Chapter Six

An hour later, moments after helicopter takeoff...

"Did you see Couture there on the landing pad? She looked like she wanted something, but would not approach. I wonder what that was about." - Yelena remarked, glancing out the window.

The girl's gaze met hers, before the hacker looked quickly away. Yelena thought she saw a trace of... ambivalence... in it.

"Maybe something to ask her, sometime..." - Irwine murmured, leadingly. At this, the aquiline woman turned with a frown. Something about the way he said it...

...her eyes narrowed slightly.

"I do not think you playing peacemaker between us will accomplish anything. Nor would I want it to." - she shook her head, turning her attention to the pocket secretary each of them were given, with a brief containing the points of discussion with Janus.

"You want her to keep hating you?" - the man blinked in surprise.

"It's not about what I want. It is about what I deserve. She is already more forgiving then I would have been. Far more. I killed her brother. Family is... sacred." - she asserted hauntedly.

Irwine considered his words.

"Well... good thing that blood-vengeance isn't something most people abide by." - bluntly, "...if it were, I imagine the world would've seized-up, a long time ago."

He could feel Yelena's glare at him.

"You disapprove of it?" - she asked quietly. There was no anger or disappointment in her tone. Just a touch of... resentment. Just as quickly gone.

"I feel that the concept needs work. And streamlining. I don't think blind forgiveness is the answer either, but there's gotta be something between the two. If we lived in a different kind of world, I'd say leave it to the law and justice system, but I'm not that naive anymore." - he glanced at her.

"The strong make the laws that do not apply to them, the weak abide by them." - the woman murmured, quoting something Namir used to say, in private. She remembered each time he said it, it wasn't with conviction or glee, but... resignation. Fatalism.

Looking back now, she couldn't help but wonder did he count himself among the latter, too. Did they... break him... to that extent.

"Pretty much. Haven't heard it that bluntly put yet, though. Where'd that come from?" - Irwine asked.

"From a weak man now dead." - Yelena's tone lowered into a soft growl. Irwine grimaced with a nod.

"And good riddance. Thing is... it was just him. Not..." - he trailed off. But Yelena could hear the words in her mind.

...not his family.

She looked out the window. Remembering her loathing, that day in Knightsbridge, London, where she... passed judgement on them. Closed the circle.

"She never wondered, you know. She never questioned. She was a dutiful wife. Never even a finger of suspicion at what was going on behind the curtains in that house. At why all of us sometimes congregated there. What we were doing... For so many years. I would hear them talking, sometimes. Jaron and her. About everyday things. The weather, the childrens' birthday presents, going to the amusement park... I honestly could not tell, if she was just living in her bubble of denial, or she really believed in the illusion he crafted around them. Perfect little nuclear family. A world of coping, for him. His way of segmenting. His fake self. Or maybe real self? I do not care. Or perhaps... she knew, and approved. Stockholm syndrome, in her own mind? I could never tell for sure. Either way. She was his enabler. And she had to die for it." - Yelena's tone dripping in veiled disgust.

"I had a duty. To even the score. To myself, and to my family. He took them from me. All of them. I took them, from him. All of them. There is no more to it, then that. And there is no such thing as innocent, in the world we lived in." - darkly.

"...the world you lived in?" - Irwine echoed, significantly.

"I don't think you ever left that world, Yelena. Or maybe that world never left you. I know you're trying, but... And now we're both living in it. But my own family doesn't have to. I don't want them to. I don't want them to get caught between the gears. Like yours did. Like Namir's did. You're right about one thing - pretending doesn't end well." - he fingered his fake Castor Van Strohm ID, between his fingers.

"...and now they'll never get caught in it, thanks to what Couture and I did. They're safe. I'll never see them again, but they're safe." - pocketing the ID, and pulling out a polaroid, to look at.

He could feel her soft breath over his shoulder, as she leaned in to take a look.

"My bro, right there..." - he pointed at a tall, lean man, "...probably still living a highlife in Aspen, as a speedo model. My sis... she should be finishing medical college next year. Assuming augs like her are still accepted..." - he pointed to a stocky, younger woman with augmetic legs, "...and my dad. Mom passed away when we were still kids." - pointing at an older, broad-shouldered man with surprisingly kindly eyes.

"He raised you well." - Yelena whispered, kissing him in the neck.

"Yeah... then I broke his heart, when I deserted from the Corps. Hell of a way to repay the old man." - Irwine sighed, pocketing the photo again.

The aquiline woman frowned.

"Did you explain your reasons?! I'm sure he would have-" - before he cut her off, shaking his head.

"Nah. He's old-school. All for God and country. Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition, and all that bullshit. Didn't have the heart to explain to him that things don't work that way anymore. What I saw... what I was ordered to do... to not complain about..." - he trailed off, remembering.

"...and even if I did, he wouldn't believe me. I never even told him I joined a... radical faction. Especially one plotting secession. He'd have a heart-attack. Or disown me." - he let out a mirthless chuckle at this last.

"Guess I beat him to the punch on that, at least." - leaning back.

Yelena wasn't dissuaded though, as she gripped his hand in both of hers. He was struck by the sudden... sympathy... in her dark gaze. Such overt sentiment was rare, and precious, from her, which made it all the more genuine.

"Don't lose hope! Perhaps one day you can go back... once we defeat the cabal, once the threat of reprisal isn't there anymore! You can go back and make your father proud of the part you played in it! In a way, fulfilled your patriotic duty. Vindicated your decision..." - enthusiastically.

The man had to grin at that.

"I thought you were supposed to be the cynical one!" - embracing her.

"I am! When it comes to me. But I hate to see you like this, Irw!" - she purred.


Back in Sankt Peterburg, Irwine was the first to notice a flat, wrapped-up, nondescreipt-looking package sitting at the doorstep of their penthouse, as he stumbled due to a spike of pain from his injured thigh.

"Hey, what's this... this is the first time we've had mail delivered directly to our door." - he pointed.

For a long moment, Yelena's expression was distant, with a slight frown playing across her face, gazing to some indeterminate spot on the wall. He recognised it instantly – she was listening intently to something that was showing up on her cochlear implants – beyond his hearing.

"More drones then usual, flying nearby..." - she murmured, then refocused.

"Nevermind. You were saying... ?" - as her gaze dropped to what he was pointing at.

"It is. I left specific instructions to leave all our mail at the dead drop at the square. " - she affirmed.

"So who would even know where we live? Besides our... allies in Bratva?" - the man asked, suspicion all over his face.

"Our allies in the Collective, for one." - Yelena reminded him dryly, which elicited a 'oh, yeah' shrug.

"But this does not strike me as Quinn's style." - she added, turning suspicious herself. Squatting next to the package, she traced two fingers over it, lightly, feeling for telltale textures of underlying wiring or circuitry, that might indicate a bomb, as she was taught to do, during her training in the Tyrants. At the same time, she listened hard, for any aural and subaural activity from it,

"Flat... smooth... no aural readings." - she reported, looking up at Irwine's quizzical expression.

"If it is an explosive device, it has no detonator. Which makes me think it's not." - she added, picking it up.

"You can tell that just from touching it?" - the ex-Marine looked unconvinced.

"Touching and listening to it, yes. Detonators need a microwave receiver to receive the set-off signal. And any such tech would register on my subsonics." - she gently tried to bend the package... it resisted her efforts.

"No sender address, no post-office stamp... whoever sent this has a thing for secrecy. Gonna open it?" - he asked, pursing his lips.

Yelena glanced at him in some surprise.

"That is quite a switch, from five seconds ago! You think I should?" - she blinked. He shrugged.

"If you say it's safe, I trust you. You didn't survive this long by being careless, right?" - stepping past, to swipe a card through the reader, and unlock their penthouse door. Then he stood by, expectantly.

"No... and I am curious." - she nodded, stepping inside.

In the kitchen, the two sat at the table, before the woman ripped-open the package. It wasn't what she expected... though honestly, she didn't know what to expect – it was a framed photograph, of a pastoral, rural landscape; a small, homely suburban dacha surrounded by evergreen woods, a distant river partially visible to the far left of the photo, while a snowcapped hill loomed in the distance behind the scene.

"Looks cosy... but what does this photo have to do with anyth-" - Irwine started, glancing at her... as he cut himself short. Yelena's face was a mirror of utter shock. She looked like she saw a ghost, clutching the framed picture in a suddenly shaking hand.

"...Yelena? What's wrong?" - he whispered, lightly touching it.

She jerked slightly, as if snapping out of a memory, as she glanced at him, then back at the photo.

"Irw... this... th-this house..." - she swallowed, "...it- this was my grandmother's dacha. You... remember... what I told you, on the plane, four months ago... how close we were, when I was little? How much I loved visiting her? This... this is her home! About... half an hour outside Batumi, near the sea! I remember... in fact I think... I think... yes! She... she took this picture! Y-yes... and... and I think I was... was standing right there!" - she pointed at a patch of empty ground, next to the house. Face twisted in intense concentration, as long-faded memories jogged back to the surface.

"Are you sure?" - the man frowned, surprise mixing with suspicion.

"YES! Yes... The... the perspective, the... the surroundings... do you see the blue hose there in the yard? With yellow pattern on it? That was her garden hose! I remember helping her water her oleander plants..." - she trailed off, staring at the picture, clearly far away.

"...no gde ya?! Pochemu menya net... tam?" - she murmured softly, blinking in confusion.

"Yelena, are you absolutely sure you're remembering right... ? I mean, you said yourself how hazy things are from when you were a kid, so maybe your mind's just playing tricks on you?" - the man persisted.

"No... no... yes! YES! Yes I'm sure! I..." - she snapped with a glare at him, a bit more fiercely then she wanted, turning almost angry... then frowned again, looking at the photo.

He decided to take the statement at face value. Far from convinced, but...

"Alright... so... what? Did someone photo-edit the picture to remove you from it, then frame it up and send it here? Why? What's the point? Especially after so much time had passed... More importantly, who would know, that this was your granny's place?" - the suspicion getting heavier in the man's tone.

"Nobody... nobody alive... I think." - the woman bit her lip.

"Do you remember how old you were when... if... you were there in the picture?" - Irwine inquired.

She shook her head, wordlessly. But her expression slowly hardened, as her lips compressed into a thin line. She looked at him again.

"Somebody wants my undivided attention. And they have it. Me not being in the picture... is symbolic. They did that on purpose. To remind me what was taken from me." - in a growl.

The man slowly nodded.

"Looks that way. But who? And why? Maybe... there's more to it. A hidden message or something? Try getting it out of the frame." - he suggested.

She nodded, gently feeling the edges of the frame with her fingers... while it resisted bending, and she didn't want to break it, it did seem to flex inward a bit. Pressing it, the picture within bent slightly, allowing her to pull it out of the frame. Then she looked at the backside of it.

"Nothing... wait. Wait a moment... it's not smooth at the back. I can feel some kind of little... what is the word - vypuklosti." - she used the Russian term.

"Bulges? Indentations? Is there a pattern? Can I... ?" - Irwine asked promptly, reaching out a hand to touch it himself. With a shrug, Yelena let him have the picture.

The man's frown deepened, as he traced his fingers across the back of it.

"Yeah... that feels like Braille text. One of my exes had a blind cousin, she insisted I learn the damn thing. Been a while though..." - he peered closely at the picture's back, but couldn't see anything.

"Totally invisible. Only way to read this is to know Braille code. Thing is... it's not English. And my written Russian sucks as it is, there's no way I can figure this out in Braille." - he grimaced.

Thinking quickly, Yelena moved over to a nearby shelf, picking up a pocket secretary and a stylus lying there. Creating a new document on it, she nodded at him.

"Just tell me the letters. I will write them down."

"Might not make much sense... I can't even be sure I'll guess the right letters. Like I said it's been a while since I did this." - he pointed out.

"I'll understand the context if you get enough of them right. Begin." - she reassured him.

A few minutes later, a simple sentence materialised itself on the device. Translated, it read:

'Past debts, future will collect, if you want to know, come alone to where it began.'

Irwine scowled.

"What's that supposed to mean? If this whole thing didn't already ring a few alarm bells in my head, I'd chalk it up to lousy poetry."

"It means someone is intimately familiar with what happened – that day. And wants to share that information with me." - the woman explained, pursing her lips.

"...or lure me into a trap, of course. The problem is... even if it is a trap, it's still worth the risk if I can learn who gave the orders to Namir. Names. I need – names. Names behind the Council Of Five. Someone knows... exactly what I am after. And they also know how much it means to me." - darkly, stepping to the window, to look out at the cityscape below.

"That day? The day uh... you watched your family murdered?" - the man asked carefully.

She ignored the question, continuing...

"I have to go there. Back where it began, in Signagi. Back where my life ended. Eight years ago."

Irwine glared.

"And walk into an ambush? You're crazy! I mean, this couldn't be a more obvious trap, if it had a fucking neon advert on it! Someone playing on your heartstrings and putting vague hints in the air!" - he snarled, pointing at the doctored picture, that now lay on the table.

"Yes. And that is exactly why I don't believe it is." - Yelena retorted, significantly, turning around to look at him.

"The people I worked with... worked for... they are not this circumspect, Irwine. Or this... personal. And clearly whoever sent this, knows exactly who I am, and where I live now. Why not simply dispatch a hit squad to raid this building, and take me down? Like the one I commanded, in Montreal, meant to intercept Jensen. I know how the game is played. And this... this... is not it." - she nodded at the picture.

"Maybe they're going for low-profile this time! Or maybe they know, that you know how the game is played, so they changed the rules! Ever think of that?" - the man persisted adamantly.

Yelena bit her lip.

"Maybe. But I have to follow up on this, Irw. It's... too important to me. I understand if you do not want any part of-" - she began, but was easily cut off.

"Don't finish that sentence, love! It's insulting. Goes without saying I'm gonna be along to keep you from getting killed!" - he grinned.

"Besides... it'll do me good to get away from this place for a while. A trip to Georgia sounds like fun!" - before he trailed off.

"No Collective-transport, I take it?" - seriously.

She shook her head.

"Not a chance. For two reasons. One, this is personal. And two, we are on a timetable, for the meeting with Madalyuk. Two weeks. The last thing Quinn or Janus need to know, is that I am diverting time for a personal project, when we should be familiarising ourselves with UralPharma's finances and connections. We can do that on the way."

"Well, I guess we're about to find out if our new ID's are worth a damn. Miss Cristoff." - he smirked.

Yelena narrowed her eyes with an amused expression.

"Do work on your... Germanic/Dutch accent. Mister van Strohm!" - she quipped back.

"It is fortunate that intra-state travel here in Russia is still unrestricted for augmented people. And my... affiliation... with Bratva will help, too." - adding softly, as she moved over to the phone, to make the train reservations for tomorrow morning.

"Could still get nasty for you, at some checkpoints. I've seen how some augs are treated by the cops. Not to mention having to travel in the rear caboose with the rest of the... hanzers." - the man growled with distaste.

She chuckled darkly.

"I will see it as a useful exercise in... personal restraint." - flexing briefly.