A/N: I've decided to not squeeze in references to my characters. Instead, I'll be providing a cast list at the end of this fic, if someone's willing to make a movie of it. Although the cast may prove too expensive, but it's all in the eyes of the beholder...

Anyway, read and review!

What was supposed to be a field day for the Third Shock Army turned out to be a disappointment. All of the fifteen prisoners sang like canaries, but what they gave the investigators was little to move forward with in this case. Apparently, all of them were just new to the militant group, with barely enough useful knowledge about the organization.

The only real lead they had was a name. It came from a kid barely sixteen years old, a petty criminal who was drawn into the Red Army of Bedoan through desperation. It was a shame, because the kid's father was a high-ranking member of the Chechen Central Committee.

"So, Vilen," began Klimov, "not only did you shoot at us soldiers; you also disrupted the restoration process. You could spend thirty years in a labor camp of my choice for that." It wasn't really true, but intimidation sometimes worked in this business. "Your name came from the founder of our former ideals, and yet you attacked those who struggle to keep Comrade Lenin's hopes alive in this world. Now, what do you think would he say to you?"

"I didn't really attack you guys," he replied. "I didn't even fire my rifle. I just got into this group because it seemed interesting, and there was money too. Most of the time, I just swipe a few rubles from people who don't even know that their purses are out in the open." Vilen Ivanovich Slavin didn't care that he was revealing his crimes, because he knew he was about to see what was on the other side of a gulag.

For Klimov, there was nothing he can do for the kid, unless he tells them something useful. "You're just escaping the point, Comrade Slavin. But, I can do something about your time in the gulag. All I need is a name. Just one name, and maybe I can limit your term into a year."

Slavin bent down head, thinking. Klimov waited patiently for a few seconds before the kid finally spoke. "There is one guy. His name is Ssottokkodd Ballall, I think. He wasn't a real member; it's just that somebody approached him with some work. I saw him a few times, but other than that, I don't know him."

Not much, thought Klimov, but it was enough for him that he considered suggesting that the kid should just get a slap on the wrist. "Thank you, Comrade Slavin. We will talk again once we've settled a few matters."

Klimov went out of the drab interrogation room and headed for the computer archives. One advantage to that was that you didn't have to look for names in filing cabinets anymore; the computers did that for you.

"Good morning, Comrade Private," he told the man on duty.

"Good morning, Comrade Lieutenant," he replied. "What brings you to the virtual world?"

"I have a few names for you to look up," Klimov told him. He then gave the private the name that Slavin had provided him. Surprisingly, there was a file for a Ssottokkodd Ballall, whose address was Apartment 27, Building 10, Great Patriotic War Avenue.

"Thank you, Comrade Private. That is all." Klimov considered telling Lev, but, no, he was already going through too much already. Chasing what could be a false flag planted by those Red Army pukes could push him over the edge. No, Klimov would tail Ballall himself.

This time, he was glad he was an officer. They can get in and out of headquarters without any real passes, and the higher-ups were too busy talking to the media to notice that a subordinate was gone. Klimov walked all the way to Great Patriotic War Avenue, which wasn't that far from the base. There he sat down on a bench facing the apartments and lit a cigarette. The smoke and tobacco made him cough, but he wanted to be alert.

Finally, after a few hours, Ballall went out of his apartment. He walked normally, not bothering to look for tails, for which Klimov was both glad and scared. Either he was confident that he hadn't been burned yet, or he already knew he was being tailed. Anyway, Klimov was past the point of no return. He had to do this.

Ballall went to the Bugayevskiy Prospect train station, where Klimov took the time to buy a magazine—it was Pravda—to legitimize his image. The train that pulled in was one of the old GU7s. The MST7 trains in use in Moscow had not yet come to Chechnya, and so they had to make to make do with what was here.

Klimov allowed himself to sink into the push for the doors. His objective went to the front of the railcar, while Klimov settled into the middle and began to read. He kept Ballall in his field of vision, just in case he would attempt a brush pass on the train.

"Yaroslav Prospect," said the train engineer on the public-address system. "Yaroslav Prospect."

Klimov's mind barely registered the announcement, and he would have ignored it had Ballall not moved for the doors. Just when that Costa Luna article was getting interesting, he thought. Oh, well, if that's the price of espionage. He tucked the magazine under his arm and followed the man.

Ballall was not the overly nervous type, and that pleased Klimov. His objective stopped only once, as if checking the street names. The key to not being an obvious tail was that you didn't look in the other direction when your objective looks at you. Klimov was thinking of bumping him when Ballall resumed walking.

Their journey brought them to the train depot. Ballall went inside, while Klimov went on his way. Now he knew where the man worked. That helped him a little in his investigation.

He found a café close to the train depot to while away the time before his objective returned from work. But he didn't count on being followed himself. Soon, he lost himself in an article describing how General Kane's socialist revolution failed. So when he glanced up from his magazine, he was actually surprised to see Carter in front of him.

"Strasviche, tovarisch," he managed to say.

"Beat it," she said. "Who was the guy you were following?"

Klimov sighed. "His name is Ssottokkodd Ballall. He is, as I see, either a train driver or a train mechanic for the Red Line."

"So? Why are you following him?"

"His name came up in the investigation," Klimov replied cryptically. "I'll tell you what, how would you like to talk to him?"

"Huh?"

"I'll hand over the investigation on Ballall to State Security, but in reality, it will be just you and your colleague."

"How exactly do you want us to do that?"

"Let me follow him for a little while, and then when I see an opportunity, I'll let you in."