right, Agent Allochka?”
“It’s functional,” shrugged Nikita, selecting a solid looking arm of the sofa to perch on.
“Is life merely about functionality for you?”
“It is about my family. As long as everything else functions correctly, then I will know that my family is safe.”
“And what of Mother Russia?”
“So long as Mother Russia functions correctly and keeps its promises to me, then I will keep my promises to it. My love and respect for it has yet to be fully earned.”
“Is there no love in your heart? Love of the mountains? The lakes? A woman, perhaps? Love of vodka even?” Klitchkov chuckled.
“Every Russian has a love of vodka. But no Russian has any love for a black Russian,” Nikita replied blandly. “I am under no illusions that I am where I am only because I am useful to you, nothing more than that.”
Klitchkov’s eyes widened and he smiled brightly. “Au contraire, my boy, au contraire! I think you magnificent, and after all these years watching you grow, I hope you will forgive my admitting a certain fondness for you.”
He leant back in his seat, surveying Nikita. “Win us this war, Allochka, and the Black Russian might mean more to the Soviet Union than just a vodka cocktail.”
Nikita looked at Klitchkov with the detached eyes he had been trained to have. The words were of a politician, one trying to manoeuvre his way into the trust of an asset. But the warmth of the words was not matched by those eyes, which retained a slightly maddened twist in their pale blue depths. The scars on his body were a reminder of the cruelty of the man. He knew there would be a time when his usefulness to Klitchkov would run out, and he would need to be prepared.
Nodding, Nikita replied, “Perhaps. But what is it I’m here for, Colonel? I am fully operational and ready to do my time in the field.”
“You do seem ready, but you are not quite fully operational.”
“Colonel?”
“There is one more test to pass before we send you to America. Your red test.”
“I thought…”
“You thought yourself too special? Above ordinary KGB agents?” The colonel’s tone had quickly changed, and his face was cold. “You are little older than a child and already you overestimate yourself. You have not yet done a thing.”
“I am eager to serve…” The atmosphere was suddenly tense, and Nikita felt alert. Something didn’t feel right and his finely honed senses tingled. He felt a single bead of sweat snake its way from the pit of his arm and down his side.
“You serve only your sentence for the rehoming of your family. You forget them now!” barked Klitchkov, leaning forward. “You serve me. You serve Mother Russia.”
Rising, Nikita put his hand on his heart and recited, “I, a citizen of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, joining the ranks of the Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti, do hereby take the oath of allegiance and do solemnly vow to be an honest, brave, disciplined and vigilant fighter, to guard strictly all military and state secrets, to obey implicitly all KGB regulations and orders of my commanders, commissars and superiors.
“I vow to study the duties of a soldier conscientiously, to safeguard army and national property in every way possible and to be true to my people, my Soviet motherland, and the Workers’ and Peasants’ Government to my last breath.
“I am always prepared at the order of the Workers’ and Peasants’ Government to come to the defense of my motherland — Russian Union of Socialist Republics — and, as an agent of the Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti, I vow to defend her courageously, skilfully, creditably and honourably, without sparing my blood and my very life to achieve complete victory over the enemy.
“And if through evil intent I break this solemn oath, then let the stern punishment of the Soviet law, and the universal hatred and contempt of the working people, fall upon me.”
“Well recited, boy. Prove you mean it; show what we do to enemies of the state and become a man.” Klitchkov pulled from his heavy overcoat a revolver, silencer and spare magazine, and passed them to Nikita. He pointed to a closed door on the far side of the room, before lighting a cigarette and sitting down. “Double taps. To the head,” he added, as he unfolded a
n old newspaper and then began to flick through it.
Of course. The KGB trained to always take two shots or more, always to the head where possible. To leave no doubt.
Nikita took the gun, flicked off the safety catch as he had been trained to do, and moved swiftly towards the door, his nerves tingling. He had known this day must come, but had hoped it never would.
He opened the door onto a dark corridor, and after quickly checking the magazine was full, held the gun ahead of him as he screwed the silencer into place. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest and worked to keep his breathing calm. He could almost feel the burning adrenaline coursing through his veins, but his hand stayed steady. His training had taught him to be the best and to feel no fear.
The door closed behind him, leaving him in pitch darkness, and he could see nothing. He felt a light switch on the wall but chose to ignore it, preferring to run on sound and touch than to announce his approach to whatever lay ahead. He began to move slowly forwards, keeping both his ears and the gun cocked. He trusted his instincts.
The air was dusty and tasted of the past, and swirled around him as he moved along the corridor. He could see the outline of a door ahead with a dim glow emanating from the cracks around it. Approaching it, he flattened himself against the wall and listened carefully. He could hear whimpering and heavy breathing, but no loud noises. He didn’t like it — he was going in blind to a situation that was probably ready for him and the odds were not stacked in his favour.
But he was KGB. Pushing the door open, he immediately absorbed all the information that the room threw at him, and knew he was in no immediate danger, but didn’t relax.
Entering from the back left side of the room, directly ahead of him was a man in military uniform who had a gun pointed at him. To his left, against the far-left wall were four figures on their knees, with old potato sacks over their heads. The room was dimly lit from a failing lamp, casting long, sporadically flickering shadows across the room, which was even barer than the room he had come from. The walls were heavily peeling, with furry black mould stretching from one corner of the room above the blacked-out window down to the floor, and damp stains streaked across the ceiling.
Nikita’s dark eyes snapped back to the man aiming a gun at him. He was not much older than him, but his skin was sickly white and his hair was closely cropped. He was well built, and despite the raised gun he didn’t look tense. Nikita knew the man was not ready to use it and had been expecting him.
“You the black spy?” He spat the words between yellow, nicotine-stained teeth.
“No, I’m the white postman,” Nikita replied, his weapon aimed at the soldier. “At ease, soldier, I know you are expecting me.”
“I am no soldier; I am Agent Vagin, KGB.” Then seeing Nikita’s eyes scanning the uniform, he added. “There must always be someone to take the fall,” pulling at the soldier’s outfit he had donned.
A loud whimper from one of the figures turned the man’s attention.
“Shut up!” the agent shouted at the person, and he fired a warning shot into the wall above them. Plaster crumbled down, scattering over the sack-covered head of a figure Nikita could tell was a woman. The whimpering stopped, but the figures on bended knee began to shake uncontrollably. A wet, dark circle spreading out on the floor and around the crotch what looked to be a teenage boy betrayed his fear.
“Animals from Tajikistan,” Agent Vagin said, looking towards the cowering group with no hint of shame. “Filth contaminating mother—” his words were cut off as he turned back to Nikita to find the gun pointed at his face.
He paused and cocked his head to one side, smiling disdainfully. “Unfortunately for you, I am not the mission.”
“What is the mission? Who are they?”
“That is on a need-to-know basis. You do not need to know. You follow orders, and your order is to eliminate these enemies of the state.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you too will be dealt with as an enemy of the state. Personally, I hope you do not do it; one less chernozhopiy poisoning our country is only a good thing.” He laughed, his challenge hanging in the murky air between them.
“Maybe I kill you and take my chances. These people have done nothing to me.”
The woman on the floor suddenly spoke. “Please, kill me but let my family go free.”
Suddenly there was the click of a safety catch, followed by the snap of a silenced bullet and the woman fell to the floor. Blood and debris oozed from a bullet hole on the wall.
“I told the bitch to shut up,” said Vagin. “See, I’ve done a quarter of your job for you.” He pointed with his gun and grinned at Nikita. “Now get on with the rest.”
The world stood still for Nikita; the bullet had been silenced but the sound of it somehow still echoed around his head. The oddly bent figure on the floor with a pool of sticky blood blossoming around it, the frantically shuddering figures either side of her, the grinning murderer before him, his hand dropped with the gun at his side. The world had gone into slow motion; he could see the dust in the air, almost feel it whirling around his face, and his sight seemed somehow more acute than ever in the dimly lit room.
“I knew it,” exclaimed Agent Vagin. “Chernozhopiys don’t have what it takes to become KGB…”
There was another dampened whoosh of a silenced bullet, but this time it was Nikita’s. Vagin fell, crying out in alarm, shock and pain as the bullet passed through his kneecap. His gun skittered across the floor as he thrust out with his hand to break his fall.
Nikita could smell the burning cordite from his gun, smell the blood he had spilled, but his arm remained raised.
“Are you crazy?” screamed Vagin. “You will be dead before you leave the building; we are comrades.”
“It is interesting to hear you say that we are now comrades. I thought I was a chernozhopiy? A black ass? Not good enough for the KGB?” Nikita said, seething with fury at the cold-blooded murder he had witnessed.
“You cannot kill me,” Vagin gasped.
“Maybe not. Or maybe no one will miss a scumbag foot soldier who kills women for sport,” said Nikita. “Everyone can die.”
“I told you, the uniform is to redirect the blame… I am KGB!” Vagin protested, his top lip wet with sweat and his face contorted in pain.
“The KGB would seek to put blame for an assassination on the very army that we fight alongside? Does that not sound a little strange to you, agent?”
“I do not question my orders.”
“And where do those orders come from, I wonder? You see, there is something I noticed when you murdered this young woman…” He walked over and pulled the sack from her head. It revealed a woman with bright red hair. Her face was unblemished. “Putting aside the fact that this woman’s hair shows that she is clearly an Udmurt, quite some way from the Tajikistan you claimed, about three thousand miles in fact, let us focus on something else. You see how the bullet has passed through the back of her head and out of the top, only two inches above? Really, she very nearly survived; this bullet literally grazed her brain just enough to kill her; it is a terrible shot.”
“I was never the best marksman.”
“That is very clear, agent. But there is something that every KGB agent knows; it is tattooed into our brains. When shooting to kill, you never shoot once. Denisov drilled that into us every day, every night. Empty your magazine, leave nothing to chance. This is even ignoring the fact that KGB never put the safety catch on our weapons. When we draw our gun, it is to use it and you had to flick the safety to murder the Udmurt woman. You are not screaming ‘seasoned KGB operative’ to me, soldier.”
There was no trace of the arrogant smirk left on the now clammy face of Vagin.
“I know your story, Allochka. You would not sacrifice little Milena by killing me.”
One shot. Two shots. Three, four, five. Nikita, arm out straight in front of him, closed on Vagin as he emptied the magazine and quickly replaced it
with the spare, with a lightning quick motion.
Agent Vagin fell backwards, dead.
“Nobody should know my story,” Nikita whispered.
The door behind him suddenly opened and he wheeled around. Klitchkov entered the room and surveyed the carnage in front of him. Nikita began to lower his gun but heard a movement behind him and saw that the three-remaining people on the floor had removed the sacks and now had guns trained on him.
Klitchkov smiled and walked over to Vagin, pulling his head up by the hair.
“This is an interesting take on a double tap, Agent Allochka, but I cannot deny that I appreciate the symmetry,” he said conversationally. The ruined face of the fallen soldier stared up blankly, with a bullet through both eyes, one through both cheeks and one that had gone through the mouth and out the back of the head.
“What is going on? Why did he know about my family? Who are these people?” Nikita demanded.
“You forget yourself Allochka; remember who you are speaking to.”
“My apologies, Colonel,” Nikita said, attempting to get his racing heartbeat under control while trying to understand the situation he found himself in. He dimly noticed that his hands were shaking uncontrollably.
“Quite OK, old boy, understandable in the circumstances. But do try to remember your training — you do not question orders. The Udmurt girl — congratulations on matching her hair colour with the region — was an enemy of the state, and Vagin was an incompetent army private who had been leaking low level secrets to help feed his drug habit. He had to be eliminated, and discreetly. That is more than you need to know.” He held out his hand. “You passed the red test; welcome to the KGB, Agent Allochka.”
Shaking the colonel’s hand, Nikita felt dirty and contaminated, and also felt certain there was more to the story. The agents in the corner were all resolutely looking away from the body of the Udmurt woman, and they looked shaken as they lowered their weapons upon a signal from Klitchkov. Remembering his family, he inclined his head politely and embraced his acceptance into the Soviet Secret Service.