by Dark, Masha
Furiously snapping its razor sharp fangs, which were curved like scimitars, the beast suddenly yanked its vigorous tail out of the water and turned out to be yet another meter longer. The serpent’s tail struck Dalana in the face with a sweeping, scathing blow that cut deeply into her cheek and the bridge of her nose. Unable to keep her balance under this onslaught, Dalana fell into the pestilent slurry with a resounding splash.
In the fraction of a second before the filth devoured Dalana, she managed to close her mouth, squeeze her eyes shut and clench her hand into a viselike stranglehold that deprived the beast of any hope for escape. Blowing air out though her nostrils, Dalana sank into the morass, but she immediately drew in her knees and with inhuman strength pushed off from the floor, compelling her body into an upright position once again. At the same time, growling wrathfully, she spun the creature in the air and launched it like a shot-put into the gloom of the tunnel. Reeling from pain and fear, the serpent flew several meters and hit the wall with a smacking sound. Then it slithered down into the muck, stunned and unable to slip away.
Dalana rubbed the back of her hand across her face with antipathy. The wound the creature had inflicted on her burned, but that did not worry the Begotten of Old. Her immune system could repel any of the infections swimming here.
In the meantime, the beast was clearly coming to its senses. Dalana jumped towards it as swiftly as lightening, bridging the distance that separated them in a single bound, and grabbed its slippery body with both her hands.
It was time to bring a different kind of force to bear on the creature.
Submit! commanded Dalana.
The creature began to squirm less violently, but its aggression still resisted giving way to its fear of a being that was clearly more powerful.
Submit or you will perish!
To reinforce her command, Dalana lightly squeezed the puny brain of the creature with the strength of her own thoughts. This expedient, already tested on thousands of primitive minds, did the trick. When she had been in the London sewer, at this point Dalana had quickly polished off the beast, but today Dalana needed the scaly serpent alive.
Mine is…to agree.
It instantly went limp in Dalana’s hands. But Dalana was not about to release her captive.
What is…to need yours? asked the creature dispiritedly.
Dalana relaxed her grip, but she still held the creature at arm’s length and kept a watchful eye on its dangerous tail.
Mine is to do all! said the beast.
Dalana grinned. Now they could talk business. But she would not forget her wariness, not even for a second.
Marisa opened her eyes and looked at the clock. Eight in the morning, what a fine state of affairs! She’d overslept. And she supposed that she would have continued to sleep even longer if not for the annoying sound that woke her. On the bedside table a small computer was buzzing assiduously, trying to get Marisa’s attention.
“The morning mail,” grumbled Marisa and she stretched out her hand towards the device.
The email came from an unknown sender who informed her that he or she needed to meet with Marisa on a matter of some urgency – the sender had information concerning her fugitive vampire. Really now, yet another nameless well-wisher? Maybe it was the same one? Or was it just the usual bullshit?
A skeptic by nature, in such situations Marisa was always inclined to favor choice number three. And she would have had no problem regarding this as someone’s practical joke if it weren’t for one thing – this was a ‘dedicated channel’, an email address known exclusively to Marisa’s informants. This was the exact channel of communication that the deceased Zemfira had used to get in touch with her. Consequently, the unknown person’s information might actually be genuinely important.
She needed to hurry. In two hours person X would be waiting for Special Agent Sukhostat at Sergels Torg.
When she got to her car, Marisa remembered what had happened with Pavel. They had parted only a few hours ago, in the small hours of the night. Exhausted and worn out by the passionate sex, Marisa had nonetheless managed to leave Pavel’s apartment. She had covered her departure by claiming insomnia that allegedly tormented her if she spent the night in a bed other than her own.
Pavel could not conceal his frustration. He had hoped that Marisa would spend the entire night with him. But she was adamant in her decision and there was nothing Volsky could do but acquiesce.
Now – with a more or less clear head – Marisa attempted to analyze recent developments. Volsky truly was an excellent lover and in no way did he disappoint her expectations. He did not make superfluous gestures before, he did not speak nonsense during, and he did not badger with questions after. Last night’s sex had probably been the best in Marisa Sukhostat’s life.
And yet…Marisa had fled from Volsky. Because all that inclination, admiration and awe she had felt for Pavel had evaporated with her last convulsive orgasm. It was as if she had received something she had wanted for so long and the moment she got it she realized that she would cease needing it from this day forward. Moreover, when Pavel had tried to kiss her goodbye, Marisa had shivered with antipathy. Volsky had thought she was shivering for an entirely different reason. Needless to say, happy are those who do learn the underlying causes of things. Or maybe it was just the opposite: Those who learn the truth instantly should be considered happy. Marisa thought about this for a while then decided that it was a matter of opinion, a personal preference that each individual resolved in his own way.
However, why dance around it? She’d got what she wanted from Pavel, and now she would have to tell him that she had no more use for him as a lover. Yes, in all likelihood that was exactly what she would have to tell him.
Not a woman, but a bitch of a she-wolf, Marisa cynically thought about herself as she bared her teeth at her own reflection in the rear-view mirror. The reflection did not fail to grin in reply.
Marisa parked her car close to the pedestrian stairs that led down to the Platten, the huge sunken plaza. The unknown sender of the email had promised to meet her at her car.
That works for me, my dear fellow, thought Marisa, yawning. I’ll just wait here until you come, if you plan on coming at all.
Dalana had an excellent view of Marisa’s approaching car from her improvised shelter near a coffee shop. The location, considered and chosen earlier in the day, allowed the Begotten of Old to both see and hear her prey. However, the latter was not all that important.
So, the easily suggestible Bumblebee had executed his task – he had led the girl to certain death. Now the business depended on the second part of the plan. Dalana needed a delegate – a person who would directly bring her plan to fruition. But who would kill Marisa?
Dalana, who had arrived here long before her victim, was still painstakingly searching for a suitable candidate. She immediately dismissed the possibility of using any of the Begotten of Old in the plaza, which was swarming with people. Marishka must die as quickly and as painlessly as possible, but the most important consideration was that she must die for sure. Thus the lower creatures, such as the ‘amoebas’ who carried infectious diseases in the cells, would not do—they were too difficult to find here, in the open air. The transmogs, who hung out here in droves from what Dalana could see, were not the best candidates either. For the most part they were weakened, dirty vagabonds, any of which Special Agent Sukhostat could probably take out with her left hand.
That left the humans. But by what method? Dalana felt out the dozens of policemen as they paced up and down the square, but she discovered to her chagrin that the magazines of their automatics were empty.
And here in front of the entire world, thought Dalana crossly. Who thought up the idea of carrying around unloaded automatics for show?
She thought of orchestrating a car crash but it left all three of her criteria for Marisa’s death in doubt.
Dalana realized that she was beginning to lose her temper. Would she end up having to
do this herself? It would be no problem – she could kill Marisa in the blink of an eye with the poison she had obtained last night in the stinking halls of the city’s sewer system, but that seemed like a waste, not to mention overkill. She hadn’t swum up to her neck in shit and pacified that denizen of the fetid abyss just so she could now use up her laboriously gained poison on a pitiful little human. No matter – she would find a delegate; it just meant she’d probably have to do away with the criterion about relative painlessness.
In the meantime, her prey’s attention had been drawn to a popular chocolate boutique, which was located about a hundred meters from the place where Marisa had parked. Scraps of the girl’s thoughts told Dalana about Marisa’s childish desire to try the chocolate of this celebrated little shop. Marisa, who was not really counting on a meeting with some unknown informant, planned to take this opportunity to buy some chocolate. After that she would wait around a bit longer just in case, and then she would return to the crusaders’ headquarters.
Dalana needed to pick up the pace. She cast an aggressive, sweeping net that breached the consciousnesses of all the nearby, unsuspecting humans, discovering hundreds of alien secrets and forgetting about them in the same instant because they were of no value to her. Marisa in the meantime had disappeared behind the door of the shop.
But all at once Dalana sensed a flood of thoughts that intrigued her. Despair, rage, fear and an onerous, impenetrable resignation predominated in the man’s mind. It only took Dalana a few seconds to realize with relief that he was exactly what she needed.
The isolated blonde man, who was dressed in an unseasonably warm coat and wore the haunted expression of a sick dog, was planning to blow himself up within the next half hour. Right here, in the center of Stockholm, in Segels Torg. It was an incredible piece of luck. The man had no connection to organizations like the Taliban, nor was he a ‘national patriot’. At one time he had been a soldier, a demolition specialist, and he performed his duties and fulfilled his missions irreproachably. He had been wanted by his country, his friends, his girlfriends…
Seven months ago he had been diagnosed with AIDS. A one-night stand, a fatal confluence of events. Now he was not wanted – not by his country, not by his friends, not by women, not by himself. In half an hour he planned to terminate his existence, and he would take dozens of innocent people along with him. People who were totally indifferent to his misfortune. The explosives that were concealed under the man’s coat were sufficient to blow apart the entire restaurant opposite him, for example.
The man was twisting his head from side to side in perplexity, striving to find an appropriate target for his wrath. It was at this juncture that his mind presented itself to Dalana; it was like clay that would allow Dalana the liberty of modeling any sculpture she pleased. Well, almost any.
The dark blue Dakota to the left of you, Dalana insisted to the man’s consciousness. As soon as the driver comes back, you will walk up to the car, as close as you can get, and you will fulfill your desire.
Dalana tuned out from the poor bastard’s mental stream and walked away from her hiding place. There was no sense in lingering – Dalana had no doubt that the delegate would bring this operation to a close. She was satisfied with herself. Once again she had managed to kill two birds with one stone. Thanks to the angle of approach, the main force of the explosion would be directed towards the road, which guaranteed a significantly smaller degree of damage to the people on the steps.
Mr. Mayor, you should be grateful to me, thought Dalana as she moved away from the future epicenter of the blast. It’s just a pity that you will never know who spared you today. You’ll be able to get your hands on a load of state funds for reconstruction work.
It seemed to him that time was playing tricks on him. But at the same time, it seemed to him that it was still too early. The device was functioning. But he couldn’t activate it before the driver returned to the dark blue Dakota and sat behind the wheel. The man could not recall when he had become so sure that it needed to be done exactly at that moment and not a second earlier. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the driver of the Dakota. Everything depended upon the driver of the Dakota.
And then he finally appeared – a small, somewhat inconspicuous young man. For some reason the boy looked around furtively a couple of times before he tried to open the car door. Then he opened it, apparently with some difficulty, and ducked inside.
The man walked right up to the Dakota. He took no notice of the strange, jerky movements of the boy, who was bent over and messing around with the ignition housing, but even if he had noticed, he still would have continued to carry out his objective.
Marisa devoured the melting, marvelously tasty chocolate as she walked, knowing that she did not have the will power to hoard this sweet treasure until evening. She did not even intend for her purchase to last until she got back to her car.
The explosion thundered out just at the moment when Marisa greedily bit into an elegant confection in the shape of a small egg.
Marisa let the box drop from her hand, and chocolates skittered across the dirty asphalt. Marisa paused for a second, slightly deafened by the blast, then rushed to the site of the tragedy, completely forgetting about the chocolate.
Something dreadful had happened in the square. Several cars, which had been near the epicenter of the explosion, were bursting with flames, giving rise to a column of oily, black smoke that smelled corrosive and evil. Marisa already realized that her Dakota was somewhere in that burning, metal mess.
Traffic on the Drottninggatan halted. People jumped from their cars, trying to see what had happened. An unceasing howl of pain and terror arose from the people in the square.
Marisa noticed a bloody body part not far from her and averted her eyes. How could she think about her car at a time like this, when so many people must have died? She should be grateful that she had miraculously escaped. She could have just as easily returned from buying her chocolates in time for the explosion. Or she could have not yet left.
But what had happened here? Another terrorist attack?
“Excuse me,” Marisa addressed a police officer who was running past her.
“I don’t know anything!” he yelled without slowing his pace.
Marisa resolutely headed for a group of people in uniform that had come running up the steps.
“What happened?” she asked as she walked up to the men.
“Everything’s taken care of, girl,” answered the tallest of then without even favoring Marisa with a glance. “Everything’s under control. Officers from the relevant bureaus are already on their way. Just thank God that you are still alive…”
“I’m from just such a bureau,” snapped Marisa, taking out her ID badge. “CRUSS, Special Agent Sukhostat. My car was over there, by the way. Lay it out for me.”
The police officer calmly glanced at Marisa and her identification.
“Oh, indeed, there you are, waving your papers around,” said the man with evident exhaustion in his voice. “I don’t know any more than you do. There was an explosion. Right now people are coming to investigate it. Most likely, it was a terrorist attack. So it’s not your concern. And it really isn’t mine either. So just go home. Or stay if you really feel like raking through someone else’s shit.”
Marisa was on the verge of an irate tirade when she was interrupted by her cell phone ringing in her pocket.
“Sukhostat,” Marisa answered bleakly.
What she heard next was good news, genuinely good news. For a moment Marisa even forgot about the explosion, its victims, her wrecked car and this morning’s message in her confidential email box.
When her conversation was finished, Marisa withdrew to the side and immediately dialed Volsky’s number.
“Hi,” answered Pavel cheerfully. “It’s been ages.”
“Listen, I have something to tell you,” she blurted out, but Volsky instantly interrupted her.
“No, it’s I who have somet
hing to tell you! Krook sent the results: They match! Both the sperm and the hair from the razor – they both belong to Soigu!” Volsky chattered blissfully. “We’ve got him, the murderer! You should stop by and…hey, what’s that noise?”
“There was a terrorist attack,” explained Marisa. “At Sergels Torg. Someone set off a bomb.”
“Are you alright?” asked Pavel fearfully.
“I’m fine,” she replied. “It’s just a pity that I lost my chocolates.”
“What chocolates?”
“Forget about it. My Dakota’s a lost cause. It’s burnt to a crisp.”
And it was no sleight of hand, Marisa added to herself, recalling Volsky’s trick with his supposedly broken down car.
“Let it go,” Pavel said airily. “The engine was making a rattling sound anyway – you would’ve just had to get it fixed.”
Marisa just snorted bitterly in reply.
“So, is this what you wanted to tell me about, this terrorist attack?” asked Volsky.
“No, although about that too.”
“And what were you doing there anyway?”
“It’ll take a while to explain,” said Marisa. “I’ll tell you when I get in.”
“Take a cab,” Pavel said, his voice once again cheerful. “We’re waiting on you. By the way…”
Volsky suddenly faltered, and when he continued his voice was hushed.
“Say, did you…did you think about me?”
“I’ll see you at headquarters,” said Marisa in an even tone and she hung up.
Well, unless you counted inescapable personal issues, terrorist attacks and the loss of her car, everything was going as well as it possibly could. Volsky had unearthed evidence against Soigu, and now the case depended on Papa.
And as far as Marisa herself was concerned, she had almost reached her goal. She now knew the address that had received the delivery printed on the bloodstained receipt.
As she drove down Klarabergsgatan Dalana looked in the rearview mirror and discovered to her profound satisfaction that there was not a trace left of the wound she had sustained in her skirmish with the sewer beast. Then Dalana heard the explosion. Marisa Sukhostat was dead. It was now time to consider other matters.