He watched as the snowflake drifted down slowly through the night sky and landed on the rim of his glass. Gabriel Logan had taken down terrorist cells, foiled plots to assassinated world leaders and survived one-on-one skirmishes with combat helicopters but wearing a suit had him fidgeting nervously, pulling at his collar and anxiously sipping from his glass of water in the chill air on the balcony of the US Embassy in Russia. Partygoers surrounded him, most of them chatting in a tongue he barely understood, but his eyes dodged past them to catch the occasional glimpse of the man in the white suit unsuccessfully chatting with a young woman against the railing on the other end of the balcony.
He took another sip from his glass and leaned back against the wall of the building. He raised his watch to check the time but there was nothing there; sipping from a drink, checking a watch, what else did civilians do with their hands when left to their own devices? He couldn't even remember the last time he had to be covert, he had grown to become more comfortable with a gun in his hand than a prop.
"I spy a clear liquid in your glass, should I assume you're enjoying Russia's greatest export?" An older Russian official had made his way over to Gabe and greeted him with the self-satisfied smile of a drunk who had had his fill. Gabe could tell much by the faded and worn state of the man's uniform and the frail frame within it.
"No sir, just water," he replied as politely as possible.
"Water? You're in Russia, my boy, declining alcohol here is an act of cowardice," the man chuckled and drank from his own glass of clear liquid.
Gabe gave a pleasant smirk and tried to act disinterested to sway the man away. It did not work.
"Don't worry, I tease you. What's the point of our countries being brothers if we can't have a little fun with one another," the old Russian finished his glass and placed it precariously on the Russian railing. "And we are brothers, are we not?"
"We wouldn't be standing on this balcony if we weren't, sir," Gabe tried to keep it as stiff and formal as possible, hoping the man would eventually be driven away by dullness.
"Then I ask you: why do you spy on my fellow officer?" the old man muttered under his breath as he leaned in closer to Gabe and gazed into his eyes.
Gabe shot a glance at the man in white - still floundering with the woman - then stared back at the man in front of him who now had his attention. "An astute and seasoned officer as yourself could probably figure it out, couldn't he?"
The old man smiled. "Since that man you've been trying not to stare at for the past ten minutes is Mikael Gorev, I'd have to assume that you Americans are now well aware of the double dealings he's been pulling behind your back."
Gabe smiled in defeat. "We could've use an intelligence agent like you, Mr...?"
"Filat Zarubin. Major Filat Zarubin," the old man extended his hand and Gabe shook it.
"I'm Gabriel Logan. It's been an interesting experience having my cover blown like this."
Filat laughed. "Don't worry Mr. Logan, your secret is safe with me. Most of us here knew about Mikael's deceit but I'm not one who's willing to defend him for it. Treachery is treachery and anyone who disobeys the rules of war deserves their fate."
Gabe turned back to Mikael who now stood alone at his end of the balcony, barking orders into a cellphone. "We'd only found out about the things he's been up to three days ago. Missing funds, stolen data; he's literally being right under our nose this whole time, breaking off pieces of our embassy for his own personal use."
"There's nothing we could do about it," Filat sighed. "Mikael has some very powerful friends in the political arena, if one of his own touched him, they'd be spending their rest of the days in the darkest corner of the gulag."
Gabe continued to stare the animated Mikael. "What is he doing with it all? The money never goes to his bank account. The secrets are never sold to the black market. Is he stockpiling them for a rainy day? Is he giving them to a third party?"
"Mr. Logan, we're men of honour, "Filat replied. "We'll never understand."
Mikael suddenly let out a feral scream into his cellphone and pitched it over the edge of the balcony like a baseball. He stormed back into the building muttering Russian obscenities, the rest of the party staring in stunned silence at his exit.
"I believe this is where we part ways," Filat turned back to Gabe. "Please don't show him any of your American courtesy."
Gabe gave a quick nod and made a beeline back into the warmth of the embassy. Judging by the shocked faces of the other guests now staring at the staircase in the center of the room, he assumed that is where Mikael had huffed off and quickly headed down after him. Classical music filled the foyer and hushed most of the guests who spoke in quiet whispers with drinks and plates of shrimp in hand. Water erupted out of a large stone fountain a few feet in front of the stairs and through the upward stream of water Gabe could make out the shape of Mikael on the other end, his lanky body slipping out a back door which guests had been using to sneak out for a quick smoke.
Gabe pushed through it outside and found himself in a narrow and dark alley, the faint light coming solely from the lit cigarettes of a few smokers casually leaning against the side of a parked delivery truck. Mikael could be seen further down the alley, his pace quickening as he headed down towards the open gate at the opposite end which led back into the streets of Moscow. Gabe couldn't afford to let his presence be known so he let Mikael disappear around the corner into the city before heading off after him, hoping he'd be able to pick up his scent once out in the street.
It was far easier than he expected as screams erupted as he turned out into the shadowy street and Mikael's body could already be seen just a few steps in front of him face down in the pavement with the faint glow of a street light cascading gold on his bloody back. A woman on the sidewalk screamed hysterically at the sight, her arms pointing frantically further down the street where a blurred figure could be seen faintly running further into the dark. Without thinking Gabe burst into a run and charged into the darkness after the shadow in front of him not knowing who it was or what exactly was going on. The cold air of the night cut into his lungs with each breath as he ran with all of his power but he could not stop as long as the faint shape of a man could still be seen in front of him galloping deeper and deeper into the midnight heart of Moscow.
The figure was gone and in its place the dull glow of a seedy local bar. The man had run inside. Gabe slowed to a walk and felt his lungs contract, searching for air that could not get sucked up fast enough. He leaned against a wooden post outside of the bar to catch his breath while the sound of shouting could be heard from inside. Gunshots. Gabe lifted the back of his suit jacket and ripped out the silenced pistol that had been sewed into the bulky fabric. He slammed against the door and barreled inside with his gun drawn barking out the few Russian threats he knew at whoever was inside. Terrified patrons huddled in their booths or under the pool table in the far corner, their eyes locked on the assassin who know stood behind the bar with a gun jammed against the skull of the bartender in his arms.
"You put gun down," the assassin shouted with a thick, nearly unintelligible accent. "I don't shoot man dead."
"You tell me why you killed Mikael," Gabe barked back. "I don't shoot you dead."
The assassin flinched and pulled back the barrel of his gun, an old wreck of a Makarov which looked like it hadn't been used since the cold war. This man was not a professional. Gabe lowered his handgun and slid it into the waistband of his suit pants with a carefully planned aura of calm disinterest. "You don't know anything, do you?" he asked as if uninterested in the answer. "Let me guess, you were in some dive bar like this and someone approached you with a sack of money and a picture of Mikael with a red X scratched across his face? Easy job too, I'd take it, although I probably wouldn't have killed an important Government official within a 10-second radius of his office which is packed full of his military friends getting drunk on cheap wine. You're not too bright, are you? I'll pause here, that's a question you can probably answer."
Gabe watched as the finger slightly cringed against the trigger of the Makarov. The assassin shook his head and let out a soft gasp of laughter. "I stupid man if I know this not suicide job when I take it," he glared into Gabe's eyes. "The men that ask me, they not men you say no to. They tell me to shoot, I ask who. They ask me to steal, I ask what."
"Did they ask you to steal? Did Mikael have something important on him?" Gabe asked as bluntly as possible, knowing his time for answers was ending fast.
The man buried the barrel of the Makarov deeper into the bartender's head. "They ask me to get USB stick Mikael holds and if you want t-"
Gabe lifted his arm feeling cold metal slide into his palm and his fingers wrapped around the pressure pads of his taser sending a thin wire shooting through the air into the assassin's throat. 500,000 volts of electricity charged into the man's system sending him into convulsions which sent spittle from his mouth across the surface of the bar and the Makarov in his shriveled hand dropping with a clank to the tiled floor. The bartender kicked himself free as the assassin shook violently back into the wall of liquour behind him, glass bottles shattering into his heaving frame, drops of alcohol falling onto his burning skin emitting an audible sizzling noise and tiny blasts of steam. Gabe heaved back on the wire like it was a fishing line and the assassin slumped to the ground with a few final spasms before becoming as still as the night.
"I'm an agent with the US Government, "Gabe attempted to calm the horrified patrons of the bar whose eyes were still locked on the carcass they had just witnessed being electrocuted. "Someone alert the authorities, please."
Without another word he slid behind the bar and began to frantically searching through the dead man's pockets. There was no wallet, no ID of any kind, just a few loose bullets and the barest amount of change. He grabbed the Makarov off the sticky floor and began running his hand around its surface, finding a loose grip panel and sliding it off to reveal a hollowed center which held a thin black USB stick. He held it up to the light - there was nothing remarkable about it, no markings, no hint of any kind what might suggest what it held. He pocketed it and then began dismantling the Makarov, tossing its pieces to the floor and jamming its clip into the inside pocket of his suit.
A crowd had gathered outside in the street, whispering amongst each other and watching as a stumbling, wounded silhouette began to stumble its way across the pavement. Mikael, no longer as dead as it once seemed, gasped loudly with each step forward as he headed for some unknown destination in the opposite direction. Gabe could nothing but watch in amazement as this man clung to some faint hope that he hadn't actually been shot and could make it to whatever he had planned before the bullet in the back halted all that.
"Mikael," Gabe shouted as he slowly stepped forward off the steps of the bar. "I don't know how you're alive but if you want to stay that way, I suggest you sit back down before you lose any more blood."
Mikael painfully turned his head around to see Gabe slowly marching forward into the street and began to run as quickly as his damaged body could allow, galloping like a horse with a broken leg past the embassy alley and towards the busy avenue which glowed brightly with the headlights of passing cars at the other end. What was he heading for? Gabe's curiosity got the better of him and he let the man run, pacing slowly behind him and watching as Mikael made it to the glowing street and began charging into the traffic, horns and screeching tires blaring through the night as this half-dead man waved his hands attempting to hail an escape vehicle.
Gabe approached the busy street in which all traffic had now halted, cars stopped and honking at the now-woozy man who collapsed once again into the street as the blood from his back began to form a pool around him. As Gabe stepped into the middle of the avenue the burning white of the headlights seemed to cast a heavenly glow on Mikael's quivering body, the horns all melting together to create a sort-of droning hymn. The man coughed blood which spread up into the air and sprayed back down on his chin. He was as good as dead at this point.
"If it's any consolation, I got the man who shot you," Gabe said as he knelt down beside Mikael. "Whoever wanted your USB stick didn't get it."
Mikael's pupils widened. "They will."
"Your lungs aren't completely full of blood yet. If you want to do some repenting before you slip off this mortal coil, I suggest you start now,"Gabe said, holding his arm up to shoo back some paramedics who had arrived on the scene.
"I underestimated them," Mikael's began to glaze.
"Who is them? What are they planning?"
A brief moment of lucidity came over Mikael and he turned his head ever so slightly to gaze up at Gabe. "I gave the fire back to the gods. He just needs his brother. Kill them all." He mumbled something about his wife and then his eyes lost whatever light they once held.
Gabe pushed himself up as the paramedics rushed to the body in a final act of futility. The cars no longer honked. He reached deep into his pocket and pulled out the small black oval, pushing it into his ear as he walked back off the street towards the embassy. There was a faint crackling before a female voice cut through the static and acknowledged his return to the grid.
"Mikael was just the fin on the surface," Gabe stared off at the endless row of cars which now stretched as far as could be seen deep into the city. "We're into something far deeper that we imagined, Lian."