Flint and Steel in Hand, Strike When Ready
Odessa wasn't exactly pretty this time of the year but, compared to the prison in Kashmir, Irina was in heaven. Today had been a good day, not too warm but sunny. She had spent the entire length of it sitting on the beach, wrapped in blankets, watching the tide come in and out. There was no one else around, just she and the seagulls dipping and rolling on the wind, screeching and twittering to each other. It was a luxury to sit in one spot with nothing else around. No walls, no guards and no Cuvee. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, drawing the salty mist inward and expelling the musty odor that was prison. Just by breathing she was being cleansed.
Her first few days back from Kashmir she spent in the bath, washing away five years of filth in bubbly warm water. She sat in the tub for hours on end until her skin pruned and the water became colder than the air. The bath, she hoped, would erase the pain and dirtiness of five years; wash away the reminders of Cuvee. No matter how many times she refilled the tub, the image of Cuvee grunting over her would not go away. Irina made the decision that he no longer mattered; what he did to her no longer mattered, because she survived. Survival was all that mattered.
She went to the market and bought some second hand clothes, bright and colorful, and burned the tattered gray cloth that she had been wearing when she left the prison. She bought as much fresh fruit and vegetables as she could afford, cheese so fresh it was still wrapped in cloth and a good bottle of vodka.
She spent as much time as she could outdoors at the parks or here at the Black Sea. She inhaled deeply the scents and sounds of the Russia she knew.
It was almost like freedom.
Fleeting and elusive.
Tomorrow she returned to her old life, the one the KGB was still controlling. Now that she has finished her "reconditioning", they were eager to see if she could be a functioning agent. Irina knew that she could, as long as it didn't require her to become part of a family again. She had one already, thank you very much, however it had been formed and no matter e how many times she was told and she repeated that it was only a job and it wasn't, isn't, real. She was ready for anything, her edges sharp and her heart dull.
Tomorrow she returned to Simferopol, back to where it all began. She had been ordered to report there so that they could test her capabilities. It would be just like her initial training, except accelerated. Irina was under the impression that the generals had a mission in mind for her; they just needed to make sure she was physically and mentally ready.
She knew she was not quite there.
One thing about prison is that she couldn't keep up with her marksmanship, which becomes less precise without use. She needed to feel the familiar weight of a gun in her hand, squeeze off round after round to get back that deadly accuracy that she had been known for. She felt as though some of her skills had become rusty and dull, whereas others had become so sharp they drew blood. She was now a complete master of her emotions; nothing could penetrate that armor any more.
Though she would have rather spent more time in Odessa, watching the waves, returning to work was starting to become almost appealing.
Almost.
In the darkest corner of her mind and heart, shielded and walled, the place she longed to be was in a pale yellow bedroom, half way around the world, reading the newspaper with Jack at her side and Sydney styling her hair.
That was heaven.
That was freedom.
That would never, ever, happen again.
***
Her first few days back at training were difficult, not because of the training, but in having to deal with the instructors and the other trainees. Most just stared and gave her wide berth wherever she went. Many of them whispered and pointed, some even daring to speak their thoughts aloud. Many of the instructors were openly hostile towards her. Here was one of the former stars of the KGB spy machine trying to return from such disgrace.
She soon proved to them that she was still one to emulate and to fear. Her time in prison had given her a hardness and a ruthlessness that the instructors both admired and pointed out to their students. This was an example of a great operative; one who had the ability to detach emotionally and complete the mission with deadly efficiency and accuracy.
No one became her friend; friends were dangerous. Hardly anyone spoke to her civilly and she did not encourage contact. Irina kept to herself, selecting the isolated tables or desks during the classroom periods.
To her surprise, one day Khasinau visited the training facility. She was pleased to see a familiar face, someone to talk with and to share stories. He came to inform her that although he would no longer be her handler, it had been decided that she was fit to return to operational status. The job to which she was assigned was not glamorous, was not dangerous and was one of the most detested jobs available. But it would give her days purpose and give her time to reconnect with her contacts.
She was going to China to handle the security for the Russian Embassy. Khasinau also instructed her that, although there was no reason to suspect that the Chinese were hiding anything from the Russians, their allies, it wouldn't be discouraged if Irina did some unauthorized checking. Of course, if she were caught, she would not be recognized by the Russian government and would most likely be executed.
Irina knew better than to refuse the assignment; it was an olive branch of sorts. She could spend some time doing her own private research on Rambaldi, anyway. It was rumored that some of his artifacts had been found in and around China. Yes, this assignment might not be so bad after all. And, if she could bide her time and prove her loyalty, she might get a better mission in the near future.
***
The party was winding down and Irina was relieved. The exchange she was there to oversee had gone off without a hitch; the embassy personnel were none the wiser. Chen Yao Xing eyed her up and down and started to come her way. Maybe it was his position as head of Internal Security for the Beijing District that made him feel so powerful and so sure that Irina was his for the taking, but she was in no mood to rebuff politely yet another time. Any other man at the Chinese embassy would have not pursued her further after the public rebuff just a few days ago, their pride would not allow it. Apparently, Chen did not see the need in saving face. He had been hounding her since she started the job almost a year ago and looked as though he would never give up until she gave in.
Just as Chen made his way to where she was sitting, someone sat on the settee next to her. She tried valiantly to mask the surprise.
"Well, hello darling?" Sloane murmured, pausing for her to fill in the name.
"Irina. I am surprised to see you here." She knew full well that he wasn't on the guest list and that the CIA would be sending him in as an agent for anything. Sloane was always a thinker, not a doer.
Chen stood there as if waiting for Irina to dismiss the other man. Irina sighed with impatience, stood and in Chinese asked that Chen give her and her good friend some time alone. Chen looked quite shocked at this impertinence and relayed his disgust with her treatment of him to Irina and her companion. Sloane insulted the man expertly in Chinese and Chen stormed off in a huff.
"Irina." He picked up her hand, bent over and kissed it. "Lovely to see you again. I have been missing you since Laura's death."
"Arvin, what brings you to Beijing? And how is Emily?" Sloane stood up, never releasing her hand and puller her to the dance floor. She went willingly so as not to arouse attention from the guards.
"My darling wife is fine, but she misses her friend. I am in Beijing on business, if you are interested. I believe for the same reason you are here?"
"I don't know about you Arvin, but I am handling security for the Russian Embassy and I know for certain you were not on the guest list tonight."
He looked at her intently, a small smile played at his lips. "Ah, so this mission is the best use of someone with your talents according to the KGB. Security work, it must be so rewarding."
"It is. What brings the CIA to Beijing?" she whispered near his ear. She didn't feel like alerting the rest of the patrons and security team that a CIA agent was crashing the party; the paperwork alone gave her headaches.
"Dearest Irina, you haven't heard then. I left the CIA." He paused as if considering what to say next. "What do you know of the Alliance of Twelve?"
"Ah, so that's it. I believe it's a group of independents trying to gain control in intelligence, guns and drugs. My superiors do not give them much credence or chance of becoming more than a nuisance."
"How wrong they are."
He twirled her around the dance floor in silence her mind analyzing the situation. She reined her curiosity in and waited for Arvin to make the next move. He guided them out to a window balcony and stepped outdoors, drawing her with him.
"We are always in need of a few good men, or women, as they say. Strictly on an as needed basis. The money is quite good."
He slipped a business card out from the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket and placed it in the neckline of her dress.
"I hope to hear from you."
He began to walk away, turned and added, "Jack has never recovered from his wife's death, the poor thing, and his daughter is getting so big. Emily and I just dote on her and think of her almost as if she were our own. You should have seen her performance in the Christmas pageant; it was priceless."
With that he wove his way into the crowd, leaving Irina on the balcony, shaking with murderous rage.
Odessa wasn't exactly pretty this time of the year but, compared to the prison in Kashmir, Irina was in heaven. Today had been a good day, not too warm but sunny. She had spent the entire length of it sitting on the beach, wrapped in blankets, watching the tide come in and out. There was no one else around, just she and the seagulls dipping and rolling on the wind, screeching and twittering to each other. It was a luxury to sit in one spot with nothing else around. No walls, no guards and no Cuvee. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, drawing the salty mist inward and expelling the musty odor that was prison. Just by breathing she was being cleansed.
Her first few days back from Kashmir she spent in the bath, washing away five years of filth in bubbly warm water. She sat in the tub for hours on end until her skin pruned and the water became colder than the air. The bath, she hoped, would erase the pain and dirtiness of five years; wash away the reminders of Cuvee. No matter how many times she refilled the tub, the image of Cuvee grunting over her would not go away. Irina made the decision that he no longer mattered; what he did to her no longer mattered, because she survived. Survival was all that mattered.
She went to the market and bought some second hand clothes, bright and colorful, and burned the tattered gray cloth that she had been wearing when she left the prison. She bought as much fresh fruit and vegetables as she could afford, cheese so fresh it was still wrapped in cloth and a good bottle of vodka.
She spent as much time as she could outdoors at the parks or here at the Black Sea. She inhaled deeply the scents and sounds of the Russia she knew.
It was almost like freedom.
Fleeting and elusive.
Tomorrow she returned to her old life, the one the KGB was still controlling. Now that she has finished her "reconditioning", they were eager to see if she could be a functioning agent. Irina knew that she could, as long as it didn't require her to become part of a family again. She had one already, thank you very much, however it had been formed and no matter e how many times she was told and she repeated that it was only a job and it wasn't, isn't, real. She was ready for anything, her edges sharp and her heart dull.
Tomorrow she returned to Simferopol, back to where it all began. She had been ordered to report there so that they could test her capabilities. It would be just like her initial training, except accelerated. Irina was under the impression that the generals had a mission in mind for her; they just needed to make sure she was physically and mentally ready.
She knew she was not quite there.
One thing about prison is that she couldn't keep up with her marksmanship, which becomes less precise without use. She needed to feel the familiar weight of a gun in her hand, squeeze off round after round to get back that deadly accuracy that she had been known for. She felt as though some of her skills had become rusty and dull, whereas others had become so sharp they drew blood. She was now a complete master of her emotions; nothing could penetrate that armor any more.
Though she would have rather spent more time in Odessa, watching the waves, returning to work was starting to become almost appealing.
Almost.
In the darkest corner of her mind and heart, shielded and walled, the place she longed to be was in a pale yellow bedroom, half way around the world, reading the newspaper with Jack at her side and Sydney styling her hair.
That was heaven.
That was freedom.
That would never, ever, happen again.
***
Her first few days back at training were difficult, not because of the training, but in having to deal with the instructors and the other trainees. Most just stared and gave her wide berth wherever she went. Many of them whispered and pointed, some even daring to speak their thoughts aloud. Many of the instructors were openly hostile towards her. Here was one of the former stars of the KGB spy machine trying to return from such disgrace.
She soon proved to them that she was still one to emulate and to fear. Her time in prison had given her a hardness and a ruthlessness that the instructors both admired and pointed out to their students. This was an example of a great operative; one who had the ability to detach emotionally and complete the mission with deadly efficiency and accuracy.
No one became her friend; friends were dangerous. Hardly anyone spoke to her civilly and she did not encourage contact. Irina kept to herself, selecting the isolated tables or desks during the classroom periods.
To her surprise, one day Khasinau visited the training facility. She was pleased to see a familiar face, someone to talk with and to share stories. He came to inform her that although he would no longer be her handler, it had been decided that she was fit to return to operational status. The job to which she was assigned was not glamorous, was not dangerous and was one of the most detested jobs available. But it would give her days purpose and give her time to reconnect with her contacts.
She was going to China to handle the security for the Russian Embassy. Khasinau also instructed her that, although there was no reason to suspect that the Chinese were hiding anything from the Russians, their allies, it wouldn't be discouraged if Irina did some unauthorized checking. Of course, if she were caught, she would not be recognized by the Russian government and would most likely be executed.
Irina knew better than to refuse the assignment; it was an olive branch of sorts. She could spend some time doing her own private research on Rambaldi, anyway. It was rumored that some of his artifacts had been found in and around China. Yes, this assignment might not be so bad after all. And, if she could bide her time and prove her loyalty, she might get a better mission in the near future.
***
The party was winding down and Irina was relieved. The exchange she was there to oversee had gone off without a hitch; the embassy personnel were none the wiser. Chen Yao Xing eyed her up and down and started to come her way. Maybe it was his position as head of Internal Security for the Beijing District that made him feel so powerful and so sure that Irina was his for the taking, but she was in no mood to rebuff politely yet another time. Any other man at the Chinese embassy would have not pursued her further after the public rebuff just a few days ago, their pride would not allow it. Apparently, Chen did not see the need in saving face. He had been hounding her since she started the job almost a year ago and looked as though he would never give up until she gave in.
Just as Chen made his way to where she was sitting, someone sat on the settee next to her. She tried valiantly to mask the surprise.
"Well, hello darling?" Sloane murmured, pausing for her to fill in the name.
"Irina. I am surprised to see you here." She knew full well that he wasn't on the guest list and that the CIA would be sending him in as an agent for anything. Sloane was always a thinker, not a doer.
Chen stood there as if waiting for Irina to dismiss the other man. Irina sighed with impatience, stood and in Chinese asked that Chen give her and her good friend some time alone. Chen looked quite shocked at this impertinence and relayed his disgust with her treatment of him to Irina and her companion. Sloane insulted the man expertly in Chinese and Chen stormed off in a huff.
"Irina." He picked up her hand, bent over and kissed it. "Lovely to see you again. I have been missing you since Laura's death."
"Arvin, what brings you to Beijing? And how is Emily?" Sloane stood up, never releasing her hand and puller her to the dance floor. She went willingly so as not to arouse attention from the guards.
"My darling wife is fine, but she misses her friend. I am in Beijing on business, if you are interested. I believe for the same reason you are here?"
"I don't know about you Arvin, but I am handling security for the Russian Embassy and I know for certain you were not on the guest list tonight."
He looked at her intently, a small smile played at his lips. "Ah, so this mission is the best use of someone with your talents according to the KGB. Security work, it must be so rewarding."
"It is. What brings the CIA to Beijing?" she whispered near his ear. She didn't feel like alerting the rest of the patrons and security team that a CIA agent was crashing the party; the paperwork alone gave her headaches.
"Dearest Irina, you haven't heard then. I left the CIA." He paused as if considering what to say next. "What do you know of the Alliance of Twelve?"
"Ah, so that's it. I believe it's a group of independents trying to gain control in intelligence, guns and drugs. My superiors do not give them much credence or chance of becoming more than a nuisance."
"How wrong they are."
He twirled her around the dance floor in silence her mind analyzing the situation. She reined her curiosity in and waited for Arvin to make the next move. He guided them out to a window balcony and stepped outdoors, drawing her with him.
"We are always in need of a few good men, or women, as they say. Strictly on an as needed basis. The money is quite good."
He slipped a business card out from the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket and placed it in the neckline of her dress.
"I hope to hear from you."
He began to walk away, turned and added, "Jack has never recovered from his wife's death, the poor thing, and his daughter is getting so big. Emily and I just dote on her and think of her almost as if she were our own. You should have seen her performance in the Christmas pageant; it was priceless."
With that he wove his way into the crowd, leaving Irina on the balcony, shaking with murderous rage.