Master

by Catherine Taylor

  “Because this is where you belong. This is your heritage. I can see your tattoo, your tribute to Thailand, but that was never our home.”

  “My home was wherever my family was.”

  Taras shook his head in contempt. “We had no business being there. Who knows how advanced the Soviet would have been if our father had remained true. Did you know what he was working on when we left?”

  “I actually don’t give a fuck.”

  “Chemical weaponry,” Taras stated defiantly. “Weapons that would have made nuclear pale in comparison. Our father was a genius. I saw all his diaries, I read his notes, though most of them are in code. In the right hands, his work could have been deciphered…”

  “How did you see his notes? Jahn glared at Taras. “Poppa had everything locked away. He would have known if someone had been into his things.”

  “It doesn’t matter how I saw them.”

  “What happened that day? Why did Makarov butcher them like that? Why were we separated? Why didn’t they kill us?”

  “There’s a lot you do not understand. You were a boy, too distracted by your juvenile pursuit of fighting.”

  “I won the tournament that day, and I wanted to see the smile on Poppa’s face when I told him. He’d never said much, but I knew he would have been proud. Even that time I gave you that beating and made you look like an idiot, he came to me that night. I was still sore from the hiding he gave us both. He said that there was nothing wrong with being powerful, as long as I didn’t abuse my power, that there was no honour in defeating those who are weaker than us.”

  Taras scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He told me how he had failed you, allowed you to become entrenched in an intolerant, system that pushed its doctrines from the cradle, despised religion and anything anti-Soviet.”

  “There is nothing wrong with learning what is true. Russian, Ukrainian, we were all the grandchildren of Lenin, a great man who showed us the futility of religion and capitalism, the power of the collective. My happiest days were spent with the Young Pioneers, singing the songs of our glory, making my way up the ranks to become a man Lenin would have been proud of. Praise that I never received from our father. Instead he dragged me away from all of that. He made us traitors, to be despised and spat on. I had to endure listening to Kristina and our mother ranting away at the air, to a god that doesn’t exist and watch you become a Neanderthal, cavorting with gooks and fairy boys.”

  “They were nicer than you.”

  “Yeah, well I see nothing has changed in seventeen years.”

  “Poppa told me that I should never have humiliated you,” Jahn grinned. “But he did hope that the kick in the arse I gave you, might take you down off your high horse.”

  There was no amusement in Taras’ face. “My achievements speak for themselves, which is more than you can boast. The services I have performed for the Soviet…”

  “Are now defunct, because the Soviet is dead, and anything you ever did was fucking useless.”

  Taras scoffed. “If you are trying to provoke my temper, you’ll be sadly disappointed. I’ve learnt a lot about closing off emotions.”

  “So I realised,” Jahn stared at him icily. “When I learned of how you killed our family.”

  Taras straightened up with a mirthless grin. “I figured you would find out. When you went after Makarov, I believed you wanted him for revenge, and I thought I could make it right between you and me. That’s why I got you out. Obviously I should have let him kill you.”

  “Yes you should have, because once I had learnt the truth, I was always going to come after you. Now, you’ve just saved me the trouble of finding you.”

  “Except I’m the one with the gun,” Taras smiled. “You prided yourself in your brute strength, your primitive need for aggression, while I trained in covert weaponry, in the skills of marksmanship that use no more energy than pulling a trigger. I learned how to kill a man with a single pellet from a blow pipe. I can throw a knife with pinpoint accuracy from fifteen metres and lodge it in the throat of a man. Who is the idiot now?”

  “That would be you,” Jahn smiled. “With all your training you failed to recognise a simple device like a remote detonator. I trained in explosives.”

  Taras jaw slackened and he brought his gun up to aim at Jahn’s head. “Get your fucking hands up.”

  Jahn raised his hands, and Taras brought the muzzle to his temple as his other hand searched frantically within his pockets.

  “Where is it?” he yelled.

  “Easy, Taras. You’re getting emotional.”

  Taras backed away, keeping the gun trained on Jahn as he looked for Natasha. She was gone. A short, thick trail of blood showed that she had only dragged herself behind an old oil drum, but she was out of his line of fire.

  His head was turned for a moment, but it was enough for Jahn to launch a savage kick to his hand. The gun went flying and clattered down on the floor several feet away. Taras had barely moved for it, when Jahn’s fist smashed into his face.

  He fell down hard, but instinctively reached for the short knife at his belt. The pain was excruciating. His nose was shattered and there was blood in his eyes, but years of training would not fail him now. He would not be humiliated again.

  As Jahn reached for him, he thrust his arm forward. The knife plunged into Jahn’s side and remained embedded as he pulled away, the agony clearly visible on his face.

  Taras spun onto his front, scrambling across the floor to retrieve the gun, but he had not gone two feet before Jahn was on him again. The sheer strength of his younger brother was beyond what he had expected. Even wounded he would have no chance against him.

  When Jahn rolled him back, Taras grabbed him. Clutching onto him with all the strength he could summon, Taras felt about for the knife, seized the hilt and ripped it out. Blood sprayed out and Jahn arched up, his face contorted and his mouth wide in silent agony.

  Taras pushed him off furiously, shifted back and watched Jahn roll onto his back. He was still conscious, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, but the blood was pouring from him. Heaving, Taras got up and stumbled to the gun. The moment it was in his hand, he looked to the exit but it was across the other side of the shed. He would have to cross a floor under which the explosives sat.

  His eyes went back to the oil drum. He had to get that detonator. The fact that they hadn’t gone up yet meant that Natasha was reluctant to use it, or with any luck she was already dead. Taras ignored his injuries and sprinted.

  Natasha was lying on her side, curled up. Taras seized her wrist, and prised her fingers open to find nothing in either hand. His breathing eased until Natasha grinned at him.

  “We always operate on a timer,” she whispered weakly. “Twenty minutes. Makes it more exciting and gives us time to change our minds. I reckon you have about ten seconds to stop it.”

  Tara snarled viciously. “Where the fuck is it?”

  Natasha’s grin broadened. “You still have time, just grab it out of my arse, and push the button.”

  The look of horror made her laugh. “Your loss, you fucking prick. Boom.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Dmitri Petrenko stood at the kitchen door gazing at the crowded tables, as waiters hurried past him. He chuckled and went back into the kitchen, dodging his flustered staff. Lena was at the stove, stirring a large pot of steaming borscht and ladling it into bowls.

  “We’ve had to turn people away,” he laughed.

  “Don’t just stand there, Poppa,” Lena growled. “There are salads to prepare. Danil needs a hand with the washing up.”

  “And you need to take a break,” he returned gruffly. “You haven’t sat down for hours. I can take over here.”

  “There is too much to be done.”

  He took the ladle from her hand. “Go and take a break.”

  She smiled at him. “Yes, Poppa.”

  Wiping the sweat from her brow with her apron, Lena planted a kiss on his
cheek. “Thank you.”

  Removing her apron, she headed towards the exit, giving Danil a nod of her head as she passed a sink piled with saucepans. Outside in the alley, the cool night air was a relief from the heated kitchen.

  A moment later, the door opened and Danil came out, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He offered one to Lena but she shook her head.

  “Those things will kill you,” she chided him playfully.

  Danil grinned as he lit one. “I’ll take my chances. Busy night, tonight.”

  Lena nodded. “It’s wonderful. I’ve never seen Poppa so happy.”

  “I wish that I could say the same for you.”

  “Not until I know he is alright.” Lena gazed at him. “Did you go there today?”

  “I went there yesterday on my day off. No one has heard anything. Lena, it’s been two months. You shouldn’t…”

  “He’s alive.” She said firmly. “I just don’t know where to look for him. I took food to the factory as well a few days ago. They haven’t heard from him either, but I’ll look after them, for him. He would want me to do that.”

  “And that other place?”

  Lena shook her head. “There is no sign of Natasha, and in the last week her apartment has been emptied out.”

  For a while they stood silently, with Danil blowing smoke into the air, struggling to think of something to say.

  “It’s a good job. I like it.”

  “I’m glad. It is another thing he would approve of.”

  “And your cooking is getting good.”

  Lena laughed. “I do an incredible borscht, but little more than that. His recipe, but I am learning, and the chefs are all wonderful. They say they will teach me anytime.”

  “They’re hitting on you, Lena.”

  “They are not,” she chided him. “They are friendly and helpful, and besides I am not interested in boys. Running this restaurant is all I am concerned about. And you, when are you going to take some lessons in cooking? You don’t want to be washing dishes all your life.”

  When he didn’t answer, she looked at him and saw that he was gazing past her, his cigarette not getting any closer to his open mouth. Turning around, Lena felt her skin prickle and her heart dropped to her stomach. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the silhouette of the man standing at the end of the alley, not that she wanted to.

  As she started walking towards him, she expected him to disappear any moment, and her pace picked up until she was running.

  Jahn grimaced as she crashed into him, her arms crushing his body while her own began to shake. He held her patiently, knowing it would be a while before her crying eased. When she finally looked up, he gave her a lopsided grin.

  “You smell like borscht.”

  Lena laughed through her tears. “Thanks.”

  “I like borscht,” he assured her, but the smile drifted from his face. “I need to talk to you.”

  She nodded. “We can go upstairs.”

  “In a minute. Right now I just need to look at you.”

  He suddenly lifted her and held her up against the wall, pressing into her until her legs had to go about his hips. His mouth was all over her, kissing at her breasts and her shoulders, and up her neck until he found her lips.

  The passion of his kiss was devastating, but Lena welcomed his tongue invading her mouth, his hands gripping her buttocks painfully. Her heart was racing, and it was impossible to breathe, but she would have died happily at that moment. It was his desperation that frightened her. When he relaxed, he remained huddled against her, burying his head under her chin.

  “Natasha is dead.”

  Lena felt her heart rip in two. She wanted to scream, but she could only imagine the pain that Jahn was suffering. He was the one who needed comfort. She wrapped her arms about his head, kissing his hair, letting him just hold on to her.

  There were tears in his eyes when he looked up, but he smiled. “Look at you. You’re beautiful, and the restaurant…”

  “Poppa and I have been running it together. I’m trying to learn to be a chef.”

  His smile broadened. “You will be incredible.”

  “I just have to try not to eat all the food.” She laughed weakly but could not maintain her strength. “Natasha, how did she…?”

  “Saving my life, as she always did, in a place that was special to both of us.”

  His face contorted with grief again, and she held him tightly, frightened by seeing him so vulnerable, but knowing that, more than ever, she had to be strong for him. He continued to kiss her and grasp her roughly, but she made no complaint.

  His grip relaxed on her and he put her down. “Show me your restaurant.”

  Taking his hand, they walked back to the door where Danil was waiting. He grinned as Jahn raised an eyebrow at his apron.

  “You see what you have me doing?”

  “It’s honest work, but how the hell did you get here?”

  Danil looked at Lena. “She walked right into our street, and nearly got mugged. I had to help her, again.”

  Lena winced and glanced up to see that Jahn didn’t look happy.

  “You really did blow it up,” she grinned. “They have it all fenced up and there are soldiers going through the rubble, and it was on the news’ stories every night for…”

  “You had no business going back there,” he told her firmly. “It is still a dangerous neighbourhood.”

  “I was fine,” she insisted. “I only had to mention your name and they all became very polite. They all wanted to tell me what happened that night. It sounded terrible, but they say that the bald ones are gone. They still play football every morning and they talk of you and miss you very much.”

  “That doesn’t explain what he is doing here,” Jahn frowned at Danil.

  “I made the mistake of telling her that you wanted me to do something with my life.” Danil scowled. “She nagged me and literally dragged me here, but it isn’t so bad. I share an apartment with two of the chefs and it’s kind of cool.”

  “Enough talk,” Lena announced. “Jahn needs rest.”

  The kitchen staff were still rushing about as they entered. Jahn stopped and marvelled at the activity.

  “It is only a restaurant now,” Lena said proudly. “We serve good food and wine, and Poppa is not interested in anything else.”

  “I saw that you had changed the name.”

  Lena nodded and smiled. “It was Poppa’s idea and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “Lena’s Palace.” Jahn nodded thoughtfully. “I like it.”

  She drew him through to the stairs and found herself swept up over his shoulder.

  “Jahn, put me down. I am quite capable of walking up stairs.”

  He landed three hard swats to her bottom. “You’ll do as you’re told, woman.”

  Lena smiled and said nothing more until they were in the lounge room, where he put her down.

  Gazing up at him, she smiled. “How did I survive without you?”

  His face was sombre. “Because you a strong, brave woman. I told you that. You just had to find out for yourself.”

  “But you’re back now, and I won’t have to be so strong and brave.”

  “Yes you will, Lena. Tonight more than ever.”

  Her face crumpled but she tried to smile. “Are you planning on breaking my heart?”

  “No, I’m hoping that I’m going to mend it.”

  He took her hand and led her to a chair, sitting her down and crouching before her. “A lot has happened, which you need to know about. There will be a lawyer coming to see you, and you must sign some papers, and I want you to do this. Promise me that you will, no questions, just sign them.”

  She frowned and nodded.

  “Good. I’ve been by the factory,” he smiled. “They told me how you have cared for them, bringing them food and taking Anya to a doctor. I have since found homes for them and they will be well provided for, but they wanted me to thank you.”


  “I did it for you,” she whispered.

  “I know you did, and I’m proud of you, and you have no idea what it means to me to see how well you are doing.”

  “And what are you doing? Where have you been? I looked for you, and Danil and Poppa tried to make me accept that you were dead, but I knew you weren’t. I just had to keep busy, because every time I stopped, I thought I would go crazy not knowing…

  He kissed her to silence her, and when he pulled away he was grinning. “You do nag too much.”

  Lena pouted crossly. “I have every right to nag. You could have sent me a note, rang the restaurant…”

  “I was injured, but before you start worrying, I am alright.” He lifted his jumper and showed her the scar in his side. There were red mottled patches over his abdomen. “I wasn’t looking so pretty a couple of months ago.”

  Her fingers ran over his body. “Please tell me what happened.”

  “All you need to know is that my brother is dead and Natasha took him out in one spectacular blast.” He paused and breathed. “We shared two years in a place that was our home, and we had it wired, like my apartment. What went on in that shed was something we would never share with anyone. If we had ever been discovered, we always planned to take the shed out, and anyone we didn’t like. We left one area of the shed safe and we kept an old cast iron bathtub to shelter us. We never did get to test it, so I am happy to report it worked.”

  “But you could not save Natasha?”

  He shook his head sadly. “I tried to. I got Taras down, but he had come a long way since our first fight, and Natasha would never have survived the blast, even in the tub. I barely survived. I was in a coma for a week. The militia found me. They had me under heavy guard in hospital for another week until I was well enough to arrest formally and find out who I was. They should have used more guards.”

  Lena grinned. “Then I will forgive you for not getting in touch with me. Where did you go?”

  “I went to Odessa for a while to lay low and get my strength back. There were things I had to do. I came back to Donetsk a week ago and I cleaned out Natasha’s apartment. I got my own things back and took some of her things to where she died.”