Chapter Five: Tener Refragatio Phase one: Recruitment
Kincaid Residence-central Moscow 4 July 1994
She was doing it again.
He had yet figure out how Izabel managed to mimicked behaviour patterns of parent's she'd never met.
It went against the natural laws of inheritance. In his weaker moments he'd be convinced that it was fate's way of driving him insane
Alexander Khasinau took pains to conceal the rebuke that threatened to escape his tightly pressed lips. It was disturbing for him to realize that his career, heavily reliant on meticulous foresight, could be potentially jeopardized by trivial factors. Alexander knew, had known for sometime that his feelings regarding Irina did not quiet equate to what they should represent, a simple uncomplicated business deal together with not entirely unexpected physical gratifications.
By the same token what he felt for Irina's offspring, should be equally uncomplicated, he would never allow something so pathetic as sentiment cloud his judgement. The child standing before him was a business investment, the profitable product of careful planning combined with strategic manipulation.
Watching the teenager work diligently at her studies evoked a fierce assortment of emotions within him. Izabel studious posture only served to heighten her resemblance to Bristow, to both sides of her lineage. Alexander considered himself a reluctant expert on all things even remotely connected to the man, right down to the nervous gesture his daughter was unconsciously emulating.
If asked Khasinu could easily recite a chronological list of Jonathon 'Jack' Bristow's childhood pets.
There were two things in the world Khasinau bothered to hate.
American society and Jack Bristow, the two things were practically synonymous which made the task of exacting revenge so much sweater.
And the catalyst that much more powerful
At 13, Izabel Kincaid bore little physical resemblance to the half staved orphan he had discovered 5 years ago. Long lithe limbs were etched with firm muscle development and her naturally pale skin was flushed with a healthy glow that stood testament to her not so typical Russian living standards. The blooming maturity of her willowy frame was disguised under bagging clothing. Fawn coloured hair was in a messy plait just past her waist, physically she was beautiful with her mother's natural grace. Keen intelligence and an almost insatiable thrust for knowledge were central to everything the girl attempted, something he found gratifying and professionally promising but at the same time, more then a little disconcerting.
"You can stop now," He said tonelessly
Izabel looked up " you realize that it's my birthday right?" she said wearily, handing the sheets over to him before standing up to stretch.
"Yes" Alexander said shortly, leafing through the pages methodically. These final test results would double as his final submission to the committee. Attaching such importance to a single subject did not come without risks but he was confident in her performance.
"You're mean Christopher, I should be enjoying myself, celebrating another fun filled year of living"
Alexander remained unaffected "The pre admission scholarship programme for Moscow College of Medicine is holding its last rounds of applications, you will still be turning one year older next year"
"Won't you need Papa's signature for that?" Izabel asked hopefully, tucking a strained of fawn coloured hair behind her ear.
Her adoptive father was away doubtlessly paying of same of his rapidly mounting debts. Marco Kincaid was fond of the drink, too fond. A common enough problem in the hard times but it became a problem if you were wealthier then most but had to work to maintain such status. Unlike a large percentage of the population Marco had every intention and the means to attain his finer desires, which included but weren't limited to fine woman.
" He's still away on business" the euphonium was about 4 or 5 years out of date.
Izabel wasn't disappointed, in order to be disappointed you really needed to be expecting something to begin with, which she wasn't. She had read or heard somewhere that little girls were supposed to hold their fathers to impossibly high standards putting them on proverbial pedestals
That must be for the kids who didn't grow up expecting nothing and receiving barely more then that. She saw and accepted Marco for who he was nothing more nothing less. They had a loving though mutually ambivalent relationship. It didn't long to work out the fasted way into his good books was to stay out of the way of his drinking buddies.
"Can I go and see mama?" Izzy asked knowing with instinctive confidence that she had passed the test.
Alexander nodded briskly
**
"We are already years behind the American initiative, we need action now!"
The harshly accented Russian voice rung out in the dimly lit room, it also went largely unheeded for the six men had been auguring the same points fruitlessly for hours. The smells of various vices, principally Cuban tobacco hung stale in the air.
"The facility is skeletal at best. Upgrades still run the rest of being tracked" A man with a perpetual tick spoke up.
"It's been 7 years since founding approval, what level of incompetence had we been hiring?" the same voice queried
The personal barb was petty but the younger man was just tired enough to rise to the bait. The others in the room seemed equally apathetic towards resolution or productivity and were roused only slightly by the prospect of a verbal spar.
"Enough!" the grating voice of the committee director was still powerful and drew the attention of everyone around the conference table.
"We've been justifying the delay the investors with words like potential and strategic value. That's not what they're paying for. Results will be needed before the next Geneva Conference"
Here the snow haired man fixed his gaze on each one of them "Contact Khasinu I want to run Sim 111 before deciding any further"
**
He would actually missed this alias
The hardened veteran of Russian espionage prepared for his final performance as the shadowy patricidal figure of the Kincaid family. In each hand respectively was a bottle of Marco's favourite whisky and a bouquet of the flowers his wife had a characterizing weakness for, just another far from innocent sign of his involvement.
Walking up the familiar path he meticulously planned out the stages in his head while maintaining an air of casualness. "Christopher" was never in the neighbourhood long enough to invoke suspicion in the high socio economic gossip driven community.
The door was opened and his was granted entrance by Marie Kincaid the woman was lean and practical where her husband was impractical and glutinous. He offered the roses and they were taken gracefully
"Dinner's on the table" she said be way of welcome a sign of his place within the household
She would never know the mistake it would be
She had served her purpose so Alexander resigned himself not care to as he made his way intimately around her prized kitchen and commented on the tantalizing smells. He didn't wince as he traced imaginary sniper tertiary along her proud spine or calculated the likelihood of unexpected collateral.
All while keeping complacent smile on his face.
**
They had been a part of her for as long as she could remember.
Isabel tried to appear calm and unaffected as she sat at the long oak table in the middle of the kitchen. She had learned long ago that any mention of the things she had eventually termed visions were met with hostility particularly when you lived in Russian Orthodox household.
Visions were for homeless, toothless gypsies
The same people she step over on the way to mass every Sunday, any potential social conscience was interrupted by her mother's suddenly too firm hand clenching the coat of Izabel's church best and guiding her away.
She never had a 'real' vision more like a heightened sense of awareness, making instincts a little more reliable.
Invisible pinpricks of were choreographing their way down the teenager's spine. A familiar mixture of Coriander and Basal suddenly burned her nostrils and her heart rate seemed to be caught between stopping completely and beating faster then a Hummingbird's wing, the resulting sensation was making her dizzy and Izabel's stomach was caught in a vice like grip.
Something was wrong. Every fibber in her body screamed it.
Izabel tried to focus on her mother as she laid the traditional roast out on the table, a mist a sea of compliments.
"Christopher, would you say grace please?" Marco asked from his position at the head of the table.
"We pray thee oh Lord"
He was halfway through the verse when it happened. The first thing Izabel noticed was the red stain on her father's silk shirt. She was waiting for his string of annoyed curses when the widow shatter under the force of an unknown projectile, broken glass showered them. There was a cacophony of sound bur she couldn't connect anything that happened.
Marie Kincaid, who had half raised to tend to her husband, was struck clearly in the chest with a sickening finite sound. Her ever-graceful body crumpled like a rug doll back into the chair, she made a terrible gurgling sound.
Izabel's scream was struggled and pawed uselessly at the glass filled air. Watching the prone for her parents she could figure out what to do. Her ears rung she was unable to move or even hear her own sobs. The decision was taken away from her; Christopher moved with lightening speed and yanked her hard to the floor. Izabel was useless, her limbs failed and she lost her battle with nausea. The dry retching combined with heaving sobs to effectively immobilize her diaphragm. She was suddenly very cold and trembled violently.
Alexander swore as he hurled Izabel out of house into the front yard. Reaching into his pocket he removed a bottle and tipped the contents onto his handkerchief. He clenched it firmly across her mouth. It took a minute for her to go completely limp. Picking her up the agent bundled her into the awaiting car with its black tined widows.
**
"Oh God!"
Izabel half sobbed as she woke, unfortunately having no blissful period of ignorance before reality struck. She had a vague feeling of motion but couldn't fathom anything beyond that. Her head felt like cotton wool and her sight was restricted to shapeless colours
"Christopher?" she whispered frantically
"I hear little one, go back to sleep" Alexander said, finding extremely ironic that she found comfort in his presence.
Izabel only response was to quietly mummer "Mummy" and "Daddy" over and over with the occasional intermittence of "why?" At one point her pulled the car over and pulled her into his arms, rocking her back and forth.
Deepening the deception by promising to always be there for her.
Alexander Khasnau saw no real point in maintaining the identity except the hopelessly vulnerable look in her every gesture. It almost tugged at what little remained of his heartstrings
A feminine immature carbon copy of Bristow, during his first days in solitary sat beside him. He had never seen Irina that weak but then again he hadn't seen many sides to his former charge.
For an unexplained reason both ideas gave him equal amounts of satisfaction.
Reality would be upon her soon enough
If Izabel had been alert she would have seen the man she so clung to methodically peel away earplugs and move around uncomfortably in his carefully concealed bullet -proof vest.
If Izabel had been even vaguely conscious she would witness him exchange money with a man in camouflage gear, holding a gun.
She would have overhead him arranging the elimination or bribing of people in on the immediate parameter to their house.
As it was Izabel, in a drug induced haze slept away whatever remained of her innocence.
Kincaid Residence-central Moscow 4 July 1994
She was doing it again.
He had yet figure out how Izabel managed to mimicked behaviour patterns of parent's she'd never met.
It went against the natural laws of inheritance. In his weaker moments he'd be convinced that it was fate's way of driving him insane
Alexander Khasinau took pains to conceal the rebuke that threatened to escape his tightly pressed lips. It was disturbing for him to realize that his career, heavily reliant on meticulous foresight, could be potentially jeopardized by trivial factors. Alexander knew, had known for sometime that his feelings regarding Irina did not quiet equate to what they should represent, a simple uncomplicated business deal together with not entirely unexpected physical gratifications.
By the same token what he felt for Irina's offspring, should be equally uncomplicated, he would never allow something so pathetic as sentiment cloud his judgement. The child standing before him was a business investment, the profitable product of careful planning combined with strategic manipulation.
Watching the teenager work diligently at her studies evoked a fierce assortment of emotions within him. Izabel studious posture only served to heighten her resemblance to Bristow, to both sides of her lineage. Alexander considered himself a reluctant expert on all things even remotely connected to the man, right down to the nervous gesture his daughter was unconsciously emulating.
If asked Khasinu could easily recite a chronological list of Jonathon 'Jack' Bristow's childhood pets.
There were two things in the world Khasinau bothered to hate.
American society and Jack Bristow, the two things were practically synonymous which made the task of exacting revenge so much sweater.
And the catalyst that much more powerful
At 13, Izabel Kincaid bore little physical resemblance to the half staved orphan he had discovered 5 years ago. Long lithe limbs were etched with firm muscle development and her naturally pale skin was flushed with a healthy glow that stood testament to her not so typical Russian living standards. The blooming maturity of her willowy frame was disguised under bagging clothing. Fawn coloured hair was in a messy plait just past her waist, physically she was beautiful with her mother's natural grace. Keen intelligence and an almost insatiable thrust for knowledge were central to everything the girl attempted, something he found gratifying and professionally promising but at the same time, more then a little disconcerting.
"You can stop now," He said tonelessly
Izabel looked up " you realize that it's my birthday right?" she said wearily, handing the sheets over to him before standing up to stretch.
"Yes" Alexander said shortly, leafing through the pages methodically. These final test results would double as his final submission to the committee. Attaching such importance to a single subject did not come without risks but he was confident in her performance.
"You're mean Christopher, I should be enjoying myself, celebrating another fun filled year of living"
Alexander remained unaffected "The pre admission scholarship programme for Moscow College of Medicine is holding its last rounds of applications, you will still be turning one year older next year"
"Won't you need Papa's signature for that?" Izabel asked hopefully, tucking a strained of fawn coloured hair behind her ear.
Her adoptive father was away doubtlessly paying of same of his rapidly mounting debts. Marco Kincaid was fond of the drink, too fond. A common enough problem in the hard times but it became a problem if you were wealthier then most but had to work to maintain such status. Unlike a large percentage of the population Marco had every intention and the means to attain his finer desires, which included but weren't limited to fine woman.
" He's still away on business" the euphonium was about 4 or 5 years out of date.
Izabel wasn't disappointed, in order to be disappointed you really needed to be expecting something to begin with, which she wasn't. She had read or heard somewhere that little girls were supposed to hold their fathers to impossibly high standards putting them on proverbial pedestals
That must be for the kids who didn't grow up expecting nothing and receiving barely more then that. She saw and accepted Marco for who he was nothing more nothing less. They had a loving though mutually ambivalent relationship. It didn't long to work out the fasted way into his good books was to stay out of the way of his drinking buddies.
"Can I go and see mama?" Izzy asked knowing with instinctive confidence that she had passed the test.
Alexander nodded briskly
**
"We are already years behind the American initiative, we need action now!"
The harshly accented Russian voice rung out in the dimly lit room, it also went largely unheeded for the six men had been auguring the same points fruitlessly for hours. The smells of various vices, principally Cuban tobacco hung stale in the air.
"The facility is skeletal at best. Upgrades still run the rest of being tracked" A man with a perpetual tick spoke up.
"It's been 7 years since founding approval, what level of incompetence had we been hiring?" the same voice queried
The personal barb was petty but the younger man was just tired enough to rise to the bait. The others in the room seemed equally apathetic towards resolution or productivity and were roused only slightly by the prospect of a verbal spar.
"Enough!" the grating voice of the committee director was still powerful and drew the attention of everyone around the conference table.
"We've been justifying the delay the investors with words like potential and strategic value. That's not what they're paying for. Results will be needed before the next Geneva Conference"
Here the snow haired man fixed his gaze on each one of them "Contact Khasinu I want to run Sim 111 before deciding any further"
**
He would actually missed this alias
The hardened veteran of Russian espionage prepared for his final performance as the shadowy patricidal figure of the Kincaid family. In each hand respectively was a bottle of Marco's favourite whisky and a bouquet of the flowers his wife had a characterizing weakness for, just another far from innocent sign of his involvement.
Walking up the familiar path he meticulously planned out the stages in his head while maintaining an air of casualness. "Christopher" was never in the neighbourhood long enough to invoke suspicion in the high socio economic gossip driven community.
The door was opened and his was granted entrance by Marie Kincaid the woman was lean and practical where her husband was impractical and glutinous. He offered the roses and they were taken gracefully
"Dinner's on the table" she said be way of welcome a sign of his place within the household
She would never know the mistake it would be
She had served her purpose so Alexander resigned himself not care to as he made his way intimately around her prized kitchen and commented on the tantalizing smells. He didn't wince as he traced imaginary sniper tertiary along her proud spine or calculated the likelihood of unexpected collateral.
All while keeping complacent smile on his face.
**
They had been a part of her for as long as she could remember.
Isabel tried to appear calm and unaffected as she sat at the long oak table in the middle of the kitchen. She had learned long ago that any mention of the things she had eventually termed visions were met with hostility particularly when you lived in Russian Orthodox household.
Visions were for homeless, toothless gypsies
The same people she step over on the way to mass every Sunday, any potential social conscience was interrupted by her mother's suddenly too firm hand clenching the coat of Izabel's church best and guiding her away.
She never had a 'real' vision more like a heightened sense of awareness, making instincts a little more reliable.
Invisible pinpricks of were choreographing their way down the teenager's spine. A familiar mixture of Coriander and Basal suddenly burned her nostrils and her heart rate seemed to be caught between stopping completely and beating faster then a Hummingbird's wing, the resulting sensation was making her dizzy and Izabel's stomach was caught in a vice like grip.
Something was wrong. Every fibber in her body screamed it.
Izabel tried to focus on her mother as she laid the traditional roast out on the table, a mist a sea of compliments.
"Christopher, would you say grace please?" Marco asked from his position at the head of the table.
"We pray thee oh Lord"
He was halfway through the verse when it happened. The first thing Izabel noticed was the red stain on her father's silk shirt. She was waiting for his string of annoyed curses when the widow shatter under the force of an unknown projectile, broken glass showered them. There was a cacophony of sound bur she couldn't connect anything that happened.
Marie Kincaid, who had half raised to tend to her husband, was struck clearly in the chest with a sickening finite sound. Her ever-graceful body crumpled like a rug doll back into the chair, she made a terrible gurgling sound.
Izabel's scream was struggled and pawed uselessly at the glass filled air. Watching the prone for her parents she could figure out what to do. Her ears rung she was unable to move or even hear her own sobs. The decision was taken away from her; Christopher moved with lightening speed and yanked her hard to the floor. Izabel was useless, her limbs failed and she lost her battle with nausea. The dry retching combined with heaving sobs to effectively immobilize her diaphragm. She was suddenly very cold and trembled violently.
Alexander swore as he hurled Izabel out of house into the front yard. Reaching into his pocket he removed a bottle and tipped the contents onto his handkerchief. He clenched it firmly across her mouth. It took a minute for her to go completely limp. Picking her up the agent bundled her into the awaiting car with its black tined widows.
**
"Oh God!"
Izabel half sobbed as she woke, unfortunately having no blissful period of ignorance before reality struck. She had a vague feeling of motion but couldn't fathom anything beyond that. Her head felt like cotton wool and her sight was restricted to shapeless colours
"Christopher?" she whispered frantically
"I hear little one, go back to sleep" Alexander said, finding extremely ironic that she found comfort in his presence.
Izabel only response was to quietly mummer "Mummy" and "Daddy" over and over with the occasional intermittence of "why?" At one point her pulled the car over and pulled her into his arms, rocking her back and forth.
Deepening the deception by promising to always be there for her.
Alexander Khasnau saw no real point in maintaining the identity except the hopelessly vulnerable look in her every gesture. It almost tugged at what little remained of his heartstrings
A feminine immature carbon copy of Bristow, during his first days in solitary sat beside him. He had never seen Irina that weak but then again he hadn't seen many sides to his former charge.
For an unexplained reason both ideas gave him equal amounts of satisfaction.
Reality would be upon her soon enough
If Izabel had been alert she would have seen the man she so clung to methodically peel away earplugs and move around uncomfortably in his carefully concealed bullet -proof vest.
If Izabel had been even vaguely conscious she would witness him exchange money with a man in camouflage gear, holding a gun.
She would have overhead him arranging the elimination or bribing of people in on the immediate parameter to their house.
As it was Izabel, in a drug induced haze slept away whatever remained of her innocence.
