Master

by Catherine Taylor

  Back to the couch, she waited and her temper quickly revived as he walked through the door.

  “Are you crazy?” she yelled, jumping up from the couch. “You could have fallen. You could have been killed, and what would have happened to me? Did you think of that when you were acting like a schoolboy, climbing up buildings? And what about your poor neighbours? Did it not occur to you that you might frighten some poor old lady with you climbing onto her balcony uninvited?”

  Jahn had stopped in his tracks and was staring at her incredulously. A grin edged at his mouth.

  “For a start, there are no old ladies living in that building. It’s empty and awaiting demolition like most of the buildings around here, and this is not the first time I’ve had to retrieve our ball from there.”

  “So, that makes it alright to risk your life for a stupid ball?”

  “Since climbing is part of my fitness regime, I’ve never considered it a risk, compared to far more dangerous aspects of my life. Those coalminers I worked with are in more danger than I will ever be.”

  His calm response quenched her anger, but she glared at him sulkily. “You scared me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hit him or hug him, with his amusement still evident. “Aren’t you a bit old to be running around with boys playing ball games?”

  “No,” he replied with a shrug. “It’s good exercise and allows me social interaction with my neighbours.”

  “With the boys who tried to break into your apartment?”

  “I told you, I sorted it and now they have a bit more interest than sitting around drinking vodka and doing drugs all day. They like to be awake to join me in the morning, and they can’t if they’ve been hitting it hard in the daytime.”

  “So this is a regular thing, playing football at that hour of the morning, probably disturbing everyone around?”

  “No, many times we go running, but we are disturbing no one. The few neighbours that have remained sleep easier knowing the boys are with me, rather than breaking into their homes. Now, if it is alright with you, I’d like to take a shower.”

  Lena was already feeling a little embarrassed by her outburst, and waved him off. “What do I care what you do?”

  Jahn shook his head and grabbed his clothes and a towel. When he was gone, Lena sighed and berated herself.

  “Now I’m a nag,” she growled.

  Looking toward the kitchen, an idea occurred to her and she jumped up from the couch. In the fridge she found eggs and sausages, and bread in the cupboard.

  “How hard can it be?” she grinned as she filled the kettle.

  Twenty minutes later, Jahn returned to a smoke filled apartment and a distraught girl using her fingers to throw burnt sausages from a frying pan onto a plate. Rushing in, he moved her aside firmly as he turned the stove off and grabbed out tongs and an egg flip from the drawer.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked as he scraped the burnt food from the pan.

  “I was trying to cook your breakfast,” she sniffed.

  His attention remained on the mess. “Go and open the fucking window in the lounge.”

  When he turned back, Lena was angrily trying to hoist the window with no success. Jahn strode up and again moved her away as he undid the latch and lifted the window easily.

  “Fucking useless,” he mumbled.

  “I’m not fucking useless,” Lena screamed at him. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

  Jahn calmed quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  His words did nothing to halt the rising emotions, which had begun with her failure at cooking.

  “Do you even like me?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t dislike you,” he replied uncomfortably. “You put on a bit of turn sometimes, but you’re still a nice girl.”

  “A nice girl,” she repeated sadly. “But not the type that would ever interest you. Not the type that you would ever want to touch, unless it’s to clean up my fat, useless body.”

  His face grew angry. “What the hell are you going on about, Lena? I told you that I wouldn’t touch you, and stop making disparaging remarks about yourself. I’m sorry for what I said.”

  Lena started toward the kitchen.

  “What are you doing now?” Jahn demanded.

  “Cleaning up my mess.”

  “Leave it. I’ll clean it up and fix your breakfast for you. Do you want a coffee first?”

  She shook her head. “I’m going back to bed. I’m sorry that I burnt everything.”

  He watched her shuffle away and the bedroom door close after her. Dropping down onto the couch, Jahn leant forward, resting his head against his clasped hands. Glancing up at the lingering smoke and the disaster in the kitchen, he grinned for a moment, before his face became stony.

  It wasn’t often that he felt uncertainty. Everything was always well planned and executed, with the usual variables accounted for, none which included emotions. Admittedly, a simple task had taken an unexpected personal angle long ago. Surveillance often produced those surprising snippets of information that could be useful outside of the job, but nothing like this, and Lena was a variable on her own.

  Frowning, he reached down to retrieve his jacket from the floor and drew the envelope from the pocket. His eyes skimmed over the random numbers and letters scattered over the paper inside. He sighed and tore it up as he made his way out to the kitchen, throwing the pieces into the garbage chute.

  The burnt offerings of breakfast lay in the pan. Picking up a sausage, he broke it open to see the rawness inside. He chuckled and threw it into the chute, before pushing up the sleeves of his jumper.

  It was late morning when Lena launched from the bedroom.

  “I have to pee,” she grumbled as she flew past Jahn who was reading a book on the couch.

  On her return, she hovered about restlessly, looking at the clean kitchen and giving him sulky glances.

  “I’ve made you a sandwich and your pills are on the bench. Make sure you take them.” he told her, as he got to his feet. “I have to go out.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re leaving me alone? Why can’t I come with you?”

  “Lena, I have work I have to do, and I’ll only be gone a few hours. The door will be locked and no one will bother you. You don’t go out of the apartment and you don’t open the door to anyone.”

  “Aren’t you worried that I will try to escape?”

  He shook his head. “Not now that you’ve seen where I live. You would have to get past those boys first and then out of this district. I think you realise how foolish that would be.”

  “And what if I have to pee?”

  Jahn grinned sheepishly and pointed to a bucket in the kitchen. Her mouth fell open and she glared at him.

  “I’ll hold it until you return,” she said angrily.

  “It’s not good to hold your bladder, especially after the infection you’ve had.”

  She maintained her glare. “My bladder can fall out before I’ll use that bucket.”

  Jahn sighed deeply. “Suit yourself. Just do as I have told you. If I find you’ve been to that bathroom…”

  “You’ll what?” Her gaze was defiant.

  “Don’t push me, Lena. You won’t like the results.”

  “Why, because I’m a nice girl, because I’m not like those girls in the photos? You might be surprised.”

  “No, I wouldn’t be.” Jahn picked up his keys. “Just, please, do as I ask. I know I should have shown appreciation at your attempt at breakfast, and I shouldn’t have called you useless. I apologize for that. Now, I am hoping that you might do me this favour.”

  His polite request quelled her anger enough to reply begrudgingly. “I won’t go out, I promise, but I’m not using that bucket.”

  “Fair enough.” His smile broadened as he went to leave. “And no more cooking.”

  “Go,” she growled, grinning as the door shut after him.<
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  As much as she hated being left behind, Lena was relieved that the morning drama was behind them. Some time alone would do her good.

  She was already ashamed of how much he was occupying her thoughts, and how little time she was giving to what usually tormented her. Was it wrong to want to move on, to finally accept her loss? It had been nearly two years, and although the pain was still harsh, it was now competing with this strange sense of hope and longing to be part of life again.

  Common sense told her that there was a very real concern that she was setting herself up for another shattered heart that had only just begun to mend. Why did life have to be such a gamble?

  Collapsing onto the couch, she picked up the book that Jahn had been reading. It was in English, but she could see, with the map and pictures, that it was a book about Britain. There were several pages dog-eared and words underlined. One word, ‘London’ was one she could recognise. Before anything might have started between them, he was already planning to leave.

  * * * *

  Before reaching the city, Jahn turned off to the north and headed towards the gardens. On arrival he stayed in the car, taking time to examine the few vehicles in the parking bay. There were none of the tell-tale service vans or trucks that were used for surveillance. It was habit, more than real concern. They would be too far inside the gardens for any transmission.

  Once inside the gates, he took his time strolling along the path, quietly observing the people around him, and methodically identifying the foreign dialects. The number of tourists visiting Ukraine was growing each year, and attractions like the gardens were diligently attended, but it would be another month before the flowers showed their full potential.

  He smirked as he compared the serenity around him to his morning at the apartment. It seemed that, even away from her, she still invaded his thoughts. While he should be preparing for this meeting, he was still thinking about the roundness of her buttocks. He could imagine her roped up and tied down, spread-eagled and gagged, so that he could concentrate on them without her interference.

  A leather or maybe a rubber paddle would have to be used to bring them to the crimson he adored, without spoiling the surface with welts and bruises. The few slaps he had given her had produced instant colour, and it wouldn’t take much to redden her. Then he would be able to brush his lips and tongue over the heated flesh, maybe biting her softly, knowing her fear would be battling with arousal.

  Not that he would hurt her much. She was too vulnerable and fragile to elicit the pleasure that he got from their agony. It had to be given willingly, at least from those he cared about. None of them would ever know the extent of his sadistic nature, which was reserved for those he despised.

  It was tempting to accept the subtle challenges she was giving him, though he was sure they stemmed from curiosity more than desire. If only she knew how well he could read her, especially in the way that she blushed at his threats. He was certain he could bring her to climax just by a promise of punishment, detailing everything he would do to her. It could prove entertaining to see how she would react, if he took her over his knee. He grinned as he imagined her screaming at the top of her lungs and fighting him every step of the way.

  Ahead, he could see an old man sitting on one of the park benches and his mind cleared instantly. There was no acknowledgement as he passed, but when he took another seat further along, the man got up and approached, casually sitting down with him.

  “You’re being generous today,” he grinned. “Normally we have to walk for miles until you decide where our meeting will take place.”

  Jahn shrugged. “Just changing with the times.”

  The old man chuckled as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Yes, I kind of miss the old days when you just knew that everyone was listening to you. Now we just listen to the foreigners and even they don’t have anything interesting to say.”

  Jahn frowned his disapproval as he lit a cigarette and sent a plume of smoke into the air. The old man grinned guiltily.

  “I know, it’s a filthy habit. Twice I’ve given up, but you have no idea of the pressure my family put me through. If you take my advice, you’ll remain single.”

  “I plan to.”

  “Teenage girls,” he sighed. “I didn’t have anywhere near the same trouble with the boys, but they were brought up with the right values, not that our daughter wasn’t, but she is a victim of this new world that Gorbachev inflicted on us with his fucking glasnost and perestroika, bringing in decadent ideology of the West. Now it is all about sex. Have you seen that club, right in the middle of town?”

  Jahn nodded. “Several times.”

  The old man laughed. “You’re young, and there is nothing wrong with wanting to look at a bit of female flesh, but we used to do it in private. Now it is on display for all the world to see.”

  “Strip clubs and prostitution are inevitable,” Jahn stated impassively. “Women have learnt there is money to be made, but it is some of the other activities of that club I would be more concerned about.”

  “You know something?” The old man shifted to peer at him.

  “I know you should be keeping your daughter away from it.”

  “Easier said than done,” the old man scowled. “She’s eighteen now and she tells my wife and I that we have no say anymore. She tells us that we are living in the past, and goes off for days on end, and then I have to listen to the wife tell me what a useless father I am. What am I supposed to do?”

  Jahn arched an eyebrow and glanced at him. “Are we here for me to give you advice on raising your children?”

  “Of course not,” the old man chuckled. “Sometimes I forget that you aren’t even thirty, and yet you seem to possess this ancient wisdom, not to mention your academic achievements. You’ve taught me a lot over the years.”

  “So what is this problem they have with me at the moment?

  “Not a problem, just a need for a little more information. We know you don’t operate conventionally, Jahn, but we’re having trouble understanding this latest development, namely the girl.”

  “Your man is proving difficult to locate. If he is still in Russia, or any other of our former states, this will draw him out. The girl is close to him, but even more he has an arrogance that won’t tolerate this shame. When he learns what has happened, I believe he will act.”

  “We ourselves have investigated his family. His daughter is dead, and there has been no contact with the others that we are aware of. Dmitri Petrenko is involved in small time racketeering and the black market. We’re not interested in him, and as for his daughter, well, you would know that she is nothing special.”

  “She is the granddaughter of Victor Makarov. That makes her special.”

  “You think that he is still in contact with her?”

  Jahn shook his head. “No, but it stands to reason that he would want to hold on to his last remaining family. He has married twice in several years and neither marriages produced a child and ended in divorce.”

  The old man nodded thoughtfully. “So the old bastard is firing blanks and he’ll need an heir to pass his stolen wealth to.”

  “I’m not so sure of that. I just know that he has a set of eyes keeping watch on Donetsk. How else is he able to bid on the auctions and orchestrate them to his advantage? Already he has snapped up another steelworks and a coal mine.”

  “Which is why we must ensure that this idiot in Russia never returns to power. The elections are only a year away. Our Party candidate will ensure these rich traitors receive their just desserts.”

  “If he can get elected,” Jahn reminded him. “The oligarchs have the power at the moment. They have the money and they have the media. The West likes this current president, and I find it hard to believe there would be a return of power to the hardliners.”

  “Victor Makarov was himself a loyal Party member once, a KGB operative, no less.”

  “And now he is a very rich man, like most of the elite from the Politbu
ro. He made his wealth by exploiting socialism, not embracing it, and he stepped on a lot of powerful toes along the way. There is a lot more than you who would like to see him dead.”

  “Why doesn’t he just go and join the bourgeois society that he seems to love so much, and then we don’t have to endure his influence in politics.”

  “This place has a lot more resources yet. He won’t leave until he has bled this country dry, or unless someone stops him.”

  “And you think this girl is the answer to our problem?”

  “He’s either going to come for her, or he’s going to bring me to him. Either way, there won’t be a problem anymore.”

  The old man peered intently at Jahn. “Forgive me for stating the obvious, but doesn’t this put you in a rather precarious position? You’ve always worked in the shadows, which has worked well for both you and the Party. This exposes you. How can you expect to do covert infiltration if everyone knows who you are? Are you planning on retiring or something?”

  Jahn’s face grew hard. “Something.”

  “Whatever it is, you’ve earned it. The Party has been pleased with your work.” The old man chuckled. “Pity we have to do away with the girl. Otherwise you could marry her and be a rich man yourself.”

  “Why would you have to kill the girl?”

  “If what you say is correct, she stands to inherit everything. With her gone, the government, the right government, can reclaim the assets.”

  “Most of which would be in foreign accounts.”

  “Yes, accounts which we have been unable to find, but nobody thought to look for anything under Lena Petrenko. You may have just pointed us in the right direction.” The old man laughed. “I told them. I told all those suspicious bastards at the Party; if Jahn has made a strange move, then he has done it for a good reason.”

  Jahn frowned at him. “It hasn’t worked yet.”

  “But it will. I can feel it. We are closer to Victor Makarov than we have ever been.” He smiled at Jahn. “This is going to be your last assignment, isn’t it?”