Chapter 16
News of the traitorous Sergei Dragunov spread through Russia like wildfire. Everywhere one walked there would be pictures of him posted on billboards and televisions broadcasting the tragic tale of Aleksander's death. Everyone was on the lookout for him, although many doubted that he would still be roaming around Russia.
"…and let us always keep our beloved Aleksander Barclay in our hearts and remember him always as—" Anton clicked his television screen off and shoved his shaggy brown hair over his head as he let out an exhausted sigh. How many weeks had it been since Sergei had run off? It seemed as if the news of him killing Aleksander would refuse to dwindle as Anton swore for the past month all he could recall were the same news reports. Even reports on the weather were rare nowadays.
He leaned back in his chair and took a look at the ceiling above him and couldn't help but wonder if his commander was sleeping under a roof right now. But he quickly shook the question away. "Of course Commander Dragunov doesn't sleep. He's so strong he has no need to do such a thing!" He smiled as he recalled those words spoken by his colleague, Markov.
Ever since Anton could remember, Markov had admired Sergei more than a boy admires his favorite cartoon hero. He never truly understood what he saw in the man beyond his fighting skills, always aloof behavior, and possibly his good looks, for Anton was sure Sergei never showed much interest in the young lieutenant. Yet whatever Markov saw in Sergei, it had persuaded the shy, timid boy to join SPETSNAZ just to be beside him. And now with the current situation, Markov had, as Anton would put it, snapped.
What was he thinking, thinking that he could overthrow Mikhail from the throne? And yet, despite how crazy the idea seemed, Anton found himself being pulled into it all the same. Perhaps it was because of the fact that he did admire Sergei, and wasn't all too fond of Mikhail either, but maybe it was also because he didn't want Markov to go about it alone. Either way, he had agreed to Markov's crazy plan so couldn't turn back now.
So that was why he was here, sitting alone in his flat waiting for one phone call.
Sergei returned to the base after the helicopters departed and looked around at the empty rooms. It was hard to believe that, just a day ago, this place was so lively and homely. But now, it was deserted, returning to its former state of being just an abandoned warehouse. He settled down on the raggedy sofa which Tougo sat on as he and Lars played cards across the table and stared blankly down at his lap. He couldn't help but feel that, just like this warehouse, he too had reverted back to his old form… Back to being alone. It hadn't even been a day yet and he missed them already.
However, as he shifted in his seat, he felt something brush against his leg and upon looking down, he realized it was Kliment's gun. That was when he remembered the reason why he didn't board the helicopter with the others. He had something to do.
Quickly pushing aside his feelings, he once again became the cool and calculating commander he was known to be as he began to plan his next move. Without a doubt, he needed to get back into the city, but using what route? Not only was SPETSNAZ after him, he had the entire country looking for him. He examined his clothing and remembered that his outfit was no longer his army attire. Although not much, at least it would be enough to spare him a few glances.
As he continued to contemplate and organize his plans, he heard the wind blowing against the walls of the building and gave a small smirk. Mother Nature was on his side tonight.
The blizzard was getting worse by the minute as Mikhail watched from his window, that devious smile planted on his lips. He was enjoying this power he gained as soon as he took his father's seat, but never could he enjoy it more than watching the people of Russia dance at the ends of his strings. They were naïve little creatures who couldn't do anything if someone wasn't directing them at every turn.
Suddenly he heard the door to his office open and in walked Lieutenant Markov, a stoic look on his face.
"I don't think I gave you permission to enter," Mikhail said, the back of his chair still facing the young man.
Markov didn't flinch but stood his ground, waiting for his superior to turn around and face him. Seeing as how whoever entered wasn't planning on leaving his office, Mikhail looked over his shoulder and smiled at the sight of his favorite underling. "Ahh…Markov. What brings you hear," he said, his voice feigning joy.
Keeping his face straight and strong, the young lieutenant asked, "What happened to them?"
Mikhail raised an eyebrow. "Them? What do you mean, my boy?"
"You know what I mean!" Markov yelled back. "What did you do to them?"
At Markov's outburst, Mikhail broke out laughing. When he managed to settle down, he wiped a few stray tears from his eyes and replied, "What do you mean what I did? Your beloved Sergei Dragunov killed them after they went after him, remember?"
Markov clenched his fist and fought to hold back the tears that he felt were coming. Sergei…Never once did he see his commander shed a tear so he too was going to do the same. "I saw them return…" he muttered, "They learned all about you so you got rid of them, is that it? Or was it the fact that Sergei never killed them so you had to? To sully Sergei's image."
"Hah! You think I need to sully his image? The man's already done that himself. Don't you remember all the lives he's taken in the past? Not only that, but he did turn his back on his nation when he left—"
"You're wrong! He turned his back on SPETSNAZ, not his nation. He was standing up for what he finally thought was right and that was to leave this behind." He motioned to the room surrounding him. "He wanted to stop obeying his orders so that he wouldn't have to kill anymore. You gave the orders and he obeyed. Who was really the murderer then?"
"Big bark for a little dog…So what?" Mikhail replied lazily. "So you're telling me Dragunov's a changed man? Don't delude yourself. When a man's hands are as bloodied as his, there's nothing left to call yourself but a monster. You can believe that you can change, as Dragunov thinks, but in time, he'll see he still is that same beast."
Markov went silent as he gazed at the floor. Sergei had changed. The White Angel of Death was gone. He looked back up at Mikhail's cocky grin and said with strength in his once gentle voice, "No, he has changed and you, you're the one who refuses to believe it because you're jealous."
Mikhail raised an eyebrow, his face bearing a look of slight confusion. "Jealous?"
"That's right. You're jealous of Sergei because while you continue to sink into this pool of darkness, he's headed towards the light. He's done something you could never do. He was able to hold onto a piece of humanity no matter how much blood he spilled." His young blue eyes shined as he saw what he believed to be hints of anger reach Mikhail's face. "Something even the great Mikhail Barclay fails to do…" He concluded.
Something in what he said, or perhaps the way he said it, greatly enraged the new SPETSNAZ leader as he found himself unable to control his temper. He found himself rising to his feet and approaching the helpless lieutenant. Before he knew it, he had found the young man's neck in between his strong, calloused hands. Yet despite knowing that, he couldn't find it in himself to pull away or release his grip. Instead, he found his grip strengthening as he felt a smile begin to tug at his lips.
As he choked the air out of the smaller man, he smirked and whispered deviously, "So I can't cling to a piece of humanity. Is that why you say I'm jealous?"
Even with Mikhail choking the life out of him, Markov still found it in himself to smile, albeit weakly. He had reached a nerve and yanked it. He was beyond knocking on Death's door now. Hell, he was practically already inside and playing Death's head like a bongo at this point. "You believe you killed your own father in order to own SPETSNAZ and frame Sergei. But is that really the truth? Are you sure you didn't do it to test if you had any emotions left?"
The grin on Mikhail's face faded as his fingers tightened their hold on Markov's neck. Now gasping for air, the blonde lieutenant choked out the final words, "You killed your father…"
Just as he felt he was about to black out, Markov felt the pressure on his neck weaken as his ears filled with Mikhail's cold words. "So I did…And I promise you, young lieutenant," he gingerly patted Markov's tuft of blonde hair as if he were a child, "I'll kill you, too. But not here, oh no." He smirked as he began walking back to his desk. "I'm going to test your theory of how human Sergei Dragunov truly is…" He glanced back at Markov and with crazed eyes, he concluded, "By ripping you to shreds before his eyes." Soon the room was filled with his maniacal laughter.
As his laughing continued, Markov stumbled his way out into the hall and after taking a few steps away from the office, he reached into his pocket and pulled from it, his phone. Slowly, he raised it up to his ear and said with his raspy voice, "Did you…get all that, Anton?"
Back at his apartment, Anton, who had kept silent throughout the entire phone call, gave a nod and whispered, "Yeah, I have it all recorded. But are you alright?"
"Yeah…I'll be alright but I think I'll need to ditch town for a while…"
Anton smiled at his friend's sense of humor despite his sudden near death experience. "Hey, you and me both. Once I get this to the radio station, don't you think Mikhail will be after my ass too?"
Markov laughed then whispered, "I'll talk to you later, Anton." After that, he hung up. He had done his part, now it was up to not only Anton, but the people. They had to believe in Sergei otherwise Mikhail would ultimately be the victor in this battle.
Sergei exited and closed the door to the former Yggdrasil base for the final time. In it remained his discarded SPETSNAZ uniform, the image of his former self. He wasn't planning on returning as he had decided that from this point on, he was going to overthrow Mikhail. And for once he was going to do what he wanted to do and what he thought was right. Even if he was destined for hell as Mikhail believes, for the remainder of his life, he was going to make the most of it and try to right his wrongs. That was his resolve.
The bitter cold wind nipped at his bare arms as he walked through the blizzard but being a soldier, Sergei had learned to endure such harsh conditions that would leave others running for shelter. In this environment, he had the advantage. While his fellow countrymen would be in their houses, he would be able to walk straight through town. Whereas a normal human's vision would be obscured by the billowing snow, Sergei's sharpened eyesight would find no difficulties in navigating to his destination. This is what made the blizzard Sergei's ideal playing field.
The gentle radiance of streetlights reached Sergei's view after an hour or so of walking and he knew right away that he was back in the heartland. As expected, the streets were deserted with the acceptance of stragglers who were just heading home and trying to catch a cab. As he stood on the sidewalk, gazing at all the buildings and people, he had never felt more at home here.
Busy looking over the city, he didn't notice the coated woman approaching him. She was in her older years, dressed head to toe in winter clothing and as she was fighting against the heavy wind, trying to make her way home, she had accidentally crashed into him. She looked up at him through frosted eyelashes and at the sight of him she froze, her mind searching for the answer to why she recognized him. Eventually all the posters, newspapers, and television broadcasts filled her mind and suddenly Sergei found her stumbling back, trembling, not from the cold, and pointing an accusatory finger at him.
"I-It's you…" Frantically she looked around at the deserted streets and despite not seeing anyone within range she began to call out, "Someone! Someone! It's him! It's the traitor!"
Some people who were just in the process of stepping into a cab just across the street managed to catch her muffled cry and looked over, trying to see through all the snow at where she was calling from. They spotted the woman but failed to see what she was pointing at. One man ran up to see what was wrong and scratched his head. "Ma'am, are you okay," he asked over the wind.
"Don't you see him? It's the man…" As she pointed back to where she had originally seen Sergei, she froze. He was gone, not even a footprint to show he even stood there. She looked into the face of the man who was beside her and gulped. "I know he was here!"
"Ma'am, it's just the weather, it's getting to your head. Come now," he said offering her his arm, "Let's catch you a cab and send you home." Seeing as how she wasn't able to convince this young man otherwise, she complied and let him lead her to a cab, insecurities building up inside her.
Sergei, meanwhile, watched from the alley as they walked past, his silver eyes set on the woman. He was fortunate enough to be spotted only by an elderly woman as she was now being considered senile, but he couldn't let another person get a good look at his face like that.
When they were out of sight, Sergei stepped out of the alley and back onto the sidewalk just as a group of drunken men began walking by. One happened to brush his shoulder due to their clumsiness and as if it were Sergei's fault, the man turned back to him and said through slurred words, "What the hell?"
His other two accomplices turned to him and asked, just as sloppily as the first, "What's wrong?"
"This guy thinks he can just shove me aside." As he said that, he shoved Sergei back into the wall. "Don't ya'?"
What were the odds, Sergei thought, that he'd run into a bunch of buffoons during a critical time like this? If he fought them now, he'd definitely catch the attention of someone, so perhaps brushing them off and walking away was his best option. Or so he thought.
Just as he had turned his back to them, he felt a hand lay itself on his shoulder and a voice say, "Where do you think you're going, hot shot?" Allowing his anger to get the best of him, Sergei grabbed the man's wrist and in one smooth motion, threw him over his shoulder, planting him on his back right in front of the Sambo fighter. He stepped on the drunkard's shoulder, belonging to the arm he still had in Sergei's grasp, and yanked, dislocating his arm.
As Sergei released him, he turned to the other two behind him just in time to see them both come at him. Sergei sidestepped the first one before kneeing him the gut and caught the second one's punch. With his fist in his palm, he turned the man around, knocked out his knees from beneath him and wrenched his arm so far back, the man was pleading to be released. He got what he wanted, but not until he was granted with a beautiful popping noise.
With one last opponent, who was now throwing up all the vodka after the hit he received, Sergei decided it was time to leave the scene. Except he soon found he couldn't do such a thing as he was now surrounded by three police officers, all of them aiming their guns at him. He spotted the red and blue lights belonging to their cars and couldn't believe he hadn't heard them before now.
He glanced at the vomiting man from the corner of his eye and let out an inward sigh. These three must have been causing trouble throughout the entire night. If only he had managed to avoid them.
"Sergei Dragunov," one officer addressed, "You're under arrest. Put your arms behind your back and lower yourself to the floor."
When he returned to the city, his plan wasn't to get arrested. But, neither was getting into a fight with three drunken idiots. He quickly let his mind think of quick escape options, but not quick enough for the officers to lose their patience. A deafening gunshot filled the air as an officer shot off a round, centimeters from Sergei's foot. "We're not playing, Sergei. You think I won't shoot you if you don't comply? I'll make sure I kill you the way you killed Aleksander."
Sergei flinched at the words, but nonetheless, he found himself dropping to the snow-covered ground. Slowly, an officer approached to put the handcuffs on him, but just as he grabbed Sergei's hands, Sergei snatched his in return and masterfully maneuvered himself back onto his feet, the officer now his hostage as he held Kliment's pistol to his cranium.
They gasped and stepped back. "Y-You bastard!"
"Leave me alone," Sergei whispered coldly.
One of the officers raised his gun and yelled, "I will kill you Dragunov if you don't put him down!"
"Then do it," Sergei challenged.
The other officer looked over at his partner and shook his head. "No, you're going to miss!"
It was too late. The officer fired the bullet, but in record speed, Sergei shoved his hostage to one side while he rolled to the other. The hostage, aside from a few scratches was unharmed while Sergei on the other hand, could feel that the bullet had made its home in his shoulder. However, there was no time for him to nurse it as he quickly took off running through the snow which was now, at this point, so thick one couldn't even see three feet in front of them.
He ran through the snow until at last, he found that he was standing in front of an apartment in which a beautiful blonde woman was just about to enter. At Sergei's sudden appearance, the woman let out a little yelp and quickly took a step back from him. Judging by the look on him, he had just completed running as he was panting heavily, his breath creating clouds of smoke with each breath he took. And he was poorly dressed, especially considering this weather.
"H-hey…" She said as she noticed the stream of blood running down his shoulder, "Are you…alright…?" She crept close enough just to lay a soft hand against his arm, hoping to get his attention. As he looked up to glance at her, her emerald green eyes widened as she whispered his name. "Commander Dragunov…?"
Sergei looked the woman over, and although she had called his name with so much recognition, he failed to put a name to her lovely face. Nevertheless, he remembered seeing her face before. He dug deep into his thoughts, wondering where he had seen her before. He looked down at her left hand that she had placed on his arm and saw set on the ring finger was a beautiful diamond ring. That was when it hit him…This was Kliment's beautiful wife, Annessa…
"What are you doing out here, sir," she asked. "Please, we must get you inside before anyone sees." Before Sergei could argue or explain, the young lady had already ushered him into the apartment's doors and up to her room, both of them going unseen by any of the other patrons.
The apartment Sergei found himself being thrown into was just an ordinary flat; living room with two sofas, a fireplace on the side, and a little kitchenette in the back corner. On the left side of the room were two doorways, one, he guessed, which led to the bedroom and the other most likely the bathroom. Yet there were some items that set it apart from any other flat and those were the pictures sitting on the mantelpiece and hanging from the walls. They held the images Kliment and Annessa, both of them smiling and laughing as they held one another in their arms.
There were many pictures in the small living space, but one caught his attention more than the others. It was sitting in the center above the fireplace, its frame bigger than the ones surrounding it. He slowly made his way towards it and stopped when it was just an arm's reach away from him. From this distance, Sergei was able to get a better view of it and as he began to study it, he felt his jaw clench tight.
It was a photo of Kliment, professionally done, donned in an elegant navy blue suit with his usual shaggy brown hair slicked back. He was standing beside a white pillar wrapped with the most striking flowers in a beautiful white hall. Perhaps it was a church. Sergei wouldn't know. He wore a kind smile on his lips as they snapped the picture.
Annessa, after removing her pink coat, approached Sergei until she was standing beside him. She looked over the picture of her own deceased husband and gave a weak smile. "He looked nice, didn't he?" She asked, breaking the silence between them. "We took it the week after he proposed to me. You should have seen how much of a fuss he caused when we tried to do his hair."
They went silent again but Annessa, whose eyes were now beginning to sparkle with oncoming tears, whispered, "He gave me a phone call the night before he died…Do you…want to know what he said…?" She looked up at Sergei who still remained soundless. He turned his eyes down towards her while she said, almost happily despite the tears rolling down her cheek, "He told me, 'Sergei wanted me to come back home to you. And…I have to follow my commander's orders, don't I?'" She wiped the tears from her eyes as her voice became choked with sobs. "He…never came back to me…"
As the blonde beside him began to cry, Sergei gently placed his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. "I'm sorry…" he whispered.
While the young lady continued to cry in his arms, Sergei looked over at the photo of Kliment sitting on the mantelpiece and felt his own feelings begin to take over as he realized how hard he was clenching the fabric of Annessa's shirt. Being surrounded by all these memories of Kliment, he was beginning to feel overwhelmed with emotions. Yet, no matter how much his emotions fought within him, Sergei still refused to shed a single tear.
Author's Notes: I almost shed a few tears myself writing the ending to this chapter…Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! I felt like I had to make it up to you guys after updating that lame chapter so I tried to incorporate more fighting into this one and making it longer. I purposely chose Kliment's wife's name to be close to Anna's (if you didn't notice) to make them parallels. You'll see Sergei comparing them in a later chapter. Anyways, I really had fun writing this chapter and hopefully you guys had just as much fun reading it. As always, thanks for reading!