by Jamie Smith
Nikita looked at Klitchkov and smiled, lowering his gun. “That is something I can help you with,” he said, before adding, “sir,” respectfully.
Moments later, the walls of snow around them dipped and a track led off to the left. It was not traversable by car, leading up the mountain at a sharp angle. Nikita pulled the car to the side and killed the engine. “We must go by foot from here,” he said, as they both climbed out of the vehicle.
Nikita walked around to the boot and threw it open, revealing an array of weapons bound in a heavy cloth. He unfurled the bundle and selected a VSS Special Sniper rifle, weighing it in his hands. It had a highly polished, squared off wooden handle, and a short magazine stock. Wrapped around the barrel was an integral silencer. An accessible and mobile sniper, perfect for a clandestine operation if he needed to take Brishnov out from distance, or while on the move. Slinging it across his shoulder by the strap, he reached down for a Makarov pistol, putting it into his belt, to add to the one in a holster at his right hip. He grabbed then for a weighty Sig Sauer P226, putting it into the shoulder holster.
Klitchkov tutted at Nikita’s choice of the Sig Sauer. “A German fascist gun, Allochka? You should be ashamed,” he said before picking a pair of AK-47s with obvious delight, also strapping a VSS across his back. They both armed themselves with a variety of cruel looking knives. Nikita’s eyes fell upon a Spetsnaz ballistic knife, and he slid it into a concealed sheath between his shoulder blades with a cold expression, remembering again the training in the East Siberian Taiga.
A pair of thick white ski coats and trousers were there also, and Nikita and Klitchkov both climbed into them, before shovelling ammunition into the deep pockets. There was nowhere to hide the truck, despite the fact it was a beacon to any who might be following on from them, but they shovelled snow over the roof and bonnet as much as they could.
Finally, they pulled on fur-covered snow boots, which were hideously ugly but highly effective, and then began warily trudging up the track.
CHAPTER 27
“If Veselovsky is there, we must try to take him alive,” Klitchkov said curtly.
“I will try,” Nikita responded, checking the stock of his Sig Sauer, before keeping it in his gloved hands, pointing low. “But if he puts any of my family in danger, I will take him down without hesitation.”
Klitchkov inclined his head in the shortest of nods, holding the Kalashnikovs in both hands. “I do not know when the backup will be able to reach us. We could be alone for this operation, agent.”
Nikita nodded silently.
The track took them up to the top of a low hill which looked down upon a broad, flat expanse, only just recognisable as a lake under the snow dusted across the thick ice, before curving around the summit. As they rounded the far side of the hill, the track veered downwards in a gentle zigzag and there at the foot of the valley lay the stone izba, just as he remembered it. Picturesque in its colourless surroundings, smoke furling from the chimney, a warm glow emanating from behind the curtained windows in the perpetual twilight of the Arctic Circle.
They were both breathing heavily from the difficulty of the climb through thick snow in their multiple layers. Nikita could feel a bead of sweat snaking its way down the small of his back. He breathed a sigh of relief. If Brishnov had already been here, he was certain the scene he was looking upon would be one of massacre and devastation.
Nonetheless, he knew now to take nothing for granted when it came to Brishnov. Lev Veselovsky may have had his own ideas for how to get to them.
Nikita paused, then going down on one knee, peered through the scope of his sniper. Footsteps could be seen in the snow around the cottage but none were visible on the track going down.
He walked off the track and beckoned to Klitchkov to go with him. They sat and leant with their backs to the hill, concealed from the track by a rocky outcrop. Klitchkov roughly dusted their footprints behind him with the sleeve of his coat as he followed Nikita.
“What is it, Allochka?” asked Klitchkov in the hushed voice that always descends on people when surrounded by snow.
“We need to assess the situation.”
“The situation seems clear; we have beaten them here and if we hurry, we can help them escape before the enemy arrives.”
“We know nothing for certain at this point, Chairman. One thing is definite, and that is that they are going after my family to draw me out. Brishnov will care little if my family live or die; it is me he wants.”
“You cannot give yourself up, Allochka,” said Klitchkov sternly.
“Because you want to have me hang for treason yourself?” said Nikita, with a cocked eyebrow.
“Perhaps I could suspend your sentence, if you manage to capture Brishnov and Veselovsky,” Klitchkov said, grinning.
“You will be pleased to know I have no intention of giving myself up to Brishnov. But my priority here is the safety of my family.”
“Of course.”
“From this vantage point, the scene looks secure. But the curtains are drawn and we do not know if a trap lies in wait for us. The one advantage we have on our side is that they will assume that I have been left to come on my own,” he said, looking at Klitchkov.
“A fair assumption,” agreed Klitchkov.
“It is an advantage we must keep in our hands. But first I must scope out the rear of the premises; wait here,” whispered Nikita, disappearing off across the hillside without waiting for an answer. With his white hood pulled up, he quickly disappeared into the landscape.
He stepped lightly, careful not to make any clouds of snow or sending any clumps tumbling down the hillside. He longed to just enter the house and embrace the family he had not seen for so long, but he knew he could be wasting precious time and couldn’t afford to take any chances.
Working in a wide arc, hugging the rocky hillside, and taking advantage of any crags that would hide him from view, he made it round to the rear of the homestead. As he had expected, there was no sign of anything untoward. Just a squared-off area for a garden. Nikita chuckled; it was so typical of his mother to demand that they created a garden, when the vast white expanse stretching for hundreds of miles to the Kara Sea was theirs to do whatever they wished with. The entire tundra was their back garden, and none of the animals that survived out there would be stopped by a low wooden fence. Only a rifle would stop the likes of a polar bear or charging musk ox should any of them venture closer to the izba.
Satisfied, Nikita made his way carefully back to Klitchkov’s hiding place. He found the chairman sat stiffly, looking at him crossly.
“Do not do that without conferring with me first. Do not forget I am your commanding officer.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well…?”
“It appears to be clear, sir. As for our advantage, I suggest I approach the house myself, and you cover me. I will use field signals to communicate from range. I will then secure the premises and gather my family at the rear of the property. It cannot be long until Brishnov and Veselovsky descend upon our position so we must make haste and I do not think we should return to the vehicle via the track. I suggest we go across the terrain, approaching the road further down from the left side of the hill. Do you concur?” Nikita asked.
“I concur,” agreed Klitchkov. “If you are inside and I see them approach, I will fire a warning shot through one of the upstairs windows.”
Nikita nodded, and without hesitation moved quickly back to the track and ran as fast as he was able in the giant fur snow boots down to the property. His heart was hammering in his chest; the anticipation of seeing his parents and little Milena combined with the fear that all might not be as it seemed was almost too much to bear.
As he reached the foot of the hill, he slowed and padded softly to the corner of the home and holstered the Sig Sauer, instead reaching for the Makarov, a weapon he preferred for close quarter action. He crouched and moved to beneath the first ground floor window. Raising his head, he peered thr
ough a crack in the curtains. His heart leapt into his mouth as he saw his mother with her back to him, sitting reading in a rocking chair next to the fire.
He felt nervous and uncomfortable arriving with so much weaponry. It could not be avoided.
He balled his fist and gave the thumbs up to Klitchkov who was invisible on the hillside, indicating the all clear.
Nikita stood and walked to the front door, more confident now but aware of how quickly he needed to convince his family to move out.
With a nervous glance over his shoulder, he scanned the snowy landscape, looking for any sign of life but could see nothing. His hairs were standing on end, adrenaline pumping through his veins once more.
He raised a fist and knocked on the door.
The scraping of a chair could be heard, followed by heavy footsteps coming steadily towards the door.
Just as he had a year earlier, the concerned face of Gabriel Allochka threw open the door, blocking all light with his broad shoulders, casting his face into shadow.
“Father,” said Nikita, eyes wide, suddenly feeling childlike.
“Niki!” boomed his father, grabbing him into a bear hug, before pulling away with alarm as his hand landed on one of the weapons Nikita was carrying. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, confused.
“This is not a social call, father; we are in grave danger,” Nikita said, his face serious. He pushed past and into the warmth of the izba, closing the door swiftly behind him.
In seconds, his mother and Milena were upon him, hugging him tightly. His mother pushed back his hood, covered his head with kisses and sobbed with happiness. “My son! Oh, praise God, it is good to see you.” She pulled back and inspected him, a huge smile across her warm face. “What a handsome man you have become,” she said, beaming, before pulling him to her again. She smelt of summer meadows, warm and fresh; it transported Nikita to a different time and he longed to stay in the embrace.
Gathering his wits, he pushed both off him. His father still stood with his back to the door, and Nikita, pulling Milena into another hug, signalled to Gabriel and his mother with his eyes.
“Milena, how have you become even taller! You are catching me up!” he said with forced cheerfulness.
Mercifully, Sophie had grasped that something was awry. “Milena, you have dirt on your t-shirt; go and change it so you don’t get it all over Niki’s lovely white clothes,” she said gently.
Milena pouted, but clearly knew better than to argue, and dashed off upstairs.
Nikita wasted no time. “I am desperate to spend time with you all, but right now you must listen to me. You are all in grave danger; I do not have time to explain, but some terrible men are coming for you all. I need you both to put on your outdoor clothes, Milena too, and come with me.”
Sophie looked shocked, and Gabriel’s eyes flashed. “We can’t just leave,” said his mother. “All of our things…”
“If all goes to plan, you will be able to return at some point,” Nikita said. “But we must go, NOW.”
Gabriel looked concerned. “Are you OK, son?” he asked softly.
“I will be once I know the three of you are safe,” he responded. Then when neither of them moved, dreadful concern and panic welled inside him. “Please,” he pleaded, wide-eyed, “we have to go.”
Gabriel nodded. “Milena!” he called. “Come here, we are going for an adventure with Niki,” he said, as he pulled on his thick black overcoat and pulled a woollen hat down low over his head. He picked up Sophie’s coat and offered her a sleeve in which she duly placed her arm with a smile. He tenderly pulled the coat to her other arm and wrapped his arms around her, placing a soft kiss on her head.
Milena’s footsteps could be heard pounding down the stairs. “An adventure?” she asked curiously. Her hair had been put into long braids that were bunched on top of her head.
“Yes, I think you are due an adventure with your big brother, aren’t you?” Nikita said, his insides churning. “Come on now; put your jacket on as quickly as you can.”
“All right, what’s the hurry?” she said, flouncing awkwardly somewhere between child and teen.
“Come now, Milena; off we go,” said Sophie Allochka, throwing her coat over to her pouting daughter and then putting on her own snow boots. Gabriel went to put out the fire burning in the hearth, and Sophie, still beaming and looking at Nikita with eyes full of love, went to help Milena into her boots, much as she squirmed and resisted.
Nikita cautiously turned the latch on the door and opened it a crack. “I am just going to check… the conditions,” he added lamely, but Milena was too distracted by Sophie’s fussing and didn’t notice.
Gabriel turned his head and nodded, mouthing, “Be careful.”
Discreetly withdrawing his Makarov, Nikita stepped outside, closing the door quickly behind him. He held up three fingers followed by a chopping motion to the spot where he knew Klitchkov was watchfully waiting. He then carried out a quick reconnaissance of the property’s perimeter. Using the scope on his sniper he scanned the surrounding area but there was no sign of life and all was deathly quiet. Almost too quiet.
He returned to the front door and entered discreetly. His family were all ready and waiting. Their outfits were a range of colours, all of which would stand out like sore thumbs on the glistening white tundra, but it couldn’t be helped on such short notice.
“Is everybody ready?” he asked, and they cheered, Milena’s eyes looking full of excitement. He reminded himself that he was the only person other than his parents that she would have seen for many years, aside from whoever delivered them their food.
“OK. Part of the adventure is that we have to go as quickly and as quietly as we can round the left of the hill. It will not be easy going away from the track.”
“Daddy says we should never leave the track.”
“Normally Daddy is completely right, but today is a very special day for a very special adventure!” Nikita said. “Now I need you to all follow me in single file once we leave the izba, understood?”
They all nodded. Gabriel’s eyes were an unreadable combination of fire and sadness, while Sophie’s face was set with a determination that could not disguise the intense fear. “We are right behind you, Niki,” she said encouragingly.
Nikita threw open the door and stepped outside. As he did, he heard the sound of broken glass in an upstairs window.
CHAPTER 28
As he heard the gunshot to the upstairs window, Nikita turned to see his mother coming out behind him and screamed, “MOTHER, TURN BACK!”
She looked down at him with alarm just as he heard the terrible crack of a rifle echo across the valley and he dived at her, as Gabriel grabbed her with a giant hand, and together they propelled her back into the cottage.
Nikita had barely landed before he had slammed the door shut with his foot and leapt onto his feet.
He had dropped the Makarov in the fall and bent over to pick it up. That was when he saw the blood on the cream carpet and his heart froze. He looked up to his mother, just as his father released a heart-wrenching wail that came from the depths of his soul.
Sophie Allochka was lying in her husband’s arms, a benign smile forever fixed on her face. That gentle, kind face was blemished in death by a bullet wound just above her left eye.
Gabriel Allochka was covered in blood and rocking with his wife in his vast arms, his eyes closed, a gentle giant.
Milena, pale and wide-eyed ran to her mother and started shaking her. “Mama! MAMA!” she cried, her small fists beating on the now silent chest of her mother.
Nikita ran over, everything seeming a blur. He pulled Milena up and hugged her tightly, and felt the tears coming. The tears he had buried for so many years. He had failed.
Another gunshot through an upstairs window brought him back to his senses. They were coming.
Suddenly his sadness was replaced by a burning, red hot, destructive rage. Then his training reasserted itself. His eyes were
ablaze, his own mother’s blood spattered across his face.
He released Milena and went to his father.
“Papa,” he said, a strong hand on his father’s shoulder. “Papa, are you hurt?” he asked, running his hands over the blood-and-brain-spattered face and chest of his father. Gabriel looked up at him with so much pain that Nikita’s legs buckled beneath him, falling to his knees, his forehead against his father’s.
He pushed himself off, and tried to pry his father’s arms from around his mother. He would not release.
“Father, we have to go; they are coming,” he said slowly.
His father only shook his head, a fresh wave of sobs racking through him. “Father, please,” he pleaded, before adding softly, “for Milena.”
At that, Gabriel’s shaking ceased and he nodded. He released Sophie with a tenderness that belied his size, and wrenched himself to his feet. He then picked his wife up gently and laid her on the sofa near the fire before turning with fury written through the lines of his face.
Milena had curled up in the corner of the room, her head between her legs. She wasn’t crying, but her entire body shook as Nikita lifted her easily into his arms and carried her over to their waiting father.
“We do not have long; they will be through the door any moment. Chairman Klitchkov is trying to cover us, but we do not know how many there are.”
“Chairman Klitchkov?” Gabriel said sharply. “I will not go anywhere near that man; look how much he has taken from us.”
“He is our only hope now, Father,” Nikita snapped. “Follow me upstairs, and do not walk in front of any windows,” he ordered, leading them upstairs, focusing only on the situation at hand. He walked into his parents’ bedroom which faced out onto the front of the house.
