The Soviet Comeback
Page 39
“Yes, yes, OK. I will make the arrangements,” Denisov responded with a great deal of obvious restraint.
Nikita laughed. “I’m going to need that in writing, sir.”
“Very well, now let us return to the mission at hand,” said Denisov, waving a hand in irritation and returning to the slide projector.
Nikita settled into the seat, and tried not to think about the devastation planned for the place he had called home for the past year.
***
The wind whipped and whirled around the three heavily-clad figures, silhouetted against the perpetual twilight of Bolshevik Island, a spit of rock and ice in the lost north of the world.
The Kara Sea rocked and churned far below them as they stood near the cliff edge and looked upon the peaceful face of Sophie Allochka, surrounded in brightly coloured traditional Nigerian garments, before two Soviet soldiers rested the lid of the coffin into place and began to lower it into the frozen ground.
Nikita had his arm around Milena, whose arms were wrapped around his side. Gabriel Allochka leant heavily on his other shoulder, his face grey and pale. They had advised against his attendance, but all had relented when they saw the look in his eyes.
“This is not where I would have picked for her to be laid to rest; it is not Nigeria, and there is no colour or singing. But it is as wild, beautiful and unique as she was,” Gabriel said softly.
Tears fell freely from the eyes of Nikita, and a shiver ran through his soul. “I am sorry I failed you, Mother. You were the very best of us all,” he muttered.
“There was no failure, Niki. She was so proud of you. She loved you both so very much,” said Gabriel.
The two soldiers stepped back, and Denisov stepped forward. “You lived with honour and integrity. May you find the peace in death that we were not able to give you in life. May you rest in peace, Sophie Allochka.”
Nikita leant in and whispered to him. “Of course. Rest in peace, Sophie Wadike.”
The soldiers raised their guns and fired two shots into the air, the cracks echoing over the icy ground before being lost in the swirling winds and slate-grey seas.
Milena sobbed heavily, and the three Wadikes embraced each other. Denisov signalled to the soldiers and they withdrew.
“When will we see you again, Niki?” asked Gabriel.
“I do not know. Sooner than has become the norm I hope, Father. It hurts me to leave you more than ever before,” Nikita said, blinking to fight back further tears.
“When will it end? Let your mother’s death not be in vain. Nothing is more important than family. Remember your promise to leave once you returned from the US?”
Nikita gazed out into the freezing mists. “I do what I do for us, Father. One way or another, I think the end is in sight.”
They turned and walked towards Denisov who led them down a track back towards the compound.
“Your helicopter is ready, Agent Allochka.”
“Do not go, Niki! I want you to stay with us!” cried Milena, gripping him tightly.
He peeled her off. “Just think, Milena, next time I see you, it will be in the warm sunshine, with beaches and trees. We can swim in the sea together and chase the fish!”
“But I cannot swim,” she said, looking down, embarrassed.
“Then it will be the perfect place for me to teach you!” he said.
“Promise?”
“I promise,” he said gently and kissed her on the forehead. “Now take Father inside before he collapses. He is going to need you to look after him now.”
Nikita and his father pressed their foreheads together, but there were no words.
Without a look back, Milena took her father’s hand and led him slowly back to the waiting medics.
Nikita watched them go and turned to Denisov. “If you break your promises, if they are mistreated…”
“Do not worry, agent. On this, we have learned our lessons. Now, are you ready?”
Nikita turned to face the sea and cleared his mind. “Afghanistan.”
“Afghanistan,” agreed the leader of the KGB, “and the saviour of the USSR.”
THE BOOK MAY HAVE ENDED, BUT NIKITA’S STORY WILL CONTINUE.