The Attaché: Legacy of the Sovran

By C.A Oganga

Ivan is back at the institute yet again.
His perspective of his school is still the same. He hates it even more now with the new changes.
He finds hope when he learns new things that encourage him to stay. He gathers his courage and he moves away from his comfort, looking for better experiences.
He allows himself to be immersed into the stringent system and he gets comfortable with living a double life.
He is forced into a mission that he ought to have already been done with, propelling him into a world he had never known existed. He discovers exciting details about his father’s past life, realizing he is on the exact path his father had penned down for him.
He retrieves the magnetized paper in the most unlikely of places and finds himself answering to an accusation that is hardly a fault—to a matter he had innocently let out of his mind.
He is vindicated by a hairsbreadth and is then returned back to his course to become an important person in the Dylii Community.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Africa
• Release date: Jul 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781482878691

C.A Oganga

He or she will be able to relate in a way that is true to the human nature as I have tried to incorporate as much human nature into the book to bring out an authentic feel to the story, to be as humble yet extravagant as possible. The anticipatory touch that I have created is intended to capture the reader’s attention, which will create interest and enthusiasm throughout the book. The level of uniqueness in the book, I hope, will create some kind of understanding of the evolution of creativity, drawing as many readers as possible.

Book preview

THE ATTACHÉ

LEGACY OF THE SOVRAN

C.A OGANGA

Author of the first and second books in the Attaché

Series; Attaché: A Community of spies and the Attaché: Rise of the West.

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Copyright © 2019 by C.A OGANGA.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-4828-7870-7

                eBook           978-1-4828-7869-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

www.partridgepublishing.com/africa

CONTENTS

Sovran. Jaska Izhevsk

Chapter 1    Jaska’s Hurdles

Chapter 3    Decisions

Dimitri Izhevsk

Chapter 1    The Mistral Institute

Chapter 2    Discoveries

Chapter 3    Wit and Talent

Chapter 4    A Light To Thy Path

Chapter 5    Another Start

Chapter 6    Highs n’ Lows

Chapter 7    Impulse

Chapter 8    Enlightenment

Chapter 9    A New Light

Ivan Izhevsk

Chapter 1    Lorenda’s Agenda

Chapter 2    Ivan’s Start

Chapter 3    Moving on

Chapter 4    Cast Your Vote!

Chapter 5    Swearing In

Chapter 6    Moments

Chapter 7    The Place

Chapter 8    The Institute’s Revenge

Chapter 9    Way Out

Chapter 10    New Information

Chapter 11    Warm Regards

Chapter 12    Plain Sight

Chapter 13    Cuba

Chapter 14    Time out

Chapter 15    Projects

Chapter 16    The Alternative

Chapter 17    Belarus

Chapter 18    Ivan and Amber

Chapter 19    Ivan’s Woes

Chapter 20    Unearthed

Chapter 21    The Itching Secret

Chapter 22    The Melpomene Children

Chapter 23    The Search

Chapter 24    The Western State

To The One Who

Would not Give up

SOVRAN. JASKA IZHEVSK

CHAPTER 1

JASKA’S HURDLES

He had his rucksack draped over the edge of his shoulder. It seemed too heavy, though he carried its weight with such ease. He treaded dismally, taking one discouraged step at a time.

His worn out boots continued on, determined to get him to his destination—having served him well for the better part of his former years.

He had to walk away from what he truly believed had been his worst life yet. He had turned his back on a few significant things but most of all, he had left behind decades that had shaped the very essence of his existence.

His life up until this point had been that of distress and anxiety, and perpetual lies. He had never enjoyed it much, and had wished to change it on more occasions than he could count.

He had been eager to start anew, even though he was uncertain of what would become of him.

The sky above him was bright and with a few more clouds than usual. The sun was almost scorching though the heat did not prompt him to undress his heavy winter jacket. It was as though he was OK with the gathering of heat on his covered body but then again, it was hard to tell if he really was.

The road he was on was a bare and dusty manmade path that had expanded over the years, cutting right through what was considered then a rather flourishing forest, now taking ill from the cutting down of important tress.

The remaining trees towered way too high, almost touching the sky, lowering their sturdy branches to arm’s reach, growing out blades of green on either side of their rather thin limbs. They created magnificent cover, shielding from too much exposure to the sun.

The scent of pine struck his nostrils, followed by the earthiness that veiled his atmosphere.

Conflicting, were low isolated stumps that glared miserably at the tall and strong trees that grew unwaveringly from the earth below, supposedly anticipating a revival. Their cut crowns had disintegrated into the earth while their trunks chopped up in the dead of night to furnish fires that burnt to provide warmth during the cold months.

It was a distressing sight to behold, partly because at some point this once beautiful place had been a reliable sanctuary—not only to entitled animals but to victims of the war.

The path he was on had once been narrow and obscurely defined, and well into the forest, that it had been faultlessly convenient for those transiting through to a safe haven. During the Second World War, life had been so undesirable and unpredictable that a few had been courageous enough to flee, and this forest had served them well.

This escape route had become so popular in those days that it had encouraged large numbers of people to cross over—men, women and children, and sometimes pets. And for many months, this place had been the recommended route among victims of war who were seeking a way out to safety.

The then USSR government had caught wind of this sanctuary sometime later but not before a magnitude of fretful citizens had taken advantage of it—and had then responded as they should.

Promptly, an operation base had been set up close by to watch and curb any movement which would link the Russian territory with other enemy territories.

The Russian government has since abandoned this location, leaving it to few travelers, only monitoring the movement at the boarder some many kilometers further, but very leniently.

Pieces of torn clothing and other personal items left behind by users of this escape route was what could remind anyone of this place’s former glory.

Most of those items had once belonged to the people who had not been so lucky to make the whole journey to safety and to those who had had to abandon their luggage.

There was not as much as another person, save for a man that drove forth in an old truck. The truck’s engine struggled to power it, producing a loud chug as it rode, somewhat about to shut down.

The driver changed gears to a higher one, hoping the truck would ride easier. In that very moment, the truck gave a thumping sound, definitely warning for the last time that it would fail.

The efforts of the man in the truck did not bear any fruit—he lost control of it, and it spiraled out of control, away from the rather defined path, heading for the inside of the forest, only stopped by a huge stump that stood in its way. The truck rolled over to its side, dislodging the driver from his seat and almost out of it. It seemed as though the driver would not make it though it was too early to conclude.

The man with the rucksack had quickly moved out of the truck’s way, taking cover. He seemed appalled and muttered a lot under his breath for a short while before looking toward the accident.

He immediately abandoned his rucksack and ran to the scene when he saw the damage. He removed his winter jacket too, rolling up the sleeves of his dull shaded shirt, reaching for the inside of the truck. He took a quick peek inside to assess the extent of damage before pulling out the man who seemed too weak to get himself out. He carefully dragged the injured man out to the side of the road to check him.

He roughly folded his jacket and placed it under the driver’s head to alleviate it. He checked the man’s pulse, recognizing it at first try.

The man’s eyes were partly shut, seemingly unconscious, though not quite.

Hey, can you hear me? The man enquired, his deep native accent sounding. If you can hear me, respond! He told, tapping repeatedly on the injured man’s face.

After a couple of nudges, the man coughed, spitting out blood, and opened his eyes drowsily. He promptly reached onto his sides, wincing with pain.

He was about middle-aged, with a shaved beard and a full head of hair. His eyes reflected more of a deep ocean blue and he wrinkled at the edges. His oval face accommodated his long nose at the very centre, looking strikingly symmetrical.

He nodded slightly and coughed again, his blood plopping out onto his short-sleeved shirt and onto the man’s face also. He tried to sit up, wincing.

You may not be able to do that right now, the man advised, seemingly unbothered by the spattered blood on himself. See, I am no doctor but you may have internal bleeding. Take it easy. he added. He was kneeling over him at this point, discovering the rest of his injuries. I will take you to the doctor, is that OK with you? He informed the man after a short while.

The injured man nodded vaguely, taking heed not to move himself.

He had minimal damage to his forehead and his right leg too seemed too fragile. He lost consciousness just then.

The man checked for his pulse again.

Seemingly content with his finding, he left the unconscious man’s side for a bit and rushed towards the wrecked vehicle. It was already extensively damaged prior to the accident—its lime green paint was only in patches, and the rest of its body just exposed metal which was gathering rust. There were dents and bruises every so often all over and the tires seemed too worn out. There was really no hope of getting it started.

He rummaged inside it for any valuables, tossing them into an empty brown paper bag that was in the passenger’s seat. He noticed nothing much after that.

He then rushed back to the injured man’s side, hoisting him up to rest on his shoulder. He then picked his dirtied jacket and rucksack before starting forward.

After how far he had walked, he could see the end of the ruined forest. He was aware that he would emerge onto the highway which would have led him to his liberty. There hadn’t been a hesitation in him to submit to the needs of the injured man. His desire to help seemed to have superseded the desire for a free life, maybe he felt by doing so, he could atone for some of his past transgressions.

He managed towards the main road, continuing to the side of the tarmacked road, strenuously treading on the graveled path. The man on him was getting too heavy to walk with another distance.

He stopped and placed the man on the ground and checked his pulse once again, having crouched to his level. He was alive but unresponsive. He got up from his side and looked on the road, hardly showing the panic within him.

The injured man obviously needed urgent medical attention and there was a good chance he would not make it if help did not come soon.

The man tried to stop a couple of motorists—a few cars passed by and very casually too. There was nothing appealing about a six foot tall, well-built man with a hat over his overgrown head and a bushy beard concealing his face—he seemed too suspicious

A Good Samaritan pulled over right by them in her red sedan car, seemingly concerned or maybe curious, the man could not tell.

My, what happened here? The woman behind the wheel gasped. She had gotten out of her car and rounded to where the two men were. She was definitely curious and her concern emerged when she saw the injured man. She was alarmed and her eyes seemed like they would come out of their sockets.

A bad accident, the man replied. Would you be kind enough to get us into town? Maybe to a hospital? He asked graciously, hoping for a positive response. The urgency in his tone was audible.

Absolutely. The woman agreed. She tucked her blond hair once, opening the back door. I can help you get him inside. She volunteered.

He is rather heavy and I wouldn’t want his blood all over you. Thank you. The man said and bent low to pick up the still unconscious man.

Right. The woman said with a sigh. She rounded to the driver’s side and got into the car, only watching the injured man being hoisted into her back seat.

The very tall man had gently placed the wounded man at the back and elevated his head. He then got into the front, placing his rucksack between his feet.

He appeared rather too large for the space he had taken but that hardly seemed like a concern. He adjusted himself and complained not even once.

The woman ignited the engine once she had sensed the man’s somewhat comfort.

Thank you, the man said to the woman.

I suppose I felt drawn to you. She said with a measured grin. My name is Lucy by the way. She added, indicating to get back onto the road.

It is a pleasure Lucy. The man said kindly. His eyes did not leave the road. It is very kind of you to help. He added with gratitude.

Aren’t you going to tell me your name? Lucy politely asked.

No. The man said strongly but with the same composure he had nested.

Well, that’s not very kind of you. Lucy said, taken aback by the man’s lack of curtesy. And it is not in the least fair. She added seemingly discouraged.

Life isn’t fair anyway, the man responded and turned his head to look out of the rolled down window.

Lucy’s car was tidy with nothing very sentimental in it—maybe it wasn’t her car—it wouldn’t anyone’s business to question her about it.

There was silence for a bit. Lucy had already concluded in her mind that this man was an obnoxious human being with a very bad upbringing. Is he someone you know? Lucy started, trying to overlook his unkindness.

No. The man responded truthfully.

How did you find him? She enquired, getting a little curious. She had already given him the suspicious eye and watching out for his reaction as though she knew she would discover something sinister about the state of affairs.

I get the feeling that you have a tendency of asking more than you should, the man pointed out. He glanced at the man in the back before turning to face the front. He took out the brown paper bag that had the injured man’s valuables, completely ignoring Lucy’s curiosity.

He got out a wallet and probed it. He read through the details in his driver’s license, noting that his name was Eugen. He had a few rubles in there as well.

The man’s age according to his particulars was thirty eight.

Lucy had tried to pry, stealing a glance at the man by her side and also at the documents in his hands. She even tried to crane her neck at some point, when the car had stopped in traffic.

They had had to take the route back to town, away from the path the man had already began his journey on. They were in the city now where all the chaos the man had been escaping from dwelt.

He got very alert, darting his eyes from side to side as though keeping watch for something and with that he became a little suspicious of the unconscious man in the back, wondering how he had gotten himself in that part of the country.

He appeared harmless and very simple, maybe even good and there was no direct indication that he could be part of his past coming back to pull him back. But he felt he should be careful just in case tables turned on their hind for him.

He then tucked everything away and leant against the seat. He shut his eyes but not quite, gathering his thoughts together.

Lucy had remained quiet, unable to get the man to speak further with her. It had frustrated her, making her retreat to conjuring theories about him in her mind while trying to concentrate on the road.

She could not get herself to abruptly stop her car and kick the man out—only because there was an unconscious man who needed medical attention in her back seat. She focused more on the road, gripping the steering wheel with both her hands.

The scenery had obviously changed from long trees and lots of green to a colourful and less monotonous backdrop with grey and other contrasting colours of city buildings and modern stuff.

The last half of the journey had been accompanied by soft music that had only been faint to the ear, allowing external sounds from the surrounding to cluster in their ears.

Lucy took a right turn to where the hospital was located, driving toward the entrance. She stopped her car right at the front and immediately honked her horn to catch anyone’s attention. She got out of the vehicle after that and calling out for help.

The man got out of the car too, still intensely keen on his surroundings.

The hospital building was fairly tall with a single stone arched entrance that had a large sign over it that worded its name. Above it was a long terrace that ran across the building, having a stone decorative crest of elaborate carvings, spelling out a message. Behind the crest were the floored landings that were probably ward rooms.

There had been two or three people at the entrance standing on either side in the canopy of the arched entrance, seemingly waiting. A young boy had lagged behind near the entrance, tired maybe, from waiting too long. Two more people had been walking along, engaged in conversation, making toward a parked vehicle not too far from the entrance.

Everyone had been startled by the car’s hoot and had only relaxed and moved out of the way when a team of nurses came rushing out with a bed for the incoming patient.

Lucy stood by and watched as the medical personnel rushed toward her open car. They scooped the injured man from in there and hurried with him inside for treatment.

Lucy had hoped to get a final word from the nameless man, unfortunately he had already rushed away from her, following behind the nurses that wheeled the patient inside. She took one last glance and decided to get back into her tiny saloon car, driving off.

Once everything had settled, the man got into the recovery room to check on Eugen. It was a large room with many hospital beds placed on either side. Not every bed was occupied this day. Eugen had been placed at the very end of the room, near a small window.

He had been informed that the patient’s surgery had been completed successfully and that he would make it through the night and live—the man had been patient enough to wait through the surgery until nightfall. He had interacted with a very friendly staff who had even offered him coffee.

He placed the brown paper bag with Eugen’s valuables gently by his bed and moved towards the door. He stared for a bit before walking out.

He had already planned to come back and visit tomorrow and had even informed the friendly nurse that he would surely return to clear any pending bills.

He had used quite a large amount from his savings to enable Eugen get the care he had urgently needed. Worry had begun to bother him when he walked out of the hospital, his mind quickly searching for alternatives.

He adjusted his rucksack on his shoulder and walked down the cold street. He had his stained jacket over his arm, unable to get it back on him.

The purr of a city cat interrupted his half-sleeping state, rubbing its fur against his face and strutting back and forth, trying to get his attention. He sat up from his uncomfortable position and got up immediately. He put on his flashlight just then to scare away the cat.

The cat scampered off when he moved.

He was in a fairly large space, enclosed by a half glass half wood door. The glass on it had shattered partially, leaving a gaping hole that allowed a peek into the other space behind it. The opposite wall was arched with bricks digging an inch or two into it.

He had settled on the dusty floor for the night which had been bare, supporting his back with his rucksack. His jacket had still not parted from him.

He flung his belongings over his shoulder, starting for the exit. He emerged through a series of steps, onto an abandoned railroad.

There was no one at this time of day. It was still too early, before the first sign of light-time. The skies were dark and there was no sign of a moon.

He walked on the uneven ground, displacing the pebbles under his feet, crossing the rail-line and onto the other side, toward a road leading to the main street.

He had avoided any of the lights in the street, preferring to move within the shadows.

He was headed for the hospital that had been built conveniently by the road, expanding extensively on either side with a relevant sign facing the open road that led to the entrance. He got in without any trouble, moving as though he knew where to go.

He did not stop to speak with any of the staff at the nurses’ desk—none of the staff seemed familiar. He did not want to get by the hassle of introducing himself—he had strategically walked right past them without catching their attention.

He made his way to one of the ward rooms on the second floor, and opened the door very silently not to wake up any of the patients.

He stepped in and looked around, noticing the very obvious change. He moved a little further in to get a closer look.

Bed sixteen was suspiciously unoccupied, the sheets stretched and tucked into it and too clean looking to have a resident patient.

He immediately became guarded, trying to figure out what was going on.

He looked around him once again, noticing the vulnerable patients who were sleeping in their beds and for a moment he felt inclined to ask question of them.

He left the room, taking a different route. His first instinct was that he had been set up and that he would be ambushed any second now. He became very fearful and got his adrenaline to peak.

His way to the ground floor was too clear for him to fault the KGB. There hadn’t been any pursuit nor had be spotted anyone suspicious and he got very confused, calming down from his inclination to flee.

He carefully watched his back nonetheless as he made towards the nurse’s desk, hoping he would get some answers. He was determined to know what had happened to Eugen.

The woman behind the desk was tall and chunky with a nurse’s cap on top of her ginger hair. She had rounded glasses that covered almost half her face. She seemed very friendly and ready to help. She looked up from her work when the man approached her desk. She wore a smile, revealing her crème teeth.

Good morning sir, how may I help you? The nurse asked with a mellow voice.

Good morning madam, I am looking for a patient. His name is Eugen. He was in ward one, in bed sixteen on the second floor last night. He started, looking the nightshift nurse in the eye. What happened to him?"

Am sorry sir, but there hasn’t been a patient in ward one, bed sixteen on second floor last night, The nurse replied respectfully, her expression changing to that of surprise.

I checked him in myself. He had surgery and was wheeled into bed sixteen on the second floor, ward one! The man responded, noticing how hard he had fisted the nurse’s countertop. His frustration had leaked through his words and he had been unable at that moment to control himself. He was partly trying to confirm that he could have been set up so that he could respond in kind to liberate himself because at this point he had already accepted that Eugen had ‘escaped’ from the hospital so that the KGB could corner him. I brought him here myself. Your colleague helped me through the whole process. He said calmly, taking in a deep breath.

You must be mistaken sir, I have been here all night, and I am sure I haven’t placed any patient in ward one. She respectfully responded. I am the head nurse here. Nothing happens here without my knowledge. She explained further.

There was a lady here yesterday, tall and slender, middle-aged, he insisted as though trying to squeeze out information from the nurse.

He took a step back trying to align his thoughts.

What time did you bring in your patient? The nurse questioned, intending to ease the man’s evident frustration.

Thank you for your help. The man said with a deep sigh. He had had a change of heart. He immediately turned to leave, carrying his rucksack with him.

The happenings of this morning had defeated his efforts and he could no longer afford to remain at the hospital. He was totally convinced that he had been set up, by whom, he did not know.

It felt strange that he had not interacted with the head nurse who insisted that she had been present the previous day. There was no trace of the USSR in this whole set up. It couldn’t be them. He was so sure because they would have been present in there and arrested him already and transported him to an unknown place that would be his end.

He walked out of the hospital questioning who Eugen really was and what agency he represented. He was definitely more vigilant now about staying attentive, counting his enemies as two or even more. He had to leave sooner now.

He crossed the road to the bus bay, hoping to catch a ride to the station. He had felt the need to change his escape plan now that he was aware that someone had been watching.

He waited only a few minutes before a long night bus came to a halt before him. He got in, placing his rucksack and jacket on his lap. He sat at the back where he could see the people inside and those who would board.

He was still in a great amount of thought even as he maintained his keen watching. His brain was trying to piece everything together. His lack of adequate information did not deter him from engaging his mind to its limit. His previous training had conditioned him to think at a level that no ordinary person could. He tasked himself to figure this out, fast.

He took out his identification documents, altering them and at the same time keeping his eye at the front. He left the defaced ones under the bus seat and waited for the last stop.

This night bus had to stop at the station.

He arrived at Yaroslavsky train station where he would board the train to his next destination. So far nothing had happened and he seemed safe. There was no one following or anything tripping him to anxiety.

He had presented his new travel document to the man behind the counter before he could pay for and get his ticket.

There hadn’t been any delays—the process had been fast enough for him to be among the first people to make their way into the long train taking the Trans-Siberian railway.

He had counted himself lucky to not have bumped into unwanted folk, which would have made his travel rather difficult and strenuous. But he still felt quite bothered not knowing exactly what he was in the middle of.

It was just dawn, as the sun emerged from the horizon, lighting up the heavens with each ray of light. The skies became quite a magnificence right before his eyes, bringing forth yet another day for him to run to his freedom.

He walked towards the terminal and just before he got into the train, he felt a tagging at the hem of his clothe.

Spare some change, sir. A worn out man begged, catching his attention. The poor man sat cross-legged on the terminal floor, right at the entrance of the train. He was in tatters, with no proper shoes on his frail feet or clothes on his back. His grey hair was overgrown and unkempt, his beard not too different. Only his tiny eyes wearily looked back at the man—and his arm outstretched.

He had a metal tin at his front which he used to collect pity coins.

The man handed a note to the poor man without another thought, hopping onto the train immediately after.

He sat on the second to last row at back of the train after his ticket had been verified. He had his rucksack by his side, hidden. He put on his winter jacket, reckoning the blood on it had to be a little blended in with the dark green. It was a little chilly in there.

The sitting was a twin-set formation on either side of a square table. He was the only occupant in the seat of four. He had deliberately bought tickets for those three extra seats to have the space he wanted.

He sat back, watching as the rest of the passengers embarked. Soon, the train began its ride.

Excuse me sir, can I interest you in something to drink? A hostess strode by with her cart a few minutes after departure. Her friendly smile prompted the man to engage her.

Immediately, he shut the book before him, placing the pen gently beside it. Yes please, water. He said. He had been jotting down a few statements in the book that he had just closed.

The hostess gave him one bottled water. Anything else sir?

Nothing, thank you. He said.

The hostess took hold of her cart and moved on to the next passenger.

He watched as she moved along, intrigued by her checked outfit that she matched with white sneakers.

He opened his bottled water mid-twist, noticing some movement. He slightly turned his head to the side and returned it slowly to the front.

He placed his half-opened bottle on the table, screwing it tight.

He relaxed his body and took a deep breath.

Before the train had begun to move, he had noticed very distinct people embark. Two of them had taken their sets behind him and the other had sat at the front, a few rows ahead of him.

He had made it a point to mark them and had been watching their every move.

It had gotten a little too late for him to get off the train then and he had resolved to stay, and had readied himself for whatever would happen in the coming minutes or hours.

The well-dressed man seated at the very back, on the opposite side, was watching him and he had jerked a little causing some abrupt movement. His colleague who had been sitting beside him stood up a few seconds later and came to sit in the third row, watching him too from the other side of the aisle. Another few seconds later, the woman from the front sauntered toward him, occupying the seat adjacent to his, her eyes elevated to his.

The uneasy motions of the train made her move a bit, though she did not seem concerned. Her eyes did not leave focus, not even once.

She was smartly dressed, with an elegant brooch on her bosom. Her hair was neatly held back in a French plait. She had very red lips on her moisturized face.

Good morning Jaska, the woman greeted, oozing perfect confidence.

You have me confused with someone else lady, the man stated. He also stared, giving the woman a calm gaze.

Hmm, the lady started. Hiding for this long has tricked you into believing that you have become invisible—that you can’t be found. She stated.

The man looked at her for a while but did not utter a word. He remained calm—in his mind he was plotting a way out of the conversation.

You can’t hide for very long, Jaska. The lady told. Her tone had become very insistive.

I will politely ask you to get back to your seat, Ma’am. I don’t want any trouble. The man said with a commanding yet composed tone.

The lady sighed, reaching for something on her lap. She revealed an envelope which she opened before the man, pulling out a number of pictures. She spread them over the table, slightly displacing the man’s pen and book. I know who you are Jaska. She told confidently, gazing into the man’s eyes.

Should I be moved? The man sardonically enquired, wearing a casual smile. He had stolen a glance at the two men he had marked and returned his gaze back to the woman.

I didn’t think so, the lady replied. She revealed something else from her lap. Here, she said, handing the man a golden bullet. Go on, take a good look at it. She beckoned.

The man took it in his palm and examined it. Where did you get this? He questioned, growing very suspicious. The woman had now caught his attention.

Hardly what the point of this meeting is. The lady said, putting on a casual smile.

I am listening. Jaska told, feeling cornered. The bullet the woman had produced could have only been in his possession—it was a big marker of his old career. He had concealed it somewhere many years ago when he had first decided to leave his old life behind and only he could have been able to retrieve it, unless there had been someone present with him that night.

I am here to recruit you, the woman stated, her confidence showing off.

Hmm, Jaska sighed. Do you need the back-up for that? Slightly turning his head toward the two men who were still watching him. He did not seem as fretful as last night. He had dismissed the three very mundane people as harmless.

They say you are a very dangerous man, she admitted, confirming Jaska’s assertion.

Jaska laughed haughtily, They, are right. He said, showing off his confidence too. You should know better than to come at me like this. He warned.

The woman smiled too. I like dangerous men, like you. She asserted, somewhat with a whisper.

CIA? Mossad? MI6? Which one are you? Jaska questioned.

I am glad you asked, because I am none of those, she replied, wearing a sarcastic smile. I am way more advanced, she bragged, crossing her hands on the table.

What then? KGB? Jaska questioned.

No, I don’t belong to any agency you’ve ever heard of. She said.

Jaska laughed condescendingly. Really, what do you want? Jaska questioned very casually, a little curious. He was sort of intimidated to know the reason behind this unwarranted appointment.

The woman smiled again in the same manner. Like I said, I am here to recruit you, the woman stated.

Into what exactly?

I am part of a very secret and efficient Community that needs skill such as yours, she explained. Our Community will put all your skill to good use.

You must be out of your mind. Jaska dismissed.

As a matter of fact, I am not. The woman assured. I wouldn’t dare pursue you if I were. She added, her smile fading.

I am not interested. Jaska responded immediately. There was something not quite right, he felt. He quickly remembered the yesterday’s events and wanted very much to pin Eugen to this day’s event but he just did not have enough information yet.

I know, the woman said. I would be surprised if you agreed in our first meeting,

Why would you bother to come after me knowing I would not take up your offer? Jaska questioned, getting a little apprehensive. He felt like he had no advantage here, especially now that he was getting a few pieces to the puzzle.

I had to try, she responded promptly.

She got up graciously, straightening her frock. She gave a signal with her hand and turned to walk a few steps away on her six-inch heels.

Immediately, the two men got up from their seats, making for Jaska. They were ready for to attack. One of them forcefully knocked down his bottle of water while the other took hold of his book.

Jaska got angered very quickly when he saw the man snatch away his book—He wouldn’t hesitate to fight—He would do anything to get his book back.

Come and get it, the man said tauntingly, moving away from him. He was not very local, yet he tried to be.

Jaska got up in his rage heading directly for the man with his book, lunging at him with his fist. He missed and the other man jabbed his back with a strong blow.

He immediately turned to the second man, throwing his already clenched fist at him. He engaged him, continually jabbing at him. He kept his sight on the other man, especially on the book he had in his hand.

Jaska threw blows and kicks, ducking some oncoming ones as he further engaged in the fight. He was aggressive and would not back away.

The man seemed overpowered, though he did not stop until he fell to the ground, nursing possibly a broken nose. He had blood trickling down his front and his eyes became very weak.

The first man and the woman had stood watching, hawk-eyed. None had moved an inch from their positions.

The other passengers in the train could only fear for their lives, watching with horror-stricken faces. Most of them had moved away from the fighting scene, squeezing themselves at the nearest corners. None had dared intervene or call for help, yet. The path to the train attendants’ quarters had occasionally been blocked by the two very heavy men tossing each other around.

There was ever loud thumping and other blood-clotting sounds that just had to deter any one of the other passengers from even trying to be heroic.

The first man charged from behind Jaska, noting the defeat of his colleague. He had casually tossed Jaska’s book aside, advancing very aggressively.

He threw in some punches and kicks that destabilized Jaska for a bit, allowing for the first man to get up from his bloody mess. The man then grabbed him by the neck, thrusting him on the nearest table where a couple squirmed with fear.

Jaska’s head had been slammed on the square table more than once before being hoisted for more fists on his mid-section by the bleeding man. He had tried to fight back, punching and kicking both men, even trying to elbow his way out of the men’s grip and he did, freeing himself.

He reached for his book, intending to tuck it under his winter jacket. He stepped hard on the train floor, hurrying to get hold of the book.

The woman very gently took hold of it, bringing it to her side before Jaska could reach for it and in that moment, the two men charged at him, overpowering him.

His face hit the floor hard but his overgrown beard buffered him from a serious break to his jaw. The men pinned him to the ground and however hard he tried, he could not get himself up.

His face remained on the floor for a bit before the two men skillfully hoisted him up, almost to his feet. They lifted him up with ease as though he was just but a feather.

They dragged him toward the front where the woman was standing, watching as though her feast was being brought to her.

Jaska seemed unhurt but he was definitely worn out. He could have blamed his weakness on lack of sleep but then again, even on his worst, he could still have been able to get the job done for the KGB—he had to have been outmatched.

His eyes showed, not weakness but burning fierceness.

The woman threw a series of fists on his face and chest, aiming at weakening him further.

He did not as much as flinch when the woman’s fists collided with his body. He counted it all but bad luck.

The woman chucked out his hat and grabbed him by his overgrown hair. Listen, KGB will surely be waiting for you when this train stops. She cautioned with a calm tone. Your best bet is with us, she told.

There had been an intense pursuit of him in the past days when he had been spotted after many months of him missing in action. Every place he had sought refuge seemed to have been sniffed out by the KGB. He had been unable to stay asleep for long, factoring in one or two hours before he could have to be on the run again.

The KGB had branded him a traitor and were adamant on capturing him. He had been accused of so many things that he knew to be false. He knew the real reason the KGB were after him—Renegades like him were threats to National Security.

Jaska spat out blood, which landed on the woman’s stiletto.

The two men let him go instantly, backing away. He fell to the floor of the train just as it came to a halt.

The woman and the two men disappeared like smoke in the air after that, taking with them Jaska’s book.

The doors opened and there they were, armed KGB men in civilian clothing, their weapons aimed at Jaska.

`Jaska sat on a pew in the middle of the city. He was enjoying his first day out, breathing in the fresh air and taking in the essence of freedom.

A tall lamp post stood beside his seat, towering above him such that its light seemed too far high. Similar posts ran across the path, lighting up the street.

On his other side was a decorative ornament, only cemented there recently—of a dwarf stand, its top a couple of circles welded to form an open globe. A short arrow pierced through its hollow, running diagonally from one side to the other.

His feet firmed on the cobble-stone pavement, not too far from the tarmacked road. Behind him was a hedge that made up the covering for a recreational park, for kids and their pets.

It was night time, not many people were within his sight. The Heavens had gotten accustomed to the darkness that came with nightfall, the light of day suppressed and sent on its way.

The atmosphere was cold, with the first sign of rain showing.

He had on his same clothes on, covered under his winter jacket.

Jaska felt a droplet of rain land on his forehead—he hardly gave it any thought.

He had an old sentimental picture resting on the surface of his thigh. He had been staring at it for quite some time now, his mind wandering between reality and his memories.

His beautiful wife had held their son very close to her bosom for this picture, showing off their best smiles—her lively energy agreeing with that bright day.

Jaska missed them, a lot. It had been too long.

Good evening, Mr. Izhevsk. A sweet voice greeted and quieted after.

Hmm, Jaska sighed, turning his gaze to the side. There is nothing good about this evening, he responded respectfully after a pause.

A proper lady had comfortably sat beside him. She had a smile on her face, looking directly at him with her beady eyes. She was more beautiful with the make-up on her face, her rose-red lips wowing. Her burgundy hair fell in waves to her petit shoulders, layering her dark coat.

Her skin glistened with a tone of exotic brown, settling at bronze.

She sat with her legs crossed low and to the side, anchored on tall stilettoes. The dress she had on framed her toned limbs, ceasing at just above the knees.

She had her arms at her front, placed royally on her lap.

I certainly do not think your assertion bares any truth in it, she countered. Today’s an extraordinary evening, in fact, it’s just perfect. She explained.

You again. Jaska pointed out, alerted. How did you find me?

That’s not the right question to ask, Mr. Izhevsk. she told and paused.

I don’t want what you offer. Jaska asserted. I have had enough of the secret life, he added, an unpleasant memory flashing through his mind.

I assumed three years of captivity would be enough to change your mind, the woman stated.

Three years, Jaska repeated, recalling the past few years of his life, wasted in a prison cell. He stared ahead for a few seconds, I am done with that kind of life. He said. I want to start over, he told as though confiding in a friend.

A new life? The lady attempted to mock. You are nothing without what we offer. She reminded.

Hmm, Jaska sighed. His perceived idea of a tranquil life had somewhat been tainted by the woman’s sarcasm—how right she was! It seemed as though every time he had made a step to start over, a setback would arise. His attempts had always been just that, attempts.

We got you out, and we can get you back in. The woman informed. You are nothing without us, Mr. Izhevsk. She repeated, almost threateningly.

Hmm, Jaska sighed, thinking about the circumstance behind his release. It hadn’t made sense to him why the KGB had suddenly agreed to free him—indefinitely. There hadn’t been any explanations either. If you lie with dogs, you will get fleas. He said.

We should get inside and get cover from this rain. The woman suggested. She had tried to escape from answering to Jaska’s outrageous comparison. She had taken note of the increasing frequency of drizzles too, making her statement at the appropriate time.

I wouldn’t bring filth like you and myself to a Holy God. Jaska responded as though just swallowing bile.

Don’t be too harsh. The lady said. Filth like you and myself is the precise reason He died. She told.

Jaska was quiet for some few seconds. What’s so different about this community you speak of? He asked, gazing at the glistening gold of the church’s lighting. He felt a little confined by the woman’s responses.

We will get in touch, she responded with confidence. You are a free man Jaska, live like it. Laugh a little too. She encouraged. She got up and straightened her creasing outfit. She then strutted on, walking away from him and not looking back.

Jaska noticed a folded note on the pew where the woman had just got up from. He took it from its resting place, checking out its contents.

It had a small key and an address within its fold. He tucked both inside his pocket and got up too and walked on.

Jaska had traced the address to an apartment in town, to the topmost floor. It was inside an old complex that had somehow survived demolition by the authorities, very contrary to the surrounding buildings that intended to wipe out any remembrance of the wars that tore this city apart.

It had discolourings all around its foot, climbing all the way to the top. The windows seemed intact though barely. The main entrance to the inside was a strong wooden door with a grill reinforcement.

He had made his way inside a narrow corridor, up a flight of compact stairs to the very end of the landing. His door had no identification number on it, probably plucked from its wooden host though he could easily tell which apartment he was to get into, following the numbering on the other apartment doors.

Jaska got inside his new apartment, shutting the door behind him. He had tried to make himself at home, removing his worn out boots for the very first time since his release.

His apartment smelled dump as though it had rained in there. The air was cold too and too dense.

The living room was small with a set of two comfortable couches, opening to a tiny kitchen. Further was his bed area, separated by thick curtain, its fabric drawn back.

The walls were covered with dull wallpaper, contrasting the white of the ceilings. The floor too was covered by uninteresting carpeting all through.

Jaska made his way to the bed, noticing a large antique bath tub at the very corner, right next to a door which he assumed led to the lavatory.

There was a closed window facing him, its drapes still drawn back.

He crossed over to the window and pulled the curtain to the side. His view was cloudy though past the fogginess was the side of another established building, modern for this time in Moscow, its height almost similar to the building that housed Jaska’s apartment.

Below was a narrow path that distanced the two buildings—a concrete pavement that had a few vegetation sprouting from unsealed arears.

Jaska shut his blinds, turning towards his bed.

The single sleeper was a traditional four poster bed made of soft mahogany. It was veiled with a heavy blanket that dragged to the sides, almost to the floor.

On the bed were some useful amenities and a few other things he assumed he would use in the morning. He grabbed the kits he would need and made his way to the bathtub. He got the water running after the spout spat out a few splurges of water. Hot water begun filling the tub a few minutes later.

He opened the door leading to the lavatory after. He spotted a stained mirror by the door, positioning the shaving kit by the sink nonetheless.

His face was barely visible under the thicket of hair over it. His dark unkempt hair spilled past his nape to his back and to the sides of his temple, seemingly parted at the middle of his head. His moustache and beard covering almost half his face, disguising his face too well.

He looked at the mirror, looking into his eyes. He did not seem pleased.

He got out the shaver and begun cutting the hair from his head and face.

He came back into the room feeling somehow relieved. He undressed and jumped into the bathtub, getting comfortable.

The heat warmed up his cold skin, easing his tired muscles. It had been long since he had had a hot bath. He shut his eyes and tried not to think too much.

***

There was a loud rap on the door. Jaska got up immediately, disassociating from his slumber. He heard the knock on his door once more, this time louder than before. He got out of bed, alarmed.

He walked stealthily towards the door, picking a household item on his way. He opened the door cautiously, ready to pound the imposter, if at all that was the case.

Good morning, Mr. Izhevsk. I suppose you aren’t about to clog me with that thing. The woman behind the door said, her tone lively.

You, Jaska said, putting down the weapon.

Hurry up now—we haven’t got all morning. She said, beckoning him to get ready.

Jaska walked towards his room without a word, realizing that the woman had come to start some important business.

It felt like he had eased into the woman’s proposal to recruit him—her assumption of his agreement had made him more accepting. The fact that the community she worked for had the authority to get him out of the hands of the KGB established a relationship that he could just not walk away from without knowing more. He had easily accepted that there had to be no one else who could have done that for him and so far no one else had contended against the woman’s claim.

He hurried up and got dressed in the suit that had been laid on his bed the previous night. It fit well, almost too well. He topped it with a warm overcoat and scarf before reemerging into the living room.

The woman appeared not to have moved an inch from her spot—the switched on light suggested otherwise. Her green velvet dress hugged her body just right, with a slit up to her thigh, showing off her toned limb that stood firmly on strapping heels. Her manicured toes shone the bright red nails, demanding attention.

Her hair was straightened, pulled back and clipped.

Shall we? She gestured. She seemed admiring though she did not show more than a half smile.

Sure, Jaska said, following her out.

They made their way out of the apartment complex into a black vehicle that had parked a little off from the entrance. The driver did not speak—he ignited the engine and drove off.

Jaska had begun thinking, trying to figure out what he thought was to come. His mind could not really fathom the extent of it. He knew little about what he had passively agreed to and was attempting to hesitate.

Since his involvement with