Александр Конторович - Predator - Escape from Tarkov

“Obviously. Fine words butter no parsnips, and all that.”

I approach the desk and start to lay out the goods I’ve brought to exchange. When the syringe appears, the dealer stops me.

“Now, where did that come from?”

“Loot from a little fight.”

He picks up the syringe, twirls it in his fingers, and brings it up to his face. It looks as if he’s smelling it.

“Have you got any more?”

“Not with me. I didn’t know what goods you’d have demand for.”

“That’s always valuable. Bring it all straight here! What else?”

After examining the whole pile of goods, he pushes some of them to one side.

“These aren’t for me, but I’ll take the rest. What do you want in return?”

I look around me.

“I see you’ve got heating and light. Me, I’ve got a bit of a problem with lights – no electricity. I’d really like to have light over my head once in a while, and a socket that works.”

The thin man thinks for a while.

“Where are you located?”

“Have you got a map of the city?”

“I’ll get one.” He nods to somebody behind me. Not the lad who brought me, he’s still standing in the same place. There’s a minute’s pause, followed by footsteps, and from behind my back another figure, whose presence I hadn’t even suspected before, appears. He goes to the desk and unfolds a map of the city. The dealer nods to me.

“Show me your neighbourhood.”

I go over to the map, turn it round, and point with a finger in the rough direction of my old flat.

“Right here.”

“That’s difficult. There aren’t any functioning cables there. At least, not as far as I know.”

“Well, I’m not planning to use an industrial freezer. My needs are pretty modest.”

“A solar panel, inverter, and batteries – would that do?”

I shrug my shoulders.

“I don’t see why not.”

“I don’t have the equipment now. It’s not a common order, and I don’t normally deal in that kind of thing. I can make an exception, however, but I’ll need time. A week. In a week’s time, my men will be waiting for you here.” The dealer indicates a point on the map. “Come in person, they won’t speak to anyone but you. Do I need to warn you that their safety will be your responsibility?”

“From the moment we meet, certainly. But I don’t see how I can guarantee anything before that. I don’t even know which way they’ll be coming.”

“My demands aren’t that unreasonable. I’m only interested in the process of handing over the goods.”

“Agreed.”

“In that case, our business is finished. One more thing…” His hand rummages through the pile of goods and pulls out the memory stick. “These you can bring me any time, and as many as you can find. Don’t bother looking for another buyer, nobody will offer more than me. From now on, you’re included in my list of customers, but only you personally, understood?”

I answer with a nod.

“In which case, we’re agreed. Escort him out.”

We walk back along the tunnel, climb the stairs, doors slam, and once again I’m standing in the same room where I surrendered my weapons. The uncommunicative guards lay out my guns in front of me. I check the bullets and take a quick look in the barrels – everything’s in order. I tuck my pistol in its new home, strap Shorty back on my rucksack, and sling the shotgun across my chest. Without saying a word, the lad who brought me opens the door and walks out into the hallway. On the way back, we’re accompanied by two more guards who appeared out of nowhere once we got about ten metres from the front door. If it hadn’t been for a reassuring gesture from my companion, I’d have been dashing for the nearest gateway. You shouldn’t play tricks with people whose nerves are on edge – my fear almost expressed itself in shooting.

We reached the square reasonably quickly and without incident. Having accompanied me to the statue, the trio then vanish silently. Hurrying towards me comes my escort group.

“You cut that pretty fucking fine!” says Veremeyev, shaking his head as he paces the room. “Another half hour and the boys would’ve left.”

“He’s dug in so deep there you’d need archaeologists to find him. From what I saw, I’d guess he’s got a few houses there, and they’ve been fitted out recently. The one I visited was certainly pretty new. When you walk through the tunnel, you can smell the dampness of the earth. It’s not been dug long. When you get down there, he must have heaters, otherwise their teeth would be chattering from the cold and damp. I imagine he takes different customers to different places. I didn’t see any goods offered for sale whatsoever. He says his boys will deliver goods to any address according to the customer’s wishes. Maybe that’s true, I really don’t know. What I can say is that when it comes to conspiracies, that guy could give anyone a run for their money. I’m pretty sure that all the conversations I had with the boy who met me were being transmitted somewhere else by radio. Basically, he’s got everything worked out, and there’s no shortage of hiding places round the customs house.”

The Captain bites his lip.

“Yeah, that dealer’s a little out of our league. Shame… Still, thanks for the information. Our boys will escort you to the edge of the district, but after that I’m afraid you’re on your own. The convoy going to your shopkeeper left this morning.”

“Worry not, I’ll make it back somehow.”

What I’d like to know is, where’s this unforgivable impudence of mine coming from? OK, so the memory stick ended up in the general pile of goods entirely by accident. I had no idea that the thin man would jump on it like that. As for my demands, I made them up on the spot. I simply wanted to find out what the stuff I’d brought was worth. Morphine’s always in demand, of course. The pistol bullets, the gold trinkets, and the rest of the junk all had a certain value, but it definitely wasn’t enough to buy such a complicated piece of technology. Nonetheless, he went for the deal. That can only mean one thing – the memory stick was worth an awful lot to him. In general, the whole incident with the dealer looked like a massive bluff, leaving aside the fact that my “bodyguards” were nothing of the sort, and had been provided by Veremeyev entirely for his own purposes. All my tall tales and subtle hints about mysterious protectors were also pretty hard to swallow. I doubt that a seasoned drug dealer bought them. That left only the memory sticks. What does everyone want them for? Lest we forget, our interrogator in the tunnel had a whole collection of them. How many people did he do away with to get hold of those keys, I wonder? And what I’d really like to know is what the hell they open.

“Did he leave?”

“Yes, boss. His guards were waiting in the place appointed. As you ordered, we had a good look at them. They’re clearly professionals – bulletproof vests, helmets, and good weapons. They don’t look like novices.”

“I didn’t think so. What would you say about our visitor?”

“Strange guy.”

“More than that, I’d say. I had my first doubts when he started putting out the things he wanted to sell on the desk. He made a clumsy move, and a box of bullets fell out. Nothing special, you’d have thought, but these ones had blue paint on the tips.”

“What does that mean?”

“I thought nothing of it at first. Then something stirred in my brain, and I called Pyotr. He’s our weapons specialist, after all. I also asked for him to be given a list of the guns our guest had left at the guard post.”

“Is that all?”

“What do you think? Are there many people who’d risk openly carrying a knife taken from the sect? I’d say anyone who does that is either a complete moron who’s only managed to live this long by extreme good fortune, or they’re a very dangerous opponent. Pyotr confirmed in part my suspicions. Did you see the guns he had?”