Author's Note: Sorry about the long wait. My first week at work really kicked my ass, so I haven't had much time to devote to writing. Expect updates to come a bit slower for a few months, as I work for most of the day from 9 to 5. For those who asked, I'm not giving up on this. I have two more stories to edit and reupload when this is done. It's just a matter of me managing the time to do it all. Enough of me and my excuses. Get to reading, people, and I appreciate any and all reviews you have. It helps me get through the work week to know people enjoy what I put on here.
Chapter Ten
March 26th, 1943
Despite Holland's many injuries and his emaciated state, he told Renton and Eureka everything…or at least, as much as he could tell them. Through him, they learned the dire straits their family was truly in, and how it was now impossible to return to the past. Stalingrad was all but destroyed, and their home along with it. Their country had betrayed them, by allowing men like Chertov to flourish and ascend to power. There was nothing left for them back in the Motherland. Not even a family.
"What do you mean by that?" Renton asked with trepidation.
"Surely the others are still alive!" Eureka said, aspiring with a sense of forlorn hope. "What about Mikhail? Or Vladimir? Father is still alive, too, isn't he?"
Holland's betrayed every story of tragedy that befell him and their home, even before he spoke the first word. How much had changed in this war. How much had been lost thanks to men like Chertov. How little they had left.
"Renton…" he said slowly, "sister…Mikhail is…dead."
Silence suddenly had them in a stranglehold as the revelation hit them with the force of a bomb. Renton's green eyes widened and his jaw slackened, utterly aghast at the news. Mikhail, the bespectacled youngest son, barely older than Eureka herself, was now a casualty of the war? It didn't seem possible. Eureka was visibly shocked by the news, as it was another thing to add to all she lost in this war that had killed everything she ever knew. Tears formed in her snowy grey eyes as she buried her face in Renton's chest, her sobbing almost drowning out the inquiries made by her one anchor and guardian.
"Holland, I don't understand. Why did he die and you live? What about your partisans?"
Holland turned to the ceiling as he lay on their sofa, as if trying to console himself with the monotony of the wall paint.
"What partisans?" Holland asked resignedly. "They've been destroyed, like everything else."
"Destroyed? How?"
"Blame Chertov. That backstabbing runt. He and his men gassed the whole place rather than kill us with his own hands. He left me for dead…"
He shook his head in despair.
"I had to kill my way out, cut through any soldier or policeman that got in my way."
Holland reached out a weak hand to Eureka, her heart visibly breaking from the news of such terrible misfortunes and tortures to befall her family. Why did the innocent always have to suffer in war? Why did their country turn against them? Why did Chertov purposefully shatter and destroy everything? Holland looked to her with strong eyes, as if to impart some inner resolve when there was none to be had. How lucky she was, he thought, to not be privy to such horror of the kind he witnessed.
"Stalingrad is gone, Eurekasha. We can't go back anymore. We must start our lives over…here."
Eureka wiped a tear away from her eyes, and nodded firmly. The vow was not a new one. It was something she and Renton had sworn to on the ship that carried them to freedom, to opportunity, and to love. They would not weep over the past, nor would they fear for the future. This war would not destroy them, like it had so much else.
"I know, brother," she said, sniffing. "And I already have a new life."
William allowed him to stay, which was a miracle in itself. Renton surely thought he would want Holland out posthaste. Eureka pleaded her case, asking for sympathy as he was her brother, and how his situation was exactly that of Eureka's not long ago. Despite the inevitable strain his presence would surely bring, William consented, on the condition that he find work, apply for citizenship, and learn to speak English upon recovering from his injuries. Holland was all too eager to take that chance at a new life. Russia was far behind him, and there was nothing left to return to.
It was a bright, sunny Friday morning when Renton and Eureka were heading out of the house, on their way to school. On their way out to the door, however, both were greeted by the sight of Holland, sitting perfectly upright on a barstool. He still had his old clothes from the times he wandered the streets, ragged and in desperate need of replacement. Renton mentally noted he would have to visit a tailor after school for him.
"You're up early," Renton noted.
"To see you both off," Holland replied. "And I have something to tell you."
"To tell me? Like what?"
"I'd rather it be for your ears only. But…"
Holland smirked, noting how Renton and Eureka's hands were joined. He remembered a jesting request he made to Renton on the night of their escape, as he was boarding the train to leave Russia for the last time. Holland wondered just how far they had progressed in only a two months after departing from their home.
Renton felt his gaze and knew instinctively where it was directed, he tried to let go of Eureka's hand to dispel any misgivings or false impressions from Holland. True, he loved Eureka. True, Holland was one of his closest and more reliable of friends from his visit to Stalingrad. But at the same time, Holland was Eureka's brother.
"Still stuck at holding hands, are you, my friend?" Holland laughed.
Renton's face reddened to that of a strawberry. He surely thought Holland would start piling on the inquisitions, and not in his usual joking persona, as here. Eureka was living under his roof, and surely her brother had concerns that they might go too far. In honesty, he would rather face these and other questions after returning home, without the burden of class and note-taking hanging over his consciousness.
Eureka smiled, seeing her brother had not changed one bit despite all the hardships that had befallen him. It was comforting to see Holland could not be fazed even by offensive betrayal of the kind Chertov was too adept at executing. At the same time, she felt slightly insecure about just how far she and Renton were now, and without an opportunity to tell anyone, even her own brothers. True, he and Mikhail were always the first ones to tease them both for liking each other, but it was still surreal to think that her greatest aspirations had come to fruition. By God, she was glad it was the hard truth.
"Oh my," she giggled in embarrassment. "We haven't told him anything, have we, Renton?"
Holland's smirk grew into a mischievous grin, and Renton immediately noticed a yellow glow from his mouth. He had two gold teeth, something new. Possibly the result of a scuffle with officers or soldiers, he thought.
"Tell me, eh? What does she mean? Just how far have you gotten, Rentoshka?"
Renton visibly shook, as now Eureka was getting on this. This was neither the time nor the place. He could easily recount everything to Holland once the day was over and he had the time. Why did Eureka have to make things so difficult? Why did love in general have to be so difficult? It was hard enough to admit the truth to her. To come to terms with her brother over it felt much harder.
"Holland, can't this wait until after school?"
"What if I didn't let you go until you tell me?"
Renton moved for the door, and Holland immediately jumped to block his way. Thus began a quick dance and battle of wits, as Renton tried every possible opportunity to move to the front door, only to be sidestepped and blocked by his best friend. Just as then, Holland could be a pain, but by God if he didn't like him for that spritely spirit. Again and again, Renton tried to move, with Holland denying him access again and again. In the meantime, Eureka was laughing so hard at this impromptu dance between friends. It reminded her of the many times Holland would playfully pick on Renton in their youths; he was always frightfully easy to tease.
"How long are you going to keep this up?!" Renton cajoled, visibly irritated.
"Until you tell me the truth!"
At that moment, Renton felt a hand on his shoulder and his body suddenly turned. Eureka's lips crashed into his in a full passionate kiss, the same kind he gave her that dreary Valentine's Day under the bridge. At least Eureka had enough sympathy to know when he was cornered and needed someone to pull him out. The kiss seemed to last a lifetime as he bit his tongue to suppress a gentle moan. God forbid he would let Holland hear that, and get the wrong idea. God forbid he and she even entertain such thoughts.
He almost didn't want her to let go, as his hand moved to her cheek, but she broke away and playfully wagged her finger at him.
"Not before class, Rentoshka."
Her snowy grey eyes turned to Holland's blue ones, and her lips smiled triumphantly.
"Does that answer your question, brother?"
Renton was visibly shaking in his shoes, afraid of what Holland might say. He remembered how often Holland used to tease them about how close they were as children, and how often he and Mikhail tried to force them together. However, it was one thing to joke about love and quite another to actually see it come to fruition. The prospect both pretended and played at in their youths was now a stone-cold reality.
"I'm sorry, Holland," he said, regrettably, blushing. "It just happened spontaneously."
Holland laughed, and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. His blue eyes looked to him as if he was already part of their family. He had been since the day he came into their lives before the war tore them all apart. Renton felt light as a feather, but the feather turned into a heavy lead weight at Holland's words.
"The only thing you should be sorry for, my friend, is the fact I will never let you live it down!"
Renton only hung his head in defeat while both Eureka and Holland laughed as they did in their childhoods at the dream that came true.
"Well," Eureka eked out, wiping a joyful tear from her eye, "we have to go to class."
"I have to speak with Renton about something first, sister."
"Have at him, then. Just don't destroy him before the first class."
Eureka gave Renton another gentle kiss on the lips before bounding out the door, with Renton longingly gazing at her until the door closed behind her, and he was left with the middle brother. The caring friend. The practical joker. The one who helped them get this far in the first place. Renton sighed quietly, and thought to himself out loud,
"You have a lovely sister, Holland."
"Rentoshka, answer me as honestly as you can. Do you truly love my sister?"
"Surely you know the answer. I love her more than anything. I admitted that a long time ago."
Holland laughed quietly.
"And here I was, thinking you would never get the ball rolling. I have to say I am envious of you."
"Why's that?" Renton asked, tilting his head in confusion.
"Admitting to something like that would be the hardest thing I'd ever have to do. And yet you did it with ease."
"There was nothing easy about it, Holland, believe me," Renton countered. "I had to get my whole soul in order just to figure out what I felt toward her. I'm just glad I did it sooner than later."
Thinking the matter was done, Renton motioned for the door. However he quickly was halted by a strong, firm grip applied around his wrist. He was greeted by the strong blue eyes of Holland, but unlike minutes before when they shone with a warm sense of camaraderie and brotherhood, they now were ominous, and glinted with a note of portent. Renton had to know what was in store. Not only he was in danger, but potentially Eureka as well.
"Renton," he said, his voice heavy with augury, "there is something you need to know. It's very important."
"What do you mean?"
Holland let go of his wrist and solemnly stepped closer, his weight reverberating under Renton's feet. Was it the earth shaking beneath him, or was Holland heavy in build? He could not tell. What could be gathered was Holland had seen something terrible. It was as if a great tempest was on its way to these shores, and the time had come to seek shelter and wait out the maelstrom. Renton wasted no time in seeking answers to what troubled him.
"Holland, did something happen?"
"A lot happened, and none of it was very good. I fear much more is about to come."
"More?" Renton repeated, not understanding it all. "What do you mean, 'more?' We're safe here, Holland."
"I wish that were the case," Holland countered ruefully. "But it may not be. He has a way of getting what he wants…"
He? Every muscle in Renton's body tensed up in that one utterance of the pronoun. And based on what he just said, he didn't have to guess what kind of person fit the description. He knew in an instant, but sought to suppress such a notion from being true. It could not be, Renton thought. He and Eureka escaped. They now live in safety and comfort. Russia was far away and behind them. The enemies they left behind had been forgotten, dust scattered to the wind.
"Who?"
"Chertov."
A chill raced down Renton's spine in mention of that name. It was a name he'd rather consign to the trash bin of his mind. He was a boy Renton wished he had never met to begin with. If it hadn't been for Chertov, they would not have fought tooth and nail to escape Russia. If it hadn't been for Chertov, he would not have been forced to turn against his own. If it hadn't been for Chertov, Eureka would be in less pain than she was when he found her. Ilya Pavlovich Chertov. Just at the recitation of his full name, an eddy of emotions swirled through Renton's consciousness. Betrayal. Anger. Hatred. Revenge.
"Holland…what does this have to do with him?"
"Chertov told me something before he tried to kill me," Holland replied ominously. "He said he's not finished with you or Eureka yet."
Renton stepped back. No, he told himself. It wasn't possible. Chertov could not still be seeking revenge against him! He could not still be seething in Eureka leaving the country! Surely Chertov would have moved on from the past as well, like he was trying to do so desperately. Holland's words struck him with the intensity of a knife's cut through skin, and left him only questioning more and more what this could mean. For himself. For Holland. For Eureka.
"You can't mean that…" Renton started gravely.
"There is one thing I've learned about Chertov, Rentoshka: he doesn't forget easily. He's not going to stop until he has his revenge."
"Do you think he'll…come here? To find us?"
"I don't know. But there is one thing you must remember: always be on your guard. If there is any lesson I took from what has happened, it is that no one can be trusted now."
Silence gripped the two young boys, one lost in the forest of shock and surprise, another standing on the plains of lethal portent. Renton was visibly shaken as he reached for a brown jacket in preparation to journey out and on to school. As he donned it, Holland tried to give him some incentive and encouragement to face the day.
"Rentoshka, my friend, Eureka came with you because she wanted a chance at a better life. I can see you have given her that. In my experience, however, we don't hold on to the things we love without sacrifice."
"What are you saying, Holland?" Renton asked as he slung his knapsack over his shoulder.
"I'm counting on you to protect her now. Especially since Chertov isn't giving up. She depends on you now. You may have loved her first, but in the end, she chose you."
Holland now bid him goodbye with a brotherly kiss on both cheeks. His lips were still grimy and laden with chalk, dirt, and dust. Still, Renton didn't mind it at all; he was his friend, one of the best he ever made in his life. And now, he was a brother in all but name.
"Take care of my sister."
Renton nodded firmly. The vow was an old one. One to which he had steadfastly pledged his heart and soul.
"I promised that to her long before we set foot on these shores."
With the business done, Renton left Holland to catch up to Eureka. He quickly broke into a sprint to make up for lost time, else he'd be late for the first class for sure. But through the sweat, the panting, and the adrenaline that flowed through his veins, something still troubled him. In the back of his mind was the vexing question:
With Chertov surely on the move, what was to become of them now?
»»»»»
Despite being spring, temperatures could still prove nippy for those unaccustomed to the weather patterns of the Bay Area. Winds could provide enough chill for one to think it was still winter, and force one to wrap up. On the rooftop of an abandoned apartment complex, Chertov encountered the reality of such conditions. The wind whipped at his brown overcoat as he stepped to the ledge of the roof, and looked down at the picturesque scene.
He saw houses of all manners of sizes, shapes and designs forming the boundaries of this small town hidden beneath the shadow of the valley. He found it rather quaint as all appeared to be dollhouses found in a toy catalog. It was a foreign and unusual sight to someone so accustomed to the tall apartments and flats of Stalingrad. The roads wound and turned like the curves of a serpent, stretching on into the horizon like highways to the unknown. He looked to one side and saw in the distance the wide open sea, deep and blue. In the distance there was a shipyard filled with hundreds of workers, too small to see, building the Liberty Ships that were so essential to victory. Across the ocean there was San Francisco, the skyline slightly obscured by a white haze. Truthfully, he almost felt ashamed looking at such a colossal, grand sight. Nothing like this existed back home.
Chertov's mind returned to the task that stood before him. No, not just him. The agents under him as well; they were just as responsible for this mission's success as he. On the top of a ventilator, there was a radio box with a communicator and headset plugged in. From the box there was a small generator connected by a coil of black wire. As he put on the headset, Chertov was greeted by the crackling and static. He adjusted the frequency and spoke, testing out the connection.
"Ageha Squad, report in."
There was silence, with only a small buzz in the background. Perhaps not all of them had tuned into the same frequency.
"Ageha Squad, reply at once. This is Lieutenant Chertov."
Again, there was a slight pause, but this time one agent after another answered the call.
"340 reporting, sir. Awaiting orders."
"This is 12, standing by."
"271 here. I'm ready."
"578 in position."
"909 reporting in. Awaiting orders."
Chertov laughed. At least none of them had broken away and deserted him.
"You had me worried for a moment, Ageha Squad. It gets rather lonely up here with no one to talk to. What is the time now?"
"1435 hours1."
Chertov smirked knowingly.
"Perfect. If the school schedule is right, the target will be getting out from class any moment now. 340, are you in position?"
"Yes, sir. I am looking at the campus right now. No one appears to have left the building yet."
"Give them time. Today is an early day for the students. Remember, Ageha Squad: we are just observing today. I want no heroics out there from any of you. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir!"
Chertov grinned widely as he stared down into the sleepy town, unsuspecting and unknowing of what was about to befall it. It was blind prey, defenseless against the plan he had set in motion. All great missions began with a single step. This was step one.
"Thurston…my revenge starts now."
Meanwhile, far away from the decadent chocolate brown eyes of her commander, 340 sat quietly on a bench looking to the high school that their target was attending today. It was quiet elaborate, but also plain. There were two main halls on the hill, with a clock tower standing tall above them like a lighthouse standing guard on the shore. On the street level there was a courtyard with a tall cypress tree in the center, and a large gymnasium behind it. They were all built in the Spanish Mission style, harkening to the days of early exploration by eager conquistadors in search of a new land to claim.
The air was still and calm, with only a mild breeze sweeping through the paved roads, carrying with it messengers in the forms of empty paper bags and scraps of paper. When a car passed by, volumetric dust trailed behind it like the train of a bride's wedding dress. The sun shone brightly in the sky, breaking through a thin veil of clouds. It seemed like a sacrilege that such a beautiful day would be used to stalk and potentially harm someone. Especially a defenseless child no older than her or her officer.
340 still had some misgivings, but she chose to put them aide for now. In honesty, she had very little knowledge about the American Russian when she got down to it. All she knew about him was hearsay and gossip, spread by her comrades concerning his bravery in battle, his selfless sacrifice for the Soviet people, and his adept skills in combat. She knew nothing about the boy. She knew nothing about who he was beneath all of that. How he was with friends. With enemies. With lovers.
She suddenly remembered how 271 told her the true reason he came to fight in the first place: out of love for a girl he left behind. In the eyes of anyone else, one would think less of a boy who only was caught up in the fight while searching for a loved one. For 340, it didn't make as much difference to her. In fact, it made the story seem all the more heroic. To come out and risk one's life for someone one had not seen in years was a prospect not many people would jump at so enthusiastically. Yet this boy did it with a full heart, unmindful of the consequences and in the face of what was sure to befall him on a battlefield. Whoever this girl was, she surely must command a great influence on him to come so far, and accomplish so much. She could not help but respect and admire a boy so dedicated to the people around him.
At that moment, the school bell rang, and she looked up at the campus from under her hooded cloak. The doors opened and a flood of students rushed out of the respective halls and from the gymnasium. She was amazed to see how many children still attended school even with the war in full swing. In her own country, she had seen children no younger than her drop out and quit school to aid in the war effort. Whether it was through enlisting, working in the factories, or even working double shifts, many had chosen to sacrifice their personal futures for the future of their country.
Their hearts were in the right place, to be sure, but did it necessitate throwing away a chance at a career? She had to fight tooth and nail just to earn a place with the NKVD, and she tired herself endlessly through school and studies just to apply. It was a close-run thing she even got in.
If you knew this was the kind of work you'd be doing, would you still take this job?
340 willed the voice away, and set to the business of seeking out her target. In the breast pocket of her jacket she fished out a small photograph of the boy. oak brown hair. Strong piercing eyes. A young face, betraying a life of austerity, hardship, and loss. So undeserving of all that had befallen him.
"Just 16, and he's suffered so much already."
She scanned the crowds of young people, searching for the one hero in the midst of ordinary denizens. Each wore their life story on their faces. Some were rich, some were poor. Some were humble, others arrogant. Some led happy lives, others were sad and lonely. One boy was one she sought for, yet she had so many to choose from. How amazing it was some people could bear a resemblance to a hero!
Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something. A young boy with oak brown hair emerging from beneath the clock tower. He wore a dark brown jacket over a white shirt and red sweater vest. To provide a contrast, his knickerbockers were khaki in color and his socks black, his feet tucked into matching loafers. The face seemed familiar. 340 tracked his movement down the steps from the clock tower to street level. Along the way, several people passed him, presumably bidding him goodbye and good day. Suddenly a girl trotted up behind him, roughly his age.
The girl had long, wavy, dark brown hair that cascaded over her shoulders and hung between her snow grey eyes. Her light blue jacket sported a flower in the breast pocket and her matching skirt was frilled around the hem. On her hands were pristine white gloves, much like 340's own pair. A bright smile ran across her face as she bounced down the steps and came beside the boy. The two of them greeted each other with familiarity, as if they had known each other forever. What the boy did next sent 340's heart skip a beat.
He kissed her.
It was a soft and loving joining of lips, but it was enough to confirm the two's relationship. She could see in both of their eyes they were in love. Deeply in love. As they reached street level, 340 held up the target photograph and compared it with the boy in front of her. There was no mistake about it. It was him, the hero they had been looking for.
She kept her light blue eyes squarely focused on Renton as she pressed on the communicator on her neck.
"This is 340."
"Go ahead, 340. What's happened?"
"I have visual confirmation of the target along with an unidentified female. Please advise."
"Do not engage the target. Hang back and observe."
"And what of the girl?"
"Ignore her for the time being. Our primary interest is the boy."
"Understood, sir."
340 watched as their hero stopped on the sidewalk, conversing with the girl. He was deeply focused on her, enough to be unmindful of the students that shuffled past him and brushed alongside him. It seemed there was no world other than each other. She could not help but feel envious for the American Russian to have someone who loves him deeply and truly, enough to stay by him for all that life had to offer. 340 never encountered someone like that in her life as an agent of the state. As a member of the secret police, her loyalty was sworn to the Party and to Joseph Stalin first and foremost, so all relationships were considered secondary. Still, it did not preclude her from fancying about a man whom she could entrust all her secrets to, fight beside, and find comfort in when hardships grew too numerous and too heavy in weight.
The two young lovebirds parted ways after a final kiss, and the boy headed to 340's right, in the direction of downtown. The girl, on the other hand, crossed the street and walked towards the residential part of town. Remembering the words of Chertov, 340 rose from her bench, readjusted her hood, and followed the boy. She made a call on her communicator.
"340 again. The target is moving downtown, and I am pursuing now."
"Roger, but keep your distance! We are outnumbered and alone here; we must not attract attention."
340 nodded, and at that moment, another call came. This time it was from 271, who was in the downtown business section. 271, the closest thing she could call a friend in this squad.
"I'll be in the town square outside the cafe, 340. Look for me."
"Duly noted, 271. I'll be there soon."
As she struggled past the legions of students that swarmed over the crosswalk, she mentally thanked her lucky stars that her civilian disguise allowed her to blend in. Underneath her light blue hooded cape, 340 wore a frilled white blouse with a blue bow around her collar and a matching knee-length skirt and buckled shoes. The only thing one could really call into question was her cape, but it was still reasonable, given the stiff breezes that flew by. While she pushed through the throngs, and kept in sight of the target, she passed by various locales along the way into downtown.
A lumber mill that provided a majority of work.
A auto mechanic's workshop, where there was only one car in repair.
A bookstore, displaying the latest bestsellers to a people in need of escape from a war torn world.
A clothier, showcasing the newest fashion trends to uninterested passersby.
The sidewalks turned to cobblestone and the masses thinned out, leaving the boy with his back turned to her. Even without looking him in the eye, she could see plainly what kind of soul inhabited that body.
Renton dressed formally, as if in route to a business meeting, although his knickerbockers made him stick out considerably. Normally after reaching 16, one would shed such clothes that are equated with adolescence and graduate to long slacks, crossing the threshold between childhood and adulthood. It was a sign he was still young, or perhaps wishing he was still young. His oak brown locks hung freely and uncombed behind him, covering the nape of his neck like a blanket. His hands were curled into fists, and he walked cautiously, trepidation reverberating in every step. Did this boy already have suspicions?
As she passed by a diner, she received a call through her communicator.
"340, this is 271. I have visual confirmation of you and the target. Look to your right."
340 did so, and she quickly spotted her friend and comrade, sitting under a spreading chestnut tree. 271 wore a light blue hooded cape much like hers, but as she sat in the earth, did not wear white clothes that would surely be stained. Instead, she was dressed in grey with a jacket and matching skirt. 340 nodded to her and responded.
"I see you, 271."
"The target has stopped moving. Be on your guard."
As she said, Renton had stopped his walking, looking around his purview as if searching for someone. 340's mind raced as she tried to find a suitable hiding spot. The last thing any of them needed was to be found out before the mission even got started! In milliseconds that felt like hours, she scoured the area, trying to find some way of becoming anonymous and avoiding detection. Thinking quickly, she jumped into an alleyway between a florist and a pharmacy.
340 peered around the corner, eyeing the boy from beneath her hood. If he already suspected, then he must have the powers of a seer. An eternity seemed to pass as he looked about him, taking in all the sights and sounds of this quiet valley town. Renton looked behind him, to find no one there. At that moment, 340's blue eyes made contact with Renton's strong dark green ones.
They flashed in the afternoon light like stars in a bright wintry sky, and had a magnetizing quality about them. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't look away and duck completely out of sight. His eyes held her in a tight grip, as she felt her body pierced by his gaze. 340 wasn't afraid, but rapt. She quietly whispered,
"I think he may suspect."
"Do not move, 340," 271 called on the communicator. "He cannot know about any of this."
"I don't think we have to worry about that…"
With military precision and timeliness, Renton turned away, shrugging his shoulders ineffectually. 340 almost stepped out but noticed then that the boy was peering over his shoulder slightly. He definitely suspected. Turning on his heel, he entered the pharmacy cautiously, still looking 340's direction. The bell perched atop the doorframe rung, and she breathed a sigh of relief. That was far too close for her comfort.
"This is 340," she said, breathing heavily on her communicator. "Target has gone into the pharmacy. Please advise."
"Go in and see what he is up to. Be careful not to draw his attention."
"Roger that."
She quietly entered and was silent as the grave. 340 scanned each aisle for Renton, hoping that she would not lose him. Each time a bystander shifted past her searching for items of necessity, 340 took a note to pull her hood down, concealing her face. Soon enough she spotted the target, moving behind the counter at the back of the pharmacy. He clipped on a nametag to his jacket and stood behind the cash register. It appeared to be something habitual for him, like he did this every day. That was when she realized this is where he worked. It would be a good many hours before he would move, she thought.
She feigned interest in an array of the latest periodicals to draw less attention to herself. Time Magazine. Newsweek. National Geographic. The Saturday Evening Post. All materials the boy surely read from time to time. When it was clear she had become anonymous, she pressed on her neck.
"340 calling squad leader."
"This is Chertov. Go ahead, 340."
"This pharmacy is where the target works. It could be a while before he moves again. Interrogative: what should we do in the meantime?"
"Wait until he moves again, then follow him. If it makes you feel any better, you could get a coffee or read that book you were meaning to get into while you wait."
340 sighed in irritation at Chertov's sardonic remark. She wanted to snap back if he would like to come down here himself, but she feared the consequences of starting a spat between officer and subordinate. She could only consign herself to the prospect of a long wait, longer than what she and surely the rest of the agents would like.
"Understood," she returned in a deadpan voice.
She could swear she heard Chertov chortle with delight at the situation.
"Cheeky bastard," she muttered to herself.
Since she knew it would be a good wait, she thought it only natural to buy some reading material to pass the time. Time Magazine would suffice. She could easily read through it in a few hours. 340 moved to the cashier and quickly realized her mistake. The very target she was supposed to kill was manning the register. No, she wouldn't kill him. Not here, where there were witnesses. They were just observing today. What to do now? All manners of options raced through her head as she searched around for alternative cashiers. There were none.
Confronted with the immutable reality she had to face, she silently placed the magazine on the counter, making sure to hide her face as much as she could. As she handed the boy the money owed, she got a good look at his face. He was very young, but melancholy stood in his piercing green eyes that stabbed her soul. She felt he could see right through her, and everything was exposed including her true reason for being here. Her heart raced, fearing what may happen if she said something to him, anything at all.
She remembered the dangers of asking too many questions. She almost came to blows with the Lieutenant Colonel. Chertov surely had suspicions already. It was imperative not to arouse further notice to herself, not just for the mission's sake, but for the sake of her conscience when she committed the deed. So she said nothing, and only listened to his voice as he rang up the receipt.
"Thank you, ma'am. Have a good day."
His voice was maturing. Not cracking or high-pitched, nor deep and booming. He was rather subdued and resigned in his tone as he handed her the scrap of paper. What she noted was he sounded exactly like his age. Exactly 16.
She exited the pharmacy as inconspicuously as she came in. 340 mentally wished that there would be a reason to come where they didn't have to carry through with this deed. She checked both sides of the road and cautiously crossed towards the cafe in the square. There was a wooden bench on which she could sit and watch the pharmacy. 271 came to join her.
"So, how is our hero?"
"Normal," she said matter-of-factly. "I'm rather surprised he works in a place like that."
"What do you mean?"
"You'd think he work in a dock making ships, or in a munitions factory, or something. Yet he goes to school and holds a low-key job."
271 laughed, noting the ironic truth behind their larger-than-life hero.
"I find it fitting, really. A boy who has so much acclaim and did so much in a short time, and yet still leads a rather ordinary life. It'd be almost oppressive if everything in a hero's life was grand."
"Maybe," 340 replied, nodding, "but I am still in shock at the matter."
There was a slight pause, and a note of awkwardness filled the square. 271 cleared her throat and spoke cheerily.
"Since we're going to be waiting, I'm getting a coffee. Would you like one too?"
"I wouldn't mind one, now that you mention it."
"Perfect! How do you like yours?"
"If they have cappuccino, could you get me French Vanilla?"
"Right away, comrade sergeant."
She turned, her cape flowing behind her and sauntered towards the cafe, leaving 340 alone with only the distant singing of robins and the hum of passing cars to keep her company. She tried to read an article, but found herself fixated on the door to the pharmacy, where her target lay. The same questions she had been asking since the day this began repeated themselves over and over. To make matters worse, she still had no answers, and didn't expect to get any anytime soon.
"I still understand nothing," she muttered.
»»»»»
Darkness had fallen. All lights were put out in observance of a blackout. Saving power was essential during wartime to not only cut costs but provide the energy necessary to power factories that produced the vital war supplies. Such an environment made for a perfect night to scout the house of their intended target.
They waited all of three hours for him to move. Three long arduous hours of being on standby. It was the most agonizing 340 ever spent. She was all the more glad Renton even came out so they could resume the mission. While she still followed him home, and Chertov still commanded from the rooftop of that abandoned apartment building, her fellow squad mates assisted her in their pursuit of the young hero. They tracked him step by step, joining forces all along the way and slowly reuniting their squad for this. This would be the first attempt.
340 hid behind a small patch of underbrush, now eyeing the house where their target made residence. Just like the job he occupied, his house was nothing to write home about. A scrawny little single-floor bungalow perched on a hill overlooking the residential street. Houses that stood at two stories flanked the hill, standing guard over the entrance to their hero's domain. 340 wondered to herself if maybe this boy was simply poor and insolvent, which only raised more questions of how he managed to travel across the world and back. It must have taken years of scrimping and saving on the part of his father to do it. The story was made all the more amazing as she pieced together the different parts of his profile.
"340?" said a voice from beside her.
340 jumped in surprise, and turned to find 909, her orange hair evident even under her shroud of light blue. 909 was the youngest of all the agents, and subsequently the least experienced in matters of assassination. In essence, this mission was the equivalent to on-the-job training for her. Well, 340 thought, her worth would be proven soon enough.
"Oh, 909," she whispered. "Is everything ready?"
"We're all in position and awaiting orders to move."
"What is the time?"
909 shined a flashlight on her watch, and recited as accurately as she could get it.
"2327 hours, 48 seconds."
"We move in at 2330. Get to your position and wait for my go."
"Yes, 340."
909 scurried across the sidewalk to her position. The chirping of crickets, the distance call of a nightingale, and the silent twinkling of stars filled the night air as 340 spoke on her communicator to all of the squad. The time of action was fast approaching, and they could not afford any mistakes to be made.
"Ageha Squad, this is Agent 340. Our objective tonight is to gain any pertinent intelligence on the target known as Renton Ivanovich Thurston. We will enter the house and search it for any possible information that may help us in our cause. All of you have specific tasks to perform."
She paused for a moment, thinking to herself what on earth she was doing here, about to order her compatriots to kill an innocent child like the one she met in the pharmacy. What had he done to earn death? What transgression deserved martyrdom? Did she have any chance of backing out now?
"909, 578, you are to enter the building through the front. 12, you will find an alternate means of entry. Do not, repeat, do not under any circumstances alert the target. 271, you will stand guard and watch for any potential witnesses. This must be done without any chance of being tracked. If anyone sees us, it's over. Questions?"
"340," asked 271, speaking from behind a fencepost, "what will you be doing during this time?"
"Making sure our target doesn't wake up. Any other questions?"
Silence filled the radio. It spoke volumes to her.
"Very well. Be ready to move on my signal."
340 looked at her wristwatch. In the dim light offered by the stars, she could make out the time just barely. It was almost time to launch the operation. Their first attempt at a break-in, and possibly the first attempt at assassination. Secretly, however, she was hoping more for the former than the latter. She was not ready to take this boy's life away just yet. Not as long as she didn't have due cause for it. Surely, she thought and hoped, she would have a reason for why Renton needed to die before this mission was over. Her blue eyes were glued to the second hand as it crept closer and closer to the number 12.
"Stand by…stand by…"
Five seconds left. There was no backing out now.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
The wires on the watch touched, and the hour was now 2330. It was their cue.
"Go! Go! Go!"
In an instant, all the members of the squad ran up the hill, each coming from different directions and circling around the small bungalow. 909 and 578 ran together straight up the stone steps to the front door, carrying a lock picking kit between them. 12 came from the left side, bounding over a picket fence and entering the property of the idol, the child soldier, the hero. 271 emerged from behind a cypress tree standing a sentinel over the large hill behind the bungalow, scouring the horizon for potential witnesses. 340 followed 909 and 578 up the steps, and made certain they were setting to the business of picking the lock.
578 set the kit down and began to gather the necessary tools while 909 examined the lock, calculating in her head which pick would be most suitable. Not all door locks were the same. 340 maneuvered to the right side of the house, examining the walls for possible entry points besides the front. It was a small place, so she had little doubt there would be another. Still, it was worth noting for the future.
Even though the house was small, the yard behind it seemed endless with waves of grass and wheat swaying in the night wind like exotic dancers performing for a sultan. In the distance she spotted a wooden worm fence with tin cans mounted on top in a row. There were bullet holes through each of them, meaning they had been used for target practice. But by whom? 340 mentally noted the possibility of the target being armed. He was after all, an experienced veteran tested in combat, so it would not be surprising if he brandished a firearm of his own. All the more reason to approach this mission with extreme caution.
340 was now at the back of the house, and noticed for the first time how incredibly plain the house truly was. Painted in an unflattering shade of tan, the bungalow was about as uninteresting a residence one could hope to find, with no fancy trim or doilies on windows to be found. This hero lived like a Spartan, it seemed, unlike the lavish and powerful existence she was sure he enjoyed in this, his home country and her ally.
There was a window in the shape of a semicircle, which offered a view inside the house. Her curiosity burning, 340 took the opportunity to take a gander at the innermost lodging of the American Russian. What she found struck her almost immediately.
To begin with, she found she was peering into the bedroom of the boy, who was asleep on his bed. Well, maybe not bed. More of a cot than anything else. She found there were no adornments in the white room. No paintings. No toys from childhood. No desk for work. The room was completely bare of any furnishings except the bed and an oak nightstand. Such conditions made the character even more austere than he already was for attending school and a simple job. Facing the bed was a foldout closet, holding all manner of knickknacks and clothes within its confines. She then turned her eyes back to the bed, with a focus on the sleeping visage of her target.
He wore only a loose-fitting white loose-fitting bleached shirt while he hid under white linens to cover himself from the cold. His head rested on a pillow with his eyes shut and his face appearing content, looking towards the ceiling while wrapped in the sweets of sleep. She noted how his chest rose and fell gently with each successive breath he took, unmindful of the unknown intruder peering through his window. But that alone was not what caught 340's attention. What intrigued her, or rather, what shocked her more was the person who slept next to him.
It was a girl, roughly the same age as Renton, lay next to him. She wore a crisp white gown with a blue bow tied around the collar. Her brown hair sprawled out around her head and across the white sheets like fresh earth cast upon a blanket of snow. Unless she was mistaken, it was the same girl she had seen with the boy earlier. How was it this girl was also living under the same roof as the hero? Did anyone else know of this significant other, sharing a house with him? Sleeping in the same bed? Didn't anyone object to this cohabitation?
Who was she? A girlfriend? An admirer? A sibling?
So many questions filled her mind, and she could not come up with any answers as to who, what, or why. As soon as she found out one thing about the American Russian, another mystery reared its head. It was that that made this task for her all the more challenging to face.
At that moment, Renton stirred in his bed, and turned on his side, facing the window. 340 felt a sheet of sweat form on her brow and soak her collar, fearing he might wake up.
She thought too soon.
His eyes flashed open, and for one fleeting moment, both were locked in a gaze. 340's mouth went dry, her knees shook, and sweat dripped down her head and over her cheeks. He knew now they were here, and they had to react quickly. Otherwise, all of this effort would be for naught, and she would very well face the wrath of her superior. She quickly ducked down from the window, and called on her communicator in as low and soft a voice as she could modulate.
"Ageha Squad, pull back now! Abort mission!"
"Why?" 271 answered back. "What's the matter, 340?"
"The target woke up; he saw me in the window. If you don't get out of there now, our cover is blown!"
"What?!"
"Are you certain, 340?"
"We haven't even begun!"
At that moment, Chertov's voice came over the communicator.
"Ageha Squad, I said we cannot take any chances, and that order still stands. Pull back now!"
340 scrambled to her feet and dashed back down the hill, ordering her squad mates to follow. Things seemed to quickly unravel like a ball of yarn. They could not afford to waste any time, or they would surely be risking their lives.
"Abort mission! Abort mission!"
"What about the kit?" 578 spluttered, her mind clearly frazzled by what was happening.
"Take it with you, 578!" 12 rejoined as she spun around the corner of the house "We must leave no trace we were here!"
"Pull back now! All of you!"
The entire squad fled down the slope of the hill and scattered to their own personal hiding spaces. 340 dove right back into the patch of shrubbery that concealed her, while leaving her with a view of the house. No lights turned on, to her surprise, as she was sure the target would alert anyone else living in the house. Heaven forbid they all be caught now and charged with suspicious activity and conspiracy. Chertov would not only have her head, but so would the Lieutenant Colonel. She was just thankful she managed to pull the squad back in time.
Suddenly, the front door opened with a creak, and out stepped their target. The American Russian, Renton Ivanovich Thurston.
He was hastily dressed, evident in how he still wore his bleached shirt with a pair of striped boxers. A short grey robe hung over his shoulders to shield him from the cold, while he walked out barefoot. In his hands, he carried what appeared to be a bolt-action rifle. None of them could discern the make or model, but it did confirm one thing in 340's mind: the tin cans on the worm fence were shot by the boy. carefully, she pressed on her communicator.
"This is 340," she whispered.
Chertov immediately answered.
"340, explain the situation. What do you see?"
"The target is outside. He's holding a rifle. Please advise."
"You are NOT authorized to approach the target. Do not engage the target."
"Understood."
Renton stepped forward down the hill with care, warily traversing the rifle in each direction. His green eyes scanned the neighborhood with fear and concern for whoever tried to infiltrate his abode. 340 suddenly felt a hard lump develop in her throat as she could swear he was looking right at her and her fellow agent 271. They lay low to the ground, hoping not to lure Renton in their direction with any sight by them. Renton opened his mouth and hesitantly called into the night.
"Hey, is someone out there?"
All remained quiet, as each agent knew better than to respond to his query. As far as he was concerned, they were just the wind, invisible and gone in a fleeting moment. Renton took a few more steps down the hill and went to the right, heading in 340 and 271's direction. Both agents covered their mouths with their hands to conceal the sound of their breathing.
"Hello?"
340 resisted the urge to break and run as Renton combed the shrubbery where they were, literally mere feet away from them both. This was the closest she ever felt to dying, even if the threat was not as great as it was in the heat of battle back in Stalingrad. He still owned a gun, and could fire it at any given moment. He walked past them, and doubled back to check the other side of the house.
"Is anyone here?"
Stillness filled the air, and Renton gave up on his quest to search for the mysterious visitor. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he trotted up the steps as best he could on his bare feet, and closed the door behind him gently. As soon as they heard the lock close, all agents breathed a sigh of relief. They were too close to failing the mission that time.
"This is 340. Target has re-entered the house and locked the door. Please advise."
"Ageha Squad, you are to pull back. You've done enough today. Return to base and refit for the night."
At that order, 12 immediately protested.
"Sir, please, give us another chance! I promise we won't screw up this time!"
"He's spooked, 12. If you go back, you risk blowing your cover and alerting anyone else in the house."
"But, sir—"
"No buts! There's too much heat on us now! We need to wait until things have calmed down and then we can make our next move. For now, return to HQ. That's an order! Out."
340 sighed, knowing that Chertov was right. They aroused far too much suspicion in one night, and especially considering how it was only the first night. There would be another time for this. Another opportunity would come along. The more she thought about it as she rose up to leave with the other agents, she felt glad things ended like this tonight. She was not ready to take his life. She could not face herself in the morning, especially without any juxtaposition or frame of reference. She only had questions piled on top of more questions about what this mission was truly for. It was not a mystery that would be solved in one night, that much she knew.
"Sleep well, Thurston," she whispered.
And she disappeared into the night.
1 Military time, with 1435 hours translating as 2:35 pm.