Chapter six: like a blind man (Song: 'Under pressure' by Queen)
As they trundled down the road along Staraya Square, Adler's phone, tossed in the back seat, rang and rang. Lazar glanced at it.
"Should we?"
Park hesitated for a moment, then grabbed it.
"Sorry, the person you're calling isn't available."
"Park, it's Hudson. Go in instead of Bell, now."
"It's too late."
She heard him curse quietly.
"Be very careful, Park. Make sure Adler is on guard. Bell is more tied to the KGB than we thought."
He hung up. Why he didn't tell her more, she wasn't sure. But she had long suspected something, based on the intel she had, and this felt like a silent confirmation.
"Is everything alright?" Lazar asked.
"At the moment."
She couldn't exactly tell him that the most dangerous mission they had ever undertaken was being put into action by Adler and the brainwashed daughter of Dmitri Belikov, who was going to come face-to-face with her long lost father any second.
Adler's heart thundered in his ears. This was the biggest thing he had done in a long time. It didn't get easier; on the contrary, every time he was more and more aware his roll of the dice was running out of chances to hit a double.
Something brushed his arm and he spun round, fist out. It was only Bell, wide eyed and concerned.
"We can do it, don't worry."
Ever the optimist. It irritated him, mostly because it made no sense. How could someone involved with one of the most sadistic terrorists he had ever known be sweet? How did she have the capacity to care, and soothe, and encourage? Then he supposed he still was able to do it, even if he was faking it sometimes. All for the greater cause.
"I know we can. Still, can't blame a man for being a little jumpy in the basement of KGB headquarters, knowing if they got either of us we'll be tortured to death."
"I'll die before I let anything happen to you. Or me."
He noticed Bell had put herself last. Her eyes were shining, a fire in them, and jaw set with fierce determination. It was alarming, the loyalty she gave so easily. He supposed he and Park had done a good job. Helped by his going above and beyond to reinforce his closeness with Bell. But it unnerved him to see that look on her face. Her feelings were real, whether or not the memories and moments in between had been. And that made his own feelings… complicated.
Before he could get distracted, Belikov's knock came at the hatch and he flashed out the code through it.
"Let's move, we've got a job to do."
No harm in using the activation, just to make sure Bell was one hundred percent in. After all, who knew where she had come from before. She might bump into a friendly face, and suddenly realise she had been poached for the other side against her will. He didn't want her shooting skills turned against him, that's for sure.
They walked through the door and hid behind a couple of furnaces. Clanking steps, harsh boot heels over stone, approached. Adler glanced at Bell, and gave a nod. They sprung out and caught the guards, Bell immediately twisting their neck without hesitation. She knew how to do it quickly. Adler's guard fell to the floor a split second after Bell's.
Belikov stepped over the bodies, and looked at Bell for a moment, then began to fill Adler in on the details. Bell watched them, slightly dazed looking. Then Belikov was leaving, glancing back once at Adler with wide-eyes, a thin line where his lips should have been, and a slight tremble in his step.
Adler began to pull clothes roughly off the male body in front of him, tossing his own tee into the incinerator. He had worn cheap jeans; they didn't matter. The sunglasses would stay on. For the amount of time they were in there it surely wouldn't matter. He glanced at Bell, just as she kicked her shoes and slacks off, straight into the flames. Her skin glowed rosy as the flames leapt up, though the cheap fabric made a few sparks shoot back at them. One landed on her leg— he slapped it down before she could even feel it burn. He felt her thigh beneath his palm, so soft, and he thought about the day before. And the morning before that.
"Hurry up, we don't have much time," he said brusquely, more to himself than to her.
Bell pulled on the Soviet soldier's skirt, rolling the waistband round to help it stay up.
"I can't help it, it hardly fits," she hissed.
"Here—"
Adler tossed her a clothes peg. He always came prepared for loose fits, though Belikov had gotten them almost perfect sizes. Bell looked at him slightly quizzically, but used it all the same. She hid the peg under the jacket, and slipped on her shoes.
"Little too small, but pretty good."
"Pretty good is good enough, Bell. Готов? Погнали."
The pile of bodies on the floor was reaching nearly to the door handle. Adler glanced sideways at the loading bar. Surely only a few seconds more.
"Done."
Bell ducked behind the desk as a shot flew past her head. Adler reached over and grabbed the disk. A gunshot exploded above his head; she had straightened up and got the last soldier in the head, before he could shoot.
They ran through the door, as more soldiers rounded the corner. He went ahead; because his gun was shorter range. Because he wanted to get out, no matter what. Because he wanted to make sure she wouldn't get shot first.
Down a corridor, to another open space; soldiers were waiting on a walkway across. Bell threw a frag before he could even raise a gun— they were down. He fired a few shots into the writhing bodies just to be sure.
Through another door. Another god forsaken open space. It was barely lit; as they stepped forward, the lights began to shut off, one by one.
"We're sitting ducks here."
They advanced along, Bell getting close behind him. Her hand rested briefly on his shoulder and squeezed it. It was enough to steady his nerves.
Then she ran ahead, towards the columns, and rolled to the side. A flash of gunfire, then another. So they were lying in wait.
He moved right and followed her up; but she hadn't left anything for him to do. God, all the missions they could have done together. It was a breeze working with her.
They went up the stairs through another vaulted door; to what, he didn't know. Surely they had to be at the end of this maze now. The plans he had so dutifully studied were all a scramble in his head.
There was a windowed door. Inside was a group of guards and Belikov. Shit.
"Time for Plan B, Bell."
She reached into the bag and tossed him a gas mask, then pressed the switch. She put her own on as soon as she saw it beginning to fill the room. Belikov was on his knees, gun to his head.
"When we move, get a mask on Belikov. I'll cover you."
He kicked the door down, and started shooting.
Belikov had them well covered; with the armour on and the guns, it was a breeze compared to before. The soldiers were falling like bowling pins. They were nearly there. Nearly there.
Just as opened the doors to the alley, he heard a scream. An earsplitting, gut wrenching, tear-at-the-heart scream.
"Bell!"
He turned round gun raised, ready to catch her falling body. But she had not been shot. She was not bleeding. She was simply standing, looking back at the bodies strewn across the floor. Blood splattered the marble walls. Gunsmoke still rising to the ceiling.
He grabbed her and pulled her back; her body had gone limp as a doll. Fuck.
"Get to the car, I'll cover you. Go, Bell."
But she wouldn't listen. She couldn't hear him. He could hear footsteps approaching, more gunfire behind them. They didn't have time for this to happen now.
"Bell, we've got a job to do."
Nothing. Not even those words could trigger her. She was gone.
He pulled out the pin of a frag with his teeth and threw it into the hall, then grabbed her and flung her over his shoulder. He ran backwards, trying his best to hold his gun steady. He knew he should just leave her. But he couldn't; she was too important. To the mission or to you, Russell?
Suddenly Belikov was behind him, and held out his arms.
"Keep shooting, I'll get her into the car."
More were shooting behind the car; Belikov placed Bell behind a crate before taking them out. A few seconds later Adler heard a car door slam and knew they were safe. A few soldiers rounded the corner; he mowed them down. Then he dived into the open, firing wildly across the plaza, and hopped into the car.
"Floor it!"
It was harder to shoot their way out with just two men, but Belikov did more than his duty. He was a man possessed, desperate to live. Desperate for them all to live.
Adler looked down at Bell, lying on the floor. Her eyes were wide and glassy and her lips parted. His stomach sank. Not like this. Not now. They were just getting started. She still had much more to tell them; and there was more he wanted to know. What was Bell's favourite colour? What songs did she listen to and which did she turn the channel away from? Where had she been as a child? Why had she chosen the shitty life she had?
All these unspoken things he never knew he wanted to know. Trivia. Yet to him they seemed like diamonds, and he didn't want to lose them in the sand.
"Bell…"
He brushed a hand across her face as Lazar whipped round the corner of another side street, and he kicked the back of the front seat in his frustration.
Exfil was on the banks of some desolate lake behind an old church in Ogarkovo. They had about 2 minutes to get out. He knew they were being trailed and probably only had a good ten minute head start. Luckily their lift was on time.
Bell was put in Park and Lazar's car back to Berlin. Park took her to her hotel room, with her bag of supplies. She reassured Adler it was probably just a case of shellshock, combined with a little bit of mental pressure building up, and with a nice memory erasing drug Bell would be right as rain a day or two.
Adler wished he could have that confidence.
Something had been bothering him since he'd had time to think straight. Belikov. More specifically, Belikov and Bell.
Belikov's eyes were a little too wide to be merely surprised by her womanhood or her beauty. They had lingered on her again when he had handed over their bag. Adler felt a little chill, and a gut feeling of something like dread. When Bell had been slumped in the chair during her treatment, mumbling, he thought she had been referring to the sound she heard as he rang the bell over and over to reset her memories. Maybe she had been trying to tell him something else.
A brown envelope sat on his desk, double sealed. Top secret, important info. Inside he found three photos. One of Bell alone, with dark hair and a fake mole; undercover and hard to recognise, but not quite roughed up enough to make herself less than stunning. The next was a blurred polaroid of Bell with a man he didn't know. Then another that made him pause. It was just a headshot, probably for a fake passport, but he had never seen Bell look better. She had dark hair— her natural hair— and as much as he loved the bombshell blonde look they had given her, she looked good as a brunette. On a single sheet clipped to that picture was a typed timeline. Before he'd even finished the first line, his heart stopped.
"Marusya Anzhela Belikov. 10/10/48, Kyiv. F."
A common name, sure. But Adler didn't believe in coincidences. Especially involving KGB agents.
"Kyiv 1948: parent listed as Inessa Belikov. Father unconfirmed.
Northern Vietnam 1968-1969: Served with Soviet army aiding Vietcong, near Laos. Further details unknown.
Moscow 1969-1973: On record as part of a KGB code-making and decryption team, based in Lubyanka Building. Further details unknown.
Kabul 1974-1976: Associated with KGB agent Kamil Polonsky, pre-involvement with Alpha Group. Further details unknown.
Tehran 1976 - 1978: Organisation of Soviet political groups, establishing communications with Moscow. Contact with Arash Kadivar.
Istanbul 1979 - 1981: Suspected involvement with KGB and weapons trafficking with Anton Volkov and Arash Kadivar. Co-ordinated arms distribution amongst the Imam Students to facilitate the occupation of the US embassy in Iran. Captured by CIA after incident at Trabzon airfield, currently working with agents on active operation [classified]."
His girl had gotten around. But that wasn't what interested him at the moment. Adler went to the computer and searched for the only other Belikov he knew, or rather didn't know. Seeing him in action today, he seemed like the real deal— a heart of red, white and blue (of the good kind). But he couldn't shake the feeling there had to be something more than a love of America that motivated him to gun down his own like they were bottles at a shooting range.
/INTEL/MSK/DBELIKOV.
"Dimitri Belikov. 10/2/33, Petrograd. M.
Parents Inessa and Sergei. Birth certificate dated 1937, forged for reasons unknown. Father died in combat at Korsun–Cherkasy. Joined Soviet training academy in 1953, came to Khrushchev's attention in 1956 after action in Hungary, promoted and began working closely with the KGB in 1959."
Not a bad record. But now Adler was confused. Clearly old Inessa had taken another lover— she was a widow, she was allowed to have her fun. But why would a woman, probably in her late 30s, have a child 15 years after her first? Probably by accident. Unless she had just been popping them out one by one for years— for all Adler knew Belikov could have an entire army of unknown siblings, ranging from 6 to 60. But why did he have a false birth certificate? If his real birth date had been on record, then clearly it had been forged later, before proper admin had been introduced post-war. So Inessa had been protecting him? He wouldn't have been old enough to be conscripted, unless it was the post-war occupations she wanted to stop him joining.
Everything felt off to him and more questions than answers had been given to him. But one thing was dead certain, and it made his chest tight. His little Bell was a Belikov too, and he knew whatever the sight of her long-lost relative might've triggered in her was the biggest threat they had faced so far.
He had to wait for Hudson. They could get a call to go any minute. And he needed to be the one to take the call. So why was he asking Woods for a ride to the hotel, and telling him to take over at sunrise, and why was he telling everyone they weren't to leave Bell alone for a second or move her before she was ready?
Adler watched as Park pulled out her syringe from Bell's neck.
"She'll be out for hours. It'll be fine, Adler."
Park gave away nothing as they looked at each other. She was a pro at keeping her cards to her chest. He was more concerned about what he was giving away.
"It's not too late to back out, Adler. There are other ways to get the intel."
"She's still useful as a fighter. We can't get anyone else on board now. Besides, it's easier to go with an expendable asset."
Park raised an eyebrow.
"A little too ruthless to be convincing, Adler. But we'll play it your way, if you insist. Just be careful."
She left him to do the night watch without further comment. None was needed.
He looked at Bell— with her eyes closed and hair falling over her face, she could be sleeping. Without thinking, he went down to lie beside her. He wasn't going to sleep. He just wanted to hold her in his arms for a minute, and pretend. Pretend they were two normal people, having fun. Pretend they weren't both too far into something that had a trick card that left both of them feeling the pressure to fold.
The big blind wouldn't catch him yet. There was still time for an out. All he needed was to hold his face, and wait.
He stroked Bell's hair, and felt his scar itch. His fingers curled into a fist.