by Alex Sapegin
His father was silent. Kerimov Sr. realized a long time ago that things would never be the same again. He’d gotten into dirty business up to his eyeballs and dragged his family along with him, but to tell the truth to his son was beyond his strength.
“Hmm, just as I suspected,” Andy interpreted the silence correctly. “Then it makes sense to bargain. Who’s the main vivisector in a white coat? Or is it better to go straight to the command of this block?”
“What?” Iliya was taken aback.
“Dad, I don’t mind the nerds behind the glass examining the nature of magic and the changes in my body, but that’s going to happen on my terms.” The nerds behind the glass quietly became indignant at the lab rat’s impudence.
“Son…”
“Dad, I’m telling you in all seriousness, if the scientists and people in uniform don’t understand the Russian language, I can repeat my words in the fashion of the nobility of the salons of Tantre, tonally, and drawing out the vowels. I hope they’re not deaf, and that they think the better of trying to refuse me.” Andy had long been preparing a “surface flame” spell interweave and on the last word, activated the spell. The bed was instantly enveloped in fierce flame. Iliya Evgenevich jumped back.
A second later, the fire died out. The flames disappeared, revealing to the stunned scientists and soldiers a naked young man sitting on the bed, busy shaking the black ashes of burnt belts and sheets from his lap. The young man was inwardly amused by the stunned people. It was an innocuous incantation, really, but what an effect! He should take the show on the road. Sometimes circus tricks were very useful for creating the proper image.
Let’s see if the old Russian saying is right—that boldness is the second happiness. It seems the most impressionable ones are cut to the quick! They fussed over me, and now how they’re looking so scared at the transparent barrier! Come on guys, don’t be afraid of the little old Kerimov Junior! “I warn you right away—I don’t want to have to fall into a rage and blow this basement to Targ.”
Andy threw a few shields over himself and his father. He now had energy out the wazoo, so multi-layered protection didn’t hurt. What if the bosses couldn’t stand their nerves and did something rash? He really wanted to live. The crowd behind the glass was having a heated discussion. No manners at all! Who behaves this way in respectable society? Andy winked at his father and mouthed, “The fight’s not over yet, Dad!”
The worry disappeared from his father’s eyes and was replaced by a spark of hope. “We’ll definitely fight,” Iliya replied, pulling himself together. Now he was ready for battle.
“What do you want? We are ready to discuss your conditions,” a tall, imposing man entered the opened door.
Bingo! Kerimovs one, bad guys zero. The folk saying was right. There’s a lot of wisdom in those Russian sayings! The main thing is not to over bend the stick. For the time being, we’re content with a small victory. Otherwise, the negotiator will start stalling and nodding something to the headquarters, then to Moscow, then to the silent phones of the higher authorities, without which they can’t resolve this or that issue; in the end, I’ll still be surrounded, deceived, and swindled. We know you.
“It would be wonderful if, as a sign of your good intentions, you could get me three things: a living space somewhat more comfortable than this one, a shower, and some pants. ...And I have a small personal request.” Andy leaned over to the negotiator.
“What?” the man smiled.
“Where’s the bathroom?”
Russia. N-ville. Secret Scientific Research Center. Two hours later…
“What nerve, huh? The nerve!” Sanin looked like a lion in a cage. The Major General was pacing in circles around the office, occasionally stopping at the desk. “The nerve of that kid!”
The General jumped to the computer and started watching the recording from the medical block, pausing it at the moment where this brazen boy, flashing his white buttocks, stomped down the corridor toward the toilet. The guy was not at all embarrassed by his nudity. He was enthusiastically telling something to Lieutenant Colonel Helmitsky, who accompanied him to the latrine. The young man’s speech was distinguished by a slight accent. Sometimes he broke into a foreign language and immediately corrected himself, searching for the Russian analogies of words.
Sanin did not at all doubt that plenty of grief was coming his way. He didn’t know what kind of a mage the boy was, but he certainly knew how to handle people. It seemed life in the other world didn’t smell very much like roses. He had to get by and survive somehow. But wait, what was he thinking? Kerimov’s son slaughtered people like rabbits, and here he’d made a nano-apocalypse. He knew how to make extraordinary decisions, trap the armed forces, and therefore control people.
Kerimov Jr. instantly sized up the situation and made the appropriate conclusions, and the way he turned the situation in his favor was simply a classic of the genre! Fifteen witnesses at all levels could now affirm that the rascal himself agreed, even asked for cooperation, but in fact, he would fool the scientists and obtain preferences and indulgences for himself. The General tapped his fingers on the top of the table. He ought to drive Helmitsky from the Center for buying into the trap and falling for such an elementary bluff. Then again... Sanin stopped the playback. In that situation, he would have acted no better. The guy was damn good.
The General opened the mini-bar, poured himself a glass of cold mineral water and sat down in his desk chair. He felt in his heart that they would have problems. The intercom began its squeaky blaring; Sanin sipped his life-giving moisture and pressed the key. “I’m listening!”
“Leonid, we’ve got problems,” Lantsov’s voice said. Only Lantsov had the right to call him by his first name. If Igor was talking about problems, then it was serious.
“Briefly now, what heavenly punishment’s fallen on our heads this time?”
“The children’s hospital’s been captured by a group of armed men.”
The General’s response was not print-worthy. His glass slammed onto the desktop, and the water splashed out of it in all directions like rain. He jumped to his feet. “My office, ten minutes, high-ranking officers. Go!”
“Yes, sir!”
Sanin reached for the intercom.
“Major Potsky here, Comrade Major General.”
“Raise your [SJ(S54]eagles, Potsky. Full readiness, in fifteen minutes the first, third, and fourth groups should advance to the area of the N-ville Children’s Hospital. Take the choppers. Get ready for action. Detailed instructions will be provided during the march. Communication on my personal code.”
After pressing the end key, Sanin immediately switched to another channel.
“Yes, Major General Sanin,” Jim, the site curator’s personal secretary, spoke through the device.
“Jim, immediately connect me with the chief of the N-ville Municipal Department of Internal Affairs and the head of the regional FSB. I need to speak to them from underground.”
“I understand, Major General.”
“Now that you understand, do it!” the General said rudely. He had five minutes; he needed to think through all the steps and actions. God forbid something happened to the girl. Kerimov Junior would demolish the Center to the last pebble. For some reason, this version of events seemed the most plausible. Sanin suspected that Olga wasn’t the only one who could feel her brother’s whereabouts and actions.
God, where did the armed men come from? Who wanted to seize her and why aren’t I hearing anything from the guards there? the General thought, staring at one point on the wall in front of him. Could the attack be a provocation by parallel institutions or the guys from abroad? Was someone tired of playing in the shadows and arranged a reconnaissance battle? I’ll keep it in mind. I’m not going to dismiss the hypothesis. If some unknown party wants to capture Olga, it’s so they can get some leverage on her father. Wow, how difficult... Did Igor get lost or something? Sanin looked at the wet spot on the table and already wanted to c
all the secretary when the call key blinked on the intercom.
“Comrade Major General, Colonel Lantsov here to see you, and…”
“Let them in,” Sanin interrupted him. He turned to the door. “Come in, sit down.”
Lantsov glanced at the table, gazed intently at the empty glass, raised his right eyebrow questioningly, and, seeing the wild look in the commander’s eyes, shook his head condemningly.
The Colonel, by some means known only to him, had managed to receive the information on what had happened at the Children’s hospital. Without wasting time on empty talk, he immediately began to report. It was extremely detailed, but the main points are as follows:
As it turned out, the story of the attack on the hospital and the hostage-taking of patients and personnel originated near the post office of the Southern micro-district, where an armed robbery of a postal machine carrying pension money was committed. The scumbags’ pay-out was seven million rubles. The robbers didn’t manage to make a clean break; the crew of the post office security service showed up and called for backup. A shoot-out between the brave police officers and the bandits began. The robbers were able to shoot the officers and take away their weapons. Three Kalashnikov assault rifles and several pistols were added to the bandits’ arsenal.
But meanwhile, an interception plan was formed in the city. The backup arrived and cut off all exits and escape routes with fire trucks and so forth. After a bit more chasing and shooting, the bandits ended up driving into the parking lot of the city Children’s hospital. One of the robbers was caught on a nearby security camera. He was identified as Lenny Venchik, an ex-con who had done ten years for armed robbery. A drug addict, he was an extremely unbalanced person with sadistic inclinations. Lantsov further reported that they still didn’t know exactly how many robbers there were, possibly six or seven. The data from the captured hospital was very shoddy and contradictory. Someone was calling someone on a cell phone and said the creatures in human guise had beaten the chief doctor half-dead and demanded that he open a safe containing narcotics, but this information was unreliable and required verification.
They’d received the alarming information that the robbers had opened fire in the traumatology unit. Patients heard a dog bark and people screaming, then two bandits passed through the wards and took away all the cell phones. The sick who could walk were driven to the dining room, and the bandits promised to shoot all the people lying down if even one cop came within a hundred yards of the hospital. The parking lot was visible in all directions, so it was not conceivable to get close to the healthcare establishment unnoticed. From stupid addicts, you can expect anything. For now, the invaders weren’t making any demands. A SWAT team and a large part of the staff of the city Internal Affairs Directorate were brought to the hospital.
“How long has it been since the hospital was captured?” Sanin asked.
“About an hour; I can’t say for sure,” answered Lantsov.
“It’s bad,” the General concluded and glanced sideways at the flashing intercom button. The heavy oak door swung open, as if from a kick. Lantsov’s deputy, Lieutenant-Colonel Sam Butin, burst into the office.
Jim tried to hold the Lieutenant-Colonel back, but he didn’t pay him any mind. Sanin felt a sucking emptiness in his stomach.
“They just reported from the medical sector.” Butin pushed the secretary away. “The object has escaped!”
With a loud crack, the light bulbs in the office shattered. The monitor blinked and went out. The whole bunker trembled.
“Announce a ‘red’ alert,” Sanin ordered into the darkness. “Apparently, her brother knows about it.”
Lantsov grunted understandingly.
* * *
The shower is a great invention of humankind. It’s beautiful in both worlds! There’s nothing better than arranging a contrast of hot and cold water. Hot—cold, hot—cold, bliss! Only a Russian bathhouse could be better for the soul and body. Andy scratched his head and smiled with all thirty-two teeth. The vertical pupils of his eyes mischievously flashed. He already knew what to hint to the owners of the institution...
The apartment he’d been allotted consisted of two rooms, a bathroom, and a small entryway that wasn’t exactly an exit. A standard underground apartment of a research center employee. The small room was an office; the other room combined a living room, bedroom, and dining room in one. The bathroom said “be of good cheer” with its shower cubicle and a pink toilet. The temporary tenant looked at the faience miracle for a long time and tried to find the answer—why was it pink and flowery? Only one thing came to mind: the designers and builders decided to diversify the standard-barracks situation with a bright spot and add fun to the gray routine.
Drying himself with a fluffy towel, Andy headed into the biggest room. While he was washing, an attendant had brought in several packages of clothes. The future object of scientific research snorted. Out of all the range of outfits, only the slippers, striped robe, and boxers could be called “homey;” the rest was a standard army kit. The uniform was indeed high quality, and only the army boots caused a crooked grin. He was no longer used to Earth footwear. He remembered his soft leather boots from Ilanta fondly. Well, no matter. Beggars can’t be choosers. Besides the bathroom, one more item was added to the list of requests. Tearing the towel from his hips, he started trying on the new clothes, at the same time carefully examining the room with magical vision.
As he suspected, he wasn’t without secret observation by the center. Two camouflaged camcorders kept the whole room in view without leaving dead zones. The office and the bathroom also hid devices for watching over the tenant, in the ceiling fixtures. Targ love them. Forget the office, why’s there a hidden camera in the toilet? The voyeurs—sick! Interesting, are all the apartments under secret surveillance? The Center’s full of employees. Hmm, I guess the guards use them to spy on young female lab technicians.
Andy once again walked through the apartment, pausing for a couple of seconds in the hallway, where there was a single dead zone, inaccessible to the eye of the video camera. Why he needed this place, he did not yet understand, but a vague premonition said that knowing the weak points of the CCTV would yet come in handy. The electromagnetic lock of the front door clicked. He turned around and saw Irina and her father rolling a serving table down the hall towards his room. When she saw him, Irina froze and stared at her younger brother with bulging eyes. Not that she was shocked by his gray hair, but… her brother had grown up. When he was covered with a sheet and lying on a bed, surrounded by special medical equipment, this wasn’t so obvious. Now she would have said he was no less than nineteen years old. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had a toned but not hypertrophied torso, which was favorably emphasized by the tight green army shirt. There were a lot of fine scars on his arms and a few wide scars on his chest, peeping out from under the shirt. A year ago, none of that had been there. It made her wonder more than ever what happened. His blue eyes with vertical yellow pupils caught her attention and disturbed her most of all. Irina nervously clasped her fingers and took an uncertain step towards her brother.
“Hi… Andy, oh!” Andy picked his sister up in both arms and circled her around the room. “Put me down, bear!”
“Hello, Eliriel,” the “bear” greeted her remembering the Tolkienist’s gaming pseudonym
Since that ill-fated day, Irina had changed only slightly externally, except for the fact that she had lost a little weight and has become even more beautiful. Their father had probably hired a platoon of submachine gunners to chase away the suitors. Although, no, the machine-gunners themselves would be taken with her. Targ, he now felt how deeply he’d missed her.
“Quit dancing,” Iliya smiled. “We were given thirty minutes. So, let’s combine business with pleasure.” He gestured at the table with the dishes.
Andy put his sister down, jumped to the table and pulled the lid off the nearest saucepan. Broth, judging by the smell, chicken, and then some sort of substance
.
“Um,” he mumbled, disappointed at the menu. “What’s this?”
“You’ve been on an IV for a month,” his father said. “You can’t immediately strain your stomach.”
“As for the IV, thanks, of course, but that had pretty much the effect of a banana leaf on my butt. I wouldn’t say no to some meat. It can be raw, but for want of anything better, I’ll eat this broth.” Andy skeptically sipped the broth from a mug. He wanted meat, with blood. The dragon’s nature took its toll.
The next half hour was a conversation about anything and nothing. No one raised any serious topics. He occupied Irina with idle banter about elven fashion. His sister listened and nodded, but he could tell her former passion had evaporated. Elves didn’t interest her anymore. The overall impression was painful and awkward; a joyful meeting wasn’t in the cards. The video surveillance limited their ability to express their feelings. Each of them was well aware they were being watched.
Thirty minutes later, the guests got ready to go. Andy asked them to say hi to his mother and Olga. Irina started to say something, but, after glancing at her father, shut her mouth. Hmmmm... What secrets are these?
After his relatives departed, he fell onto the sofa and began to analyze the conversation, carefully recalling pregnant pauses between phrases and words, cautious nods, and meaningful glances. There were a lot of pauses. He decided that for a system analysis to develop a final behavior strategy there still wasn’t enough data. And Rosugar, Targ take him, not a word from him. He retreated into the depths of the astral and wasn’t sticking his nose out.