Playlist continuing… Chapter thirty-five
Nancy Sinatra, "You Only Live Twice"
"You… only live twice… or so… it seems…
One life… for yourself… and one for your dreams…"
Somewhere else in time, there was one question she was dying to ask. Now that she knew how Artyom got to Jessi and filled her in about the ongoing stress case, the best part was yet to come. Simply put, how the hell did the blond girl manage to play cat burglar under the noses of an entire division of angry Janus thugs on the lookout – and what's more likely waiting to trip her up.
"So, what next?", the half-Asian asked, still grinning at her friend's earlier display of modesty.
"Next I told him I knew where you had to be, and he said we had to plan your exfil – but I stopped him right there." There was a brief, almost dramatic pause; just enough to put extra emphasis on what had just been said. "If one person had to go, it was me; I knew the facility best, so better to infiltrate it myself. He didn't make a fuss about that, but he warned he'd wait for us until dawn then take off from Rzhevka no matter what. I called it a deal, then he took me to the Samara to show me all the stuff I might need."
The more the tale went on, the more Kaiko realized there was an unusual note in the Russian girl's tone. Thinking about it, it sounded like a great pride that for once had been given free rein by her unassuming character. How understandable, not everybody could boast to have single-handedly pulled one over the criminal powerhouse of Russia and come – almost – shining through. The convalescent's smile widened at this; as for the aging Lada that got them away from the storage facility, no mistake should be made. It might have looked like it fitted Jessi's style, but the Corvette's vintage flashiness was much more reflective of what truly laid behind the quiet exterior of hers.
"Stolen car?"
"Guess so." Jessi gave an indifferent shrug. "Unremarkable enough, but no way a drag racer could have been made out of such a jalopy. Fortunately the rest of the gear was in better shape…"
The grin morphed into a snort at once;
"Wouldn't say so much about grandpa Окурок (Okurok)."
That last word, meaning cigarette stub, was one of the AKS-74U's affectionate nicknames – obviously coming from the prominence of the wooden handguard on the short steel frame.
"Hey, it didn't jam. Personally I wasn't asking for more." This was acknowledged by a slight wave of the half-Asian's head; 'Fair enough'. "Anyway, after that we drove to the edge of town, so he could walk the remaining way to Rzhevka while I was out to get you. I rarely felt as focused as right then… thinking of a thousand things at once and still making sense out of them. Like, I was buying the spare gas for the 'Vette when the route inside the rat hole struck me."
'The rat hole'. This might be the most accurate description of the goddamned place. It was indeed important to note that in order to blend in with the immediate surroundings, the installation was subject to the least possible amount of maintenance – especially of the visible kind. This was how, as of late, it had become synonymous with rusting containers, other unremoved litter such as old barrels and tires, water infiltration issues and general poor insulation, mud everywhere when it rained, and a litany of other things either unnoticeable at first glance or that had become normal over time.
What topped it all were the clunky, uneven hand-traced white letters on the beat-up front gate; 'Машины не ставить! Въезд и выезд транспорта.' (Mashiny ne stavit'! V"yezd i vyyezd transporta., Parking forbidden! Entering and exiting vehicles.). Besides the flaking paint, the sloppy job combined with the graffiti-covered, standard issue PO-2 type concrete fences in the vicinity almost made it a glorious monument to post-Soviet entrepreneurship. As a result, very few prying eyes ever took interest in this one more piece of dereliction amid Piter's unwelcoming underbelly; they'd better not to anyway.
"Which way did you go, climbed the wall next to №9 (Nomer devyat', no. 9)?"
"You crazy, I don't climb over razor wire that thick." Seeing that her friend didn't have a clue, Jessi tried to point her in the right direction; "Come on, what's the most obvious weakness of the whole facility?"
'Trick question'. Everybody knew that №11 (Nomer odinnadtsat', No. 11) was the biggest flaw in the site's security. Home to the place's diesel generators – a much more reliable technology than the local power grid, and that didn't require bribes to be used – , its rear wall served as a direct boundary with the adjacent lot – Автомастерская Бориса (Avtomasterskaya Borisa, Boris' Auto Shop) –, while unprotected by any kind of barbed wire lined wall. But the resulting ease of entry was purely theoretical; both young women knew for a fact that an intricate array of motion sensors and infrared cameras made its rooftop impregnable, and a persistent rumor even had it that snipers took shifts up there just in case the devices failed.
Whether the last point was pure fiction or not, it was virtually impossible that the Russian girl got in from there. Kaiko put some more thought into it, frowning and running her hand on her mouth as she mentally reviewed each potential vulnerability her friend could have used to break in. She was about to give up when a wild intuition struck her;
"№7 (Nomer sem', No. 7)…?"
The answer to that was a slow, deep nod. How enticing an idea; after all, Warehouse 7 had been left to rot and mostly unattended after a fire messed it up years ago. Moreover, if the area of interest was a square, Warehouse 8 would be top left, 11 top right and 7 bottom right, meaning that the latter provided an excellent overview as to how to access the lockup. The attractiveness of this route was so high that the half-Asian would have almost forgot there was a major issue for it to be actually safe. The bottom left corner of the zone, or the sole thing in the rat hole that mattered to the rat king. Склад №6. (Sklad Nomer shest'., Warehouse 6.)
"Wait a minute, you came so close of the stash and you call me crazy?!"
Jessi had a shrug, again one full of self-confidence;
"Well, as an insider that was much simpler than you'd think. Though it didn't happen without a drop of sweat, I'll give you that." Her friend raised both of her eyebrows in acknowledgement, while her stare called for more development. "First I got inside the autoshop. No problem on that part, I slipped in without anybody noticing."
"That's a lot of luck.", Kaiko noted, propping herself up on her left hand and folding her legs to the side.
"True. Fortunately I didn't waste too much time thinking about it and moved on to №7's outer wall. There I landed a grappling hook from Artyom's stuff on that bust of a roof even smoother than in my best hopes… almost as if it were Heaven's reward for all the times we froze our butts off in there. Though that hook was a blessing in itself – light, foldable and sturdy. I'll definitely mess around again with one of these once I'm recovered."
Who would have thought that the day would come upon them when they'd be grateful to have received combat training in that shack? Being barked at by the so-called сержанты-инструкторы (serzhanty-instruktory, drill sergeants), taking the hits of inconsiderate sparring partners and having to use lousy equipment whether rain poured from the ceiling or the sun boiled down on it was an experience they sure as hell didn't miss. But it was undeniable that having this purposely harsh environment used against its owners felt all the more satisfactory within this context – acquired fighting skills aside.
"Anyway, back to the climb. Save for jumping over the damn barbs it wasn't that difficult, but once on top I realized that dodging the cams, floodlights and night shifts would be a bigger issue than I remembered. Plus, the roof panels were so torn down that I couldn't take a step without either being heard by half the neighborhood or falling through. In the end, I had no choice but going down into the gap between 6 and 7… and yes, I can figure your thoughts about that."
The half-Asian held back a roll of her eyes at not being able to express herself, though indeed they had to be as well aware as the other of the point she was about to make. A baby mouse sneaked in any such weapon cache as Warehouse 6, the whole of the Janus Syndicate knew. No one messed with the stock-in-trade without lead flying their way; an idiot who tried and still lived to tell had better hide as far away as possible, and even then a stray bullet or knife could happen anywhere, any moment. Which, in their case, would have equated to a plain and simple doubling of their share of trouble.
"Just consider that I hadn't come that far to quit, and there was no question of me even brushing against the can of worms. Sensible enough to you?"
"Sure. Now let's see; I count one camera at the back of said gap, one at 6's front and… one across the alley, on №11. Do I have them all?" Yet another nod came from the blonde girl, leading her best friend to concede her astonishment; "Well, with that little room for maneuver, I can only admire your acrobatic talent."
"Thank you." There definitely was a slight blush to the acrobat's cheeks as she said it. "To be honest the worst part was to reach the ground, after that I just had to wait for the perfect timing to run across the alley and slink behind the container along 11. But that jump I did beforehand… I mean, I couldn't risk to have the back camera detecting my rope if I rappelled down, so I hanged from the edge of the roof as it looked away and dropped. I was aiming to catch hold of the fence below then safely land on my feet, which I did, but you should have seen me… forcing my mouth so wide open that I couldn't scream from the pain of the metal slicing my palms."
Prompted by Kaiko's wide-eyed surprise she held out her fists and slowly opened them, revealing the full extent of the damage. A stitched, serpentine line extended on almost their entire combined width, forming a reddish trail whose ugliness might never completely disappear. In the face of this distressing sight, the half-Asian took those hands to hold them in her own for some seconds. She hated to have failed to notice, but there was nothing she could do about it. At least, other than a bitter observation of how with this and her paralyzed fingers, the Russian girl was stiff competition in terms of manual injuries.
Even worse was the vivid image in her mind of the discovery of the blood on the corrugated steel closing off the passage in between the two warehouses. With the trail of stains her friend must have left while closing in on her position, piecing the event back together shouldn't have been a problem – granting people like Xenia some cruel satisfaction to compensate for the suffered affront. The sole idea of this constituting fuel for the latter's sick fetishes in any way was enough to give her an uncomfortable twitch.
"Anyway, I guess you finished acing the obstacle course by sneaking up to №8, lock picking the shutter and avoiding the trip wires."
To detract her mind from these thoughts, Kaiko's best solution was to focus back on the actual tale. Namely, the 'trip wires' she referred to was Warehouse 8's portion of the set of alarm lasers activated during nighttime at unmonitored roller doors in the facility. While their relative invisibility made them very effective at exposing trespassers who came as far as getting inside, it seemed that being an agile insider maximized the chances of passing them undetected.
"Именно так. (Imenno tak., Exactly.)" Jessi put her arms behind her head and stretched out on her wheelchair. "The rest is history."
"I have a couple questions left though." Her friend took a pause to let some coughs out before going ahead; "First; how did you know about the busted fence?"
The blonde girl slightly tilted her head, watching at her for a second. Then, all of a sudden, she figured out what the half-Asian was referring to – the breach in the wall near Warehouse 8, the one that permitted them to bypass most of the main alley and sneak behind the departing truck, to eventually quit the restricted part of the rat hole.
"Ah, that fence. Well, I saw it being busted actually. Stupid driver didn't pay attention to the pipes sticking out of his truck while reversing. Good thing everyone has been too lazy to repair."
"And… what about the syringe?"
After one last contented nod, Kaiko had finally dared to ask. It had been on her mind since she had been given the shot, yet it was only then that the fear of knowing made way for the urge of filling the blanks. In fact, she felt a discrepancy between Artyom committing to that much competent help – even finding an efficient way to bring an OMON chopper down despite clear lack of resources – and not providing any indication about something meant to give her a life-saving boost. On the other hand, she had the one person aware of her grudge against drugs keeping quiet rather than reasserting her ignorance. This was how the following line and squint came out as accusatory ones;
"So you did know what was inside."
"Виновна по всем пунктам… (Vinovna po vsem punktam…, Guilty as charged…)" The Russian girl was sitting back with her eyes closed. "But fair warning, you still won't like it."
Seeing the gesture commanding her to say it anyway, she eventually gave in with a sigh;
"It was amphetamines. Now you know as much as I do."
'I see'. The half-Asian wasn't really surprised, for the effects matched whatever little knowledge she had of the substance. Also, that her friend lied by saying she didn't know might not have been very gracious of her, yet was excusable all the same. There was no time for her to protest back in Warehouse 8, and what Jessi went through to get to her was more than enough to back off – let alone that getting up from the torture would have been impossible otherwise. Therefore, the sole concern that would remain at the back of Kaiko's mind was; 'Whose idea was that in the first place?'
"Ты помилована." (Ty pomilovana., Pardon granted.), she stated, but not before giving a light punishing punch to the benevolent liar.
The latter glanced at her with what looked like great relief. Probably lacking the words to express her emotions, she brought her wheelchair even closer of the bed and opened her arms wide. A second later, the two of them were giving each other a hug. A tight, heartfelt hug.
"And love is a stranger… who'll beckon you on…
Don't think of the danger… or the stranger… is gone…"
No less than seven weeks had passed since the freight train shipped them out of Russia, right before they were rushed to the clinic. Their health had seen a significant improvement in the meantime, so much that they could now go for afternoon walks without being too tired upon their return. A great thing for sure, as the calm, early November weather was just warm enough for them to make the most of their scouting of the Azerbaijani capital.
Yet, for all the enjoyment Jessi and her сестричка were getting from discovering the beauties of the Orient together, the latter couldn't help but feel some strong déjà-vu. It was even that day that this sense reached its peak, as they had chosen to stroll on this vast park promenade along the Caspian coast, Baku Boulevard. But contrary to the memories that came to the half-Asian's mind, the surroundings were more of a lively showcase of the local oil economy's thriving than a demolished corniche – and there was no way she was to meet again with a MI6 agent that soon.
Their exploration had notably brought them to the old Parachute Tower, a tall Soviet era landmark once permitting ordinary people to practice parachute jumping. Now renovated and renamed Saat qülləsi (Saat gullasi, Clock Tower), its current purpose was to showcase information such as time, date, temperature and so on. Of course, more modern attractions could be found in the area, like a mall, several museums, a Ferris wheel and even the world's highest flag, but none of these piqued their interest as much. The park, however, was a sight in itself – the lush vegetation, proximity to the shore, web of walkways and amount of actual maintenance made it an instant favorite of theirs.
Not long after grabbing a sweet snack at a food stall – some almond-filled pastries known as şəkərbura (shakarbura) –, they decided to head back to L'Or Noir. After about fifteen minutes of navigating through the busy, historical Sabail district they had already reached the place, resolved to spend the rest of the day either reading or behind a TV screen. They might have, if not for the scene they came upon as they entered the lobby.
Three people were involved, two young men and what likely was a client of Zukovsky's hotel. One of the boys was suddenly knocked down by a jaw-breaking punch from the client, who then bended to snatch a wallet from the victim's pocket. The last remaining party lifted his buddy up, and the two of them left without further ado. Again, this could have been a petty pickpocketing case whose only highlight would have been the humbling thump at the punk's face, but looking closer the man behind such expeditious manners was anything but a stranger. 'No British spies this time, eh? Well, I'll be damned.'
"Look who's here."
He raised his head from the checking of his possessions, to gaze into Kaiko's eyes after she greeted him that way. His reply was a gracious, saluting nod, that became an interrogative look at Jessi when the two friends actually reached him.
"Jessika Irineyevna Pajari. Partner in crime... sister in everything but blood." The half-Asian was smiling. "Jessi, Jonathan Hunter..."
"... the man with the golden eye. Glad to meet you at last."
He could be seen giving a slight grin as well as his newest acquaintance shook his hand.
"My pleasure."
"This dream is for you… so pay… the price…
Make one dream come true, you only… live twice."