Chapter 20

March 15, 1987

Kamchatka, Russia

Stepanov was not happy, and he made no secret of it. He'd expected them to have a key nearly operational by now, not to still be trying to beat the secret out of the doctor. Mikhail was suddenly fascinated by the cracks in the floor, and Tanya was staring at her hands.

"We've gotten a lot of information out of him," Andrei said.

"Has he built you a key?"

"No."

"No, he hasn't. So you're telling me that three of my best agents couldn't crack one little scientist with nerves of glass?"

"That's the problem," Tanya said. Stepanov turned to her and raised an eyebrow. "If we just wanted him to sign a confession, or answer some simple questions, we would have gotten that in the first hour. When he breaks, he shatters. But a shattered mind can't build us a key. So we have to wait until he pulls himself together, and then he remembers he's afraid for his little girlfriend, and it starts all over again."

"We've thought about kidnapping the girlfriend and putting a gun to her head, but we'd need higher authorization for another American operation," Andrei said. "She's not one of ours, so that's above our level."

Stepanov took a deep breath. "You're telling me this whole thing is held up because our scientist found himself some American slut?"

"Some American slut who knows about the other world," Tanya said. "He was rambling about the monster stealing her child."

"So he knows about the monster?"

"He doesn't know we have one, but he knows it exists. We've pretended to think he's making it up," Andrei said.

"And have you used that?" Stepanov said.

"I didn't think we were allowed to feed him to it," Andrei responded.

"Not kill him, you idiot. Just – let him see it."

Andrei and Tanya glanced at each other. "That might work," Andrei said.

March 22, 1987

It had been a week since they'd come for him. There had been a frenzy of beating and long interrogations, and then it had stopped. Maybe they'd needed to impress someone with how hard they were working on him. His left hand hadn't stopped shaking since Mikhail had twisted his shoulder into places it was never meant to go. The nerves were probably damaged. Sometimes he held it still in his other hand, but now he just watched it. All they needed was his brain. It would be easier for them if he had functioning hands and eyes to do the work himself, but he could direct others even if they left him blind and incapable of using his limbs. He'd been vaguely disappointed every time he woke up for the last month, and he was starting to wonder if they would ever let him slip away.

Someone knocked on the door. Rather, Tanya knocked. She still observed little bits of decorum, unlike the others. She never waited for an answer, though – it was well-established he had no right to say no to anything. "Last chance, doctor," she said. "Tonight we'll be taking a little trip down to the cellar, if you don't cooperate. And they only sell one-way tickets. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Think about it." She turned to go.

"Can I write a note?"

"No point. No one's going to read it."

"Just one more thing-"

"Of course. What can I do for you, dear doctor?"

He ignored the sarcasm. "When they shoot you, what do they aim for?"

"If they're in a good mood, the head. If they think you've been more trouble than you're worth, they shoot somewhere where you'll watch yourself bleed out. Something to consider. You've got twelve hours left to live, unless you make it worth our while to save you."

"Thank you." He waited until she shut the door before burying his head in his hands. He'd hoped to just slip away quietly. He thought he felt the pain again in the scar across his abdomen. Could he endure that again? He had no choice. They would decide how much more pain he had to suffer. He dimly realized that his whole body was shaking, and he rocked to soothe himself like a child. Twelve hours. This was the cruelest thing they'd done yet. He couldn't sit here in silence, listening to his watch ticking off his remaining minutes.

"Hopper?"

"What do you want?"

What did he want? Was there any good in telling Hopper what they were about to do? Could he give him a message – no. Hopper would probably die here too, and there was no point in letting him spend whatever remained of his life seething with jealousy. "I'm sorry about de ice."

"What?"

"De Slurpee. I just hoped dey'd come save me."

"How'd that work out for you?"

"Badly."

"Rhetorical question, Smirnoff."

"Rhetorical?"

"Yeah. Means people don't expect an answer."

"Academic qvestion."

"Yeah, sure." Hopper paused. "What brought that up?"

"I don't know. I never said I vas sorry."

"Yeah, well, I'm not worried about it. I think I made my point there." Pause. "You figure out a way to get us out of here yet, genius scientist?"

Fear hit him, and he stuffed his fist in his mouth to keep from crying when Hopper would hear. But what did it matter? What dignity did he have to preserve? He whimpered.

"Smirnoff? Alexei?"

"I-I don't know vat to do. No plan."

"We'll keep working on it."

They spent much of the day cooking up increasingly absurd ideas to get out. It was pointless, entirely pointless, but the only other option was to sit in silence with his impending end. Maybe he was a coward – his father and brother would say so – but he needed to pretend, just a little longer, that there was some other way his story could end. When they ran out of ideas to toss around, he found himself hoping the route to the cellar would take him past a window. Maybe he could see just a glimmer of starlight, some last pleasant thing to hold in his mind as he died.

The last minutes ticked away. 8 p.m. The door opened. Two guards stood outside. Andrei wasn't there. Maybe that was better.

"Time to go," one said.

Alexei nodded and stood up slowly. His leg wasn't healing. He tried to stay off it as much as possible, but it seemed somehow better to walk to his execution than to be dragged to it. "I can't go very fast," he said.

They walked, one on each side of him, down the hall and opened the door. Alexei looked down at the endless stairs. He couldn't put enough weight on his injured leg to take the stairs normally. He had to take one step with his good leg, then bring the other along. "Maybe you could save some time and just throw me down?" he said, and then was surprised at himself. He'd never dared to talk like that to an official in his life. Well, what did it matter?

One guard put Alexei's arm over his shoulder on the injured side. They moved slowly, but surprisingly well. It was all cement, no windows, but Alexei found it surprisingly comforting to be touching another person, even if that person might well be the one to shoot him. How long had it been since anyone had touched him, other than to beat him? It was a small blessing, but it was something.

They led him into a cage-like cell and cuffed his hands to the wire that surrounded it. What was he going to do, fight back as they put the bullet through his brain? He noticed the floor was slick with blood that smelled like it was curdling. His stomach turned. They must have let a dozen prisoners bleed out in this cell. He looked at them. "Please, can you make it quick? What good does my pain do you?"

"That's not up to us," one of the guards said.

"I don't understand."

"You will." And the guard started to turn a wheel that lifted a small door on the opposite side of the cell. A strange, wild smell assailed Alexei's nostrils over the reek of the blood. A wolf? A bear? They were going to feed him to a bear? But then the creature stepped out, and he wished it had been a bear.

The strange, grey-skinned thing crept forward. Its hands looked almost human, but too long. He tried to wedge himself as tightly as possible against the cage, but there was nowhere to go. The thing stood up, and towered over him. He screamed. He couldn't help it, and the thing screamed back at him, its face opening in four directions. The last thing he saw was that horrible mouth closing in on him.