The Soviet Comeback

by Jamie Smith

  Nikita walked confidently over to it and entered the door without hesitating. Inside was like walking into a KGB armoury, with guns of every description glaring down at him from racks on the walls.

  The young man behind the counter was on the phone as he entered but immediately stopped talking as he saw Nikita walk in. “I’m gonna have to call you back, dude,” he said and put down the receiver. He cocked his head and surveyed Nikita. He was muscled but with a beer belly and was wearing a t-shirt two sizes too small that didn’t quite stretch over his bloated waist. “Can I help you?” he asked, looking oddly furtive.

  “I reckon so… Larry,” said Nikita, reading the name badge on the shopkeeper’s chest. He withdrew his CIA badge and flashed it at the shopkeeper. “I’m from the CIA and I need to know if you sell a certain kind of ammo,” he added.

  “You sure you’re from the CIA? You don’t seem like the CIA type,” the young man said with undisguised cynicism.

  Ignoring him, Nikita persevered. “It’s cartridges for a Desert Eagle. I need to know if you sell them, and if you sold any recently.”

  Larry laughed. “A Desert Eagle? Man, the Israelis keep them all for themselves, you won’t find them here,” he said, but Nikita noticed he’d started rubbing his fingers together nervously.

  “Well of course, you do need a special licence to sell them and I know you wouldn’t want to break the law like that,” said Nikita, “but obviously we have to do our due diligence and somebody got their hands on one round here.”

  “Wish I could help you, man,” Larry shrugged, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder.

  “You wouldn’t mind if I just took a look in the back, would you, Larry? CIA, we have to cover all the bases you see; I can’t go back to my boss saying I didn’t look properly.”

  “You gonna need a warrant for that,” Larry said with wavering defiance.

  Nikita brought the heel of his hand up and drove it up into Larry’s nose. He passed out immediately as blood spurted from his crushed nose.

  Stepping behind the counter and over Larry, nudging him onto his side to avoid him choking on his blood, he walked into the back where he was sure he would find what he was looking for. Civilians had so many tells.

  Sure enough, there on the floor, with no security whatsoever, was a box with Magnum .50 AE on the side. They’d barely tried to hide it. But then nobody ever challenged gun shops in the US, for which Nikita right now was intensely grateful. There was no sign of any Desert Eagles so either they had quickly sold out, or Brishnov had acquired the only one that Larry had managed to get his hands on. It didn’t matter either way.

  He spotted a bottle of Jim Beam on a kitchen surface at the rear of the room, and walked over to it. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig straight from the bottle. The pressure in his head eased immediately and he felt its warmth ooze through his body. Opening the cupboards, he saw a thermos flask, into which he emptied the whiskey before pocketing it. A groan from behind him said that Larry had come to.

  Nikita walked back towards him, and Larry’s eyes widened in fear as he saw him approaching. He tried to push himself back up.

  Nikita did it for him. Grabbing him by the collar, he lifted him up with ease and pushed him against the wall.

  “Now, Larry, I don’t like it when I’m made to do things the hard way. I don’t care if you’re selling Desert Eagles. How about you tell me what I need to know.”

  Larry crumpled immediately. “Fibe, what d’you want?” he sputtered.

  Nikita let him go and stepped back. “Excellent, I’m glad we can work together nicely. Did you sell an unregistered Desert Eagle and some of those .50 cartridges to this man?” he asked, showing a photo of Brishnov to him.

  “Yeah, I thig so,” Larry sputtered through his bloody nose. “Didn’t like him much to tell you the truth.”

  “But enough to sell him one of the most powerful handguns ever made,” Nikita said, lifting an eyebrow.

  “What’s the big deal, who is he?”

  “That’s classified,” said Nikita. “But he ain’t a goodie.”

  Larry hung his head pathetically. Nikita almost felt sorry for him.

  “I’m gonna need some of those cartridges as evidence, and I need to see any CCTV tapes you have from when he came in.”

  “Sure thig” said Larry miserably, and fetched a handful of the cartridges which he emptied into Nikita’s cupped hands. He then walked to the door and flipped the sign to say closed, locking the door behind him and waved Nikita to follow him as he walked into the back.

  The shopkeeper unlocked a door next to the kitchen counter to reveal a small, cluttered office within. A television screen glowed in the darkness, until Larry flicked on the light, a fading naked bulb giving the windowless room a dull yellow cast. He grabbed a cloth and wiped down his bloody face, wincing as he touched his broken nose.

  He began rifling through the video strewn across the desk. “I think it was about three days ago he came in,” he said, selecting one of the tapes from the desk and jamming it into the large boxy Betamax player.

  An image of the shop flickered onto the screen. He began to fast forward, showing the speeded-up movement of a small trickle of customers entering and leaving the shop.

  After a few minutes, the unmistakable figure of Brishnov appeared. He expertly managed to avoid his face ever being captured on the camera, but there was no doubt in Nikita’s mind about who it was. The lithe figure walked with confidence, but managed to be somehow quite forgettable. Forgettable to anyone who didn’t know the things of which he was capable.

  “That’s the guy,” said Larry. “He was pretty excited when I mentioned the Desert Eagle.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Nikita muttered. He popped the tape out. “I need to keep this. Do you have any footage from outside the shop?”

  “No problem, officer,” Larry said, still jumpy every time he looked at the CIA agent before him. Nikita rolled his eyes. “We have a camera, we have to by law, but it’s a bit temperamental.” An older and more battered Betamax player was on the floor next to the desk, humming slightly. He picked up a box of the tapes on top of it and handed it to Nikita. “I never bother to label them; don’t even watch them, not much to see out there. The day you’re looking for will be in there somewhere.”

  Nikita said nothing, only pocketing the tape and bullets and taking the box of tapes from Larry before walking out of the shop. It would be days before Larry relaxed from the visit, and weeks before his nose stopped hurting.

  As Nikita walked out of the shop, a man bumped heavily into him. “Hey, guy, look where you’re going,” the man exclaimed angrily.

  Nikita threw his arm up angrily, but once he was around the corner pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket that the man had deposited there.

  For information: Petr Chrastek, Apartment six, Ridgeon Court, 14th Street.

  Nikita memorised the name and address before chewing the paper bit by bit and swallowing it. The KGB taking such bold action must mean that Brishnov’s move was close on the horizon. He didn’t have much time to gather the evidence to lead the CIA to the Soviet assassin.

  He began walking back towards the car, deciding how to proceed. As he walked past the Greek church, he heard voices talking loudly in Greek and a group of women came out through the doors of the building. He carried on walking back towards the car to wait for Sarah to return.

  Suddenly a voice tentatively called, “Nathan?”

  He froze. That voice was tattooed into his memory, but he could scarcely believe it.

  CHAPTER 19

  Nikita turned around and saw her. Her golden eyes were wide with surprise, but her eyebrows quickly dived into an angry frown as her suspicions were confirmed.

  “Elysia,” he whispered.

  She was about thirty yards away, standing with a group of women aged from around fifty upwards. They were all staring curiously at him, wondering how Elysia knew this haughty black man.

  “Ely
sia, páme,” said one of the women, a stern-looking lady with light brown skin and a steely grey perm.

  “Tha se piso,” Elysia said distractedly, waving them away. I will catch you up.

  The woman clucked disapprovingly but walked off with her fellow churchgoers, throwing looks over her shoulder the whole while.

  Nikita looked nervously over his own shoulder at the car. He couldn’t let Chang know he was anyone other than Jacob.

  He walked swiftly towards Elysia, whose face was settling into one of serious anger.

  “Elysia…” he said, putting his hands on her arms. She shrugged them off. “Hi,” he finished lamely with a smile.

  “Hi?” she responded caustically.

  “This is so… I mean… what are you doing here?” He asked, reverting to his Floridian drawl with a stutter.

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  “No, you’re right. It’s good to see you though,” he said earnestly. “I just didn’t expect…”

  “I told you I was thinking of coming back to Greek Town. But then I don’t know why I would imagine that you would remember any of our time together as it was clearly so meaningless.”

  “Meaningless? Elysia, it meant more to me than you could know. I’m sorry I left—”

  “Without so much as a note,” she interrupted. “Just as my uncle had died.”

  “I’m so sorry—” he began.

  “Sorry you used me?” she said, her dark eyes burning into him. She had never looked more beautiful to him.

  “Elysia, I wish I could explain,” he said, desperately trying to think of the words, still stunned at bumping into her so far from the place in which he knew her. “You… you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. Our time together was so perfect I was afraid I would only ruin it by staying.”

  “Oh please,” she said rolling her eyes.

  “Elysia, I’m bad news,” he said, gazing intently at her. He again put his hands to her arms, “Men like me can only hurt women like you.”

  “Men are so stupid.”

  He laughed. “I’m not arguing with you there,” he said, noticing that her expression had softened just a little. “I don’t tell the truth enough, but believe me when I say that what we shared was the most real experience I’ve ever had.”

  “You talk as if I’m some weak little flower that will break. I was perfectly fine with you and perfectly fine without you; I can make my own mind up if you’re bad news or not,” she said, lifting her chin. “You hurt me; you really hurt me,” she added, softly, her eyes liquid.

  “I’m so sorry,” he sighed. “And I’m sorry that I underestimated you.” He couldn’t help himself and asked, “Did it mean something to you too?”

  She let her arms fall to her sides, and cocked her head to one side. “What it meant to me isn’t something you deserve to know right now. Why are you here?” she asked. “We’re a long way from Florida.” Surveying him properly, her eyes noticed the gun at his hip for the first time with alarm.

  He heard a door shut behind him and closed his eyes briefly, knowing he had another argument ahead of him. He glanced behind him and saw Sarah sitting in the car, staring coldly in his direction.

  “I have to go, Elysia,” he said.

  “Well, this is more of a goodbye than last time,” she said, colour returning to her face as her temper rose once more. “Does your girlfriend know about us?”

  “Not my girlfriend,” he said, “my partner,” and tapped the gun at his waist.

  “Am I likely to see you loitering outside my church again?” said asked directly.

  “I… don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said, hating himself.

  She laughed cruelly. “Why am I not surprised? Another man who wants only one thing and then runs away.”

  “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 both before walking on into the apartment.

  He was of medium height, with the look of a once handsome man ageing badly, with a rounded belly and thinning hair which had been brushed so as to give it the appearance of volume.

  They followed him further into the apartment. On the walls hung Goya and Rembrandt prints, with bookcases showcasing delicate leather-bound original prints of classics.

  “Can I furnish you two with a beverage?” asked Chrastek, in delicately accented English, as he walked over to a drinks’ cabinet standing against the wall.