CHAPTER FIVE
The Makarov gripped in Sarychin's hand had a round chambered. The muzzle of the gun gun was pointed at the intruder.
"What is this all about?" Sarychin demanded. The gun trembled. "Are you blackmailing me?"
"I prefer to think we can come to an agreement," said the man smiling, unfazed by the gun. "May I sit?"
Unable to speak, Sarychin jerked his head.
"Lavrenti Sarychin of the Ninth Directorate," stated the intruder taking a seat. The office was one of the larger ones in the Taj-bek palace, now the headquarters of the 40th Army in Kabul. "Formerly in charge of security to the Soviet embassy in Thailand, now head of the security detail protecting the general staff here in Afghanistan. Unofficially, it seems you have many other gray responsibilities, such as 'Freight 200'."
"The guards won't question why there's a dead Russian in my office," said Sarychin through gritted teeth. A drop of perspiration rolled down his brow. "The furnace room used by the khAD is two floors beneath us."
"My associates and I can help with the shipments of 'Freight 200'," said the man, a civilian, seemingly amused by the threat. He was dressed in an expensive looking suit that Sarychin envied. "Those sealed coffins shipped to Leningrad without any relatives waiting to mourn their lost ones? Our suppliers among these poor exploited people can guarantee a steady supply of heroin, opium, marijuana – anything you like other than body parts."
"I need proof," said Sarychin. "If we're to work together, I need to know who you are."
"What I am is more important," said the visitor. He took off the jacket, undid the tie and unbuttoned the shirt. "Is this proof enough? I'm one who obeys The Thieves Code."
Two stars and a scorpion were tattooed on the visitor's chest. The claws of the scorpion were open, a sign the bearer was ex-military.
Sarychin sat back in his chair and put the gun down carefully on the desk.
"Damn, very well then. But I want a piece of the action, do you understand? I see how things are going back home."
"Things are falling apart," said the visitor buttoning up his shirt and putting his jacket back on. He stood up and went to the door to leave. "We'll be in touch. Our associates in Leningrad have a great interest in how this works out. There may be an opening for a man of your abilities. You come highly recommended. Oh…"
"What is it?" asked Sarychin. The unexpected guest had opened the door a crack and then slammed it shut suddenly.
"There's a young woman waiting outside," said the visitor. "She's a little too sharp with her stare. I'd rather no one knows I'm here."
"What young lady? Oh, the hell with her," it took Sarychin a moment to remember his schedule. Another of the many onerous tasks the General had passed along before fleeing back to Russia for rest and relaxation. If there was an unpleasant job to be done, the Buzzard of Kabul was the go-to man. "Take the back corridor then."
Sarychin took fifteen minutes with paperwork and then reached into the desk drawer and liberally applied some cologne.
His nerves were shot after the unexpected visit, if the General could have some fun, why couldn't he? Perhaps he should offer a shot or two of vodka to loosen this woman up, what else were these rear echelon types good for anyway? He'd have her crawling on the floor within minutes.
"Send her in," Sarychin said over the intercom and dug out the necessary folder from among the stacks piled on his desk.
The door opened and shut. Sarychin looked up and felt a visceral dislike crawl up and down his spine at the sight of his next visitor.
She was tall, he didn't like tall women, though the blond cascade of hair that barely met military requirements was eye-catching. But there was nothing submissive in the fierce blue eyes that met his or the picture perfect salute she snapped. He had to look down immediately, she had the thousand yard stare of a combat veteran.
"Sit down, comrade Warrant Officer," Sarychin said. "Welcome to Kabul and congratulations on your adventures which have the General Staff in an uproar. The General has asked me to review the situation and make a decision on Major Sokolov's request."
"I prefer to stand, comrade." Balalaika stood at attention by the offered chair.
"Right," answered Sarychin. To cover his confusion he dived straight into the papers spread before him. He peered at them through the lenses of his glasses. "I see we've something in common, we're both graduates of Ryazan. I commend you for being immediately transferred out of that cesspit. The Airborne is nothing more than a dumping spot for the hoodlums of our society. Then you served in a variety of posts so unmemorable they're not worth the mention."
"I disagree," Balalaika said heatedly. "The Airborne are the finest troops in the Soviet military."
"I didn't ask for an opinion. Very well then, I had a political officer dig up your record, and quite a record it is. Sofiya -, daughter of Irina Volkhov, granddaughter of Marshall Volkhov; what an illustrious ancestry. Oh, what's this?
Sarychin looked up with an evil smile.
"You're the daughter of THAT Pavlov, the one who defected to the West in '68? During the intervention in Czechoslovakia? This is serious, very serious indeed. Quite a blotch to the family reputation, it certainly raises questions about loyalty to the Party."
"I only ask I be judged by my performance," Balalaika said stiffly. He pressed on.
"Let's look at your recent exploits that has everyone out of sorts. Disobeying a direct order to wait for transport in Takshent and putting the five women under your command at risk by hitchhiking across Northern Afghanistan. Almost getting them all killed in that unfortunate incident at the Salang Tunnel. Is this true?"
"Yes comrade," said Balalaika.
"Then when the two officers of the convoy you're traveling with get killed during an ambush, you took command of the entire company and fought your way out of the mountains on foot with suffering further losses. Engaging – and destroying all bandit groups who attempt to pursue - impressive! The soldiers of the Airborne so taken with these exploits they now call you 'Balalaika!'"
"All true, comrade." said Balalaika.
"What's this nonsense about the missing Romanian? She was rescued from the clutches of the Mujahideen bandits? That reads like fabulist tripe favored by our bourgeois enemies."
Sarychin looked up with a glare as a smirk faded from the woman's face.
"Major Sokolov has submitted a battlefield commission and re-assignment to the 138th with a promotion to… Second Lieutenant. His written comment on the side here is – and I repeat, 'I need this woman, she can fight.' The General thinks the Major has lost his mind. What does Sokolov think this is, the Great Patriotic War?"
"I can't answer for the Major," Balalaika replied.
"Out of the question," Sarychin tossed aside the report, the sheets of papers spilled off the desk and onto the floor. "Women are simply a decoration to the armed forces, not combat soldiers. The most I can guarantee is maybe an Order of the Red Star and an immediate discharge from the armed forces. Go home and give inspirational speeches to the Young Pioneers at cookie bakes or something."
"Comrade," Balalaika said flatly as if she hadn't heard his verdict. "Major Sokolov has submitted the required papers. All I need is a signature and I will take up my assignment with the 138th immediately."
Sarychin raised his eyebrows. "You're dismissed."
Balalaika did not move.
The expressionless stare she bent on Sarychin did not waver for an instant and grew oppressive as the awkward minutes crept by. Sarychin sighed in irritation. The urge to crush and humiliate this upstart woman grew in his thoughts till he decided to act upon them. So he stood up and moved around the desk to stand behind her.
"Perhaps we can come to an agreement," Sarychin said and placed a hand upon her shoulder. Balalaika did not move though his breath stirred strands of the blond hair upon her neck. "If you're nice to me, I'll be nice to you. Otherwise, I'll ship you right now back to Russia and on my specific orders have you confined in a pyschiatric ward indefinitely. Do you understand peelotka?"
"I understand, comrade," Balalaika said calmly.
"Very good," panted Sarychin stepping closer. He let his hand slide down towards her breast. But to his surprise she suddenly gripped his wrist in an iron clasp.
"I understand exactly what I must do," she said. And before Sarychin could react Balalaika had driven back her hip into his waist and flipped him onto the floor. The speed of the violence caught Sarychin off guard, there was no opening given him to protect himself from the onslaught. Balalaika dropped down and slammed an elbow into his solar plexus.
Sarychin gasped for air and flopped about. Balalaika rose to her feet and stepped to the desk. Major Sokolov's commission was beneath the Makarov, she brushed the gun aside.
"No Chekisti scumbag's going to tell me what I'm going to do," Balalaika said. A kick directed below Sarychin's rib in the vicinity of the kidney elicited a muffled gasp. "As I suspected, no matter how bad I hurt you, you won't dare cry out because of the Afghan guards. What would our Afghan allies think of a man who can't handle a woman? You'd be the laughingstock of Kabul in short order."
"You fucking bitch," Sarychin gasped when he regained his breath. "I'll break you for this."
"Stop whimpering," Balalaika said. Another well placed kick to the ribs followed and then another. Sarychin was in pain. His body wouldn't respond, he lay helplessly holding back on the overwhelming urge to cry out. "We can do this all day or you can sign off on my commission. I can call the guards in anytime if you won't."
"No, no," Sarychin submitted at last. "Give me my pen."
"I want the signature legible," demanded Balalaika. "I can wait a moment for you to recover – a bit. But first there's something I need to tell you."
She knelt down beside Sarychin and laid the commission and the pen by the nearest outstretched hand.
"How dare you threaten me, the last of the Volkovs, with the Gulag!" Balalaika said in a tone that thrust cold terror through his chest. "To serve my country is all I've ever wished, and I won't let a spineless, pervert of a paper shuffler get in my way. If the particulars of this meeting ever get out, I'll come back and finish what I started no matter the cost. I'll do the breaking, not you. Are we clear?"
Sarychin nodded. Slowly, and in great pain he wrote his signature.
Balalaika paused at the door with the commission clutched triumphantly in hand.
"One more thing," she said. "I thought about kicking you in the balls, but it's not worth the effort. Based on what I've seen, the Buzzard doesn't have a pair. For your sake, I hope we never meet again, Major Sarychin."