Andrew Kaplan - Scorpion Winter

“Where’s the pistolet?” Scorpion asked.

Shelayev indicated his pocket.

With his other hand keeping the knife to Shelayev’s neck, Scorpion pulled out the pistol-an SR-1 Gyurza-and put it in his pocket.

“Who are you?” Shelayev asked in Russian.

“We met before. In Dnipropetrovsk. I’m the journalist, remember?”

“Kilbane,” Shelayev said, taking off his night vision goggles, which were similar to Scorpion’s, and getting to his feet as Scorpion released him. The goggles had gotten wrapped around his neck during their struggle. “You didn’t learn to fight like this in journalism school,” he said, rubbing his neck.

“You’d be surprised. The girls at Columbia are pretty tough,” Scorpion said, picking up his pack and goggles. They spoke in a mixture of Russian and English. Using the goggles, he searched until he found the Glock lying on the ground.

“What do you want?” Shelayev said.

“If it isn’t broken, I have a bottle of Nemiroff in my pack. All you have to do is promise not to kill me,” Scorpion said, unable to see Shelayev’s face, deep in shadow. A few minutes later they were sitting at the table inside the house passing the bottle between them.

The house was cold as ice. Scorpion kept his jacket on, their breath visible in the candlelight. Before coming in, he had gone back to retrieve the Geiger counter, and while in the woods, threw away the ballistic knife and reattached the button video camcorder. When he got inside, he activated it. The only source of light was the candle on the table, casting their shadows on the walls, and Scorpion kept his fingers crossed that the hidden video camcorder would be able to pick up Shelayev’s face in the dim light. Scorpion removed the ammunition clip, emptied the chamber from the Gyurza pistol, then put the empty gun on the table between them.

“How did you find me?” Shelayev asked.

“Something Alyona said.”

“Alyona told on me?” Shelayev clenched his massive fist, though otherwise his face betrayed nothing.

Scorpion shook his head. “Only that you had gone where no one would find you. Iryna thought-”

“Iryna?”

“Iryna Mikhailivna Shevchenko. We’ve been working to try to clear our names. We’ve been accused of killing Cherkesov.”

“You and Iryna Shevchenko kill Cherkesov?” Shelayev snorted. “Is absurdnyi.”

“Tell that to the politsiy and everyone else who is after us.”

“Why did Alyona say anything about me?” He looked sharply at Scorpion, the candle flame reflected in twin pinpoints of light in his eyes. “How did you find her?”

“The bald man from the Black Cat cafe where she works. He guessed about the Puppet Theatre. First Alyona disappeared, then her friends, Ekaterina and Fedir. He was worried about them.”

“And Alyona told you about me? She said where I’m going? Just like it was nothing, that kurva bitch!” he snarled.

“She was tortured,” Scorpion said. “She was in shock with internal bleeding when we got to her. Ekaterina and Fedir were already dead.”

“ Ahhhhh!” Shelayev screamed, smashing his fists on the table, nearly knocking over the candle and the horilka. He got to his feet and began pacing and smacking his fist into his hand. He turned on Scorpion.

“Who did this?”

“Who do you think?”

“Tell me!” Shelayev demanded, balling his fists.

“Kulyakov. We found them under the stage in the Puppet Theatre. He was holding her head in a tub of ice water.”

“You’re lying. Prokip wouldn’t do that. He is a drooh,” Shelayev said. A friend.

“Kulyakov is a sick sukin sin son of a bitch i vy khorosho znayu, and you damn well know it,” Scorpion said. “He does what Gorobets tell him to. The enjoyment he gets from torturing people, especially naked women, is just an extra bonus.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because it’s true,” Scorpion said, taking a slug of the Nemiroff and passing the bottle over to him.

“Where is she now, Alyona?” Shelayev asked, taking a long swig of the horilka and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“We took her to a Medikom in Vyshhorod. Iryna was with her. She was cut all over. Plus internal bleeding, but the doctor said she would live.”

Shelayev rubbed his hand over his face, then looked sharply at Scorpion.

“Did you kill Kulyakov?”

Scorpion shook his head. “He got away.”

Shelayev smirked. “How did you let that happen?”

“There were two of them. The other was about to kill Iryna. I had to stop him.”

For a time neither of them spoke. It was strange sitting there by candlelight in a dark house, just the two of them, in the middle of a radioactive forest. Something told Scorpion he would remember this scene for the rest of his life.

“Why should Prokip torture her?” Shelayev asked.

“To find you. You know it’s true, that’s why you’re hiding from them.”

“You’re wrong! I expected Kozhanovskiy’s people or his SBU mussory to be after me. Gorobets has no reason. I followed orders.”

“Ne dorak,” Scorpion said. Don’t be stupid. “You’re a witness; the only one who can tie Gorobets to Cherkesov’s death. He needs you dead.”

“But killing Cherkesov was his idea. It had to be done,” Shelayev said.

“Why?”

“Cherkesov was a traitor, that filthy ebanatyi pidaraz motherfucker!” he shouted, slamming the table with his fist, making the candle and bottle of Nemiroff jump.

“Who told you he was a traitor? Gorobets?”

“ Ladna, you are not entirely stupid,” Shelayev said. “Sure Gorobets. He showed me. A secret text to Cherkesov.”

“Who was it from?”

“A man named Gabrilov.”

“The one from the Russian embassy?”

“He is head of the SVR in Kyiv.”

“I know. Also Alyona’s contact,” Scorpion said, stopping himself from saying case officer.

“So!” Shelayev said, shaking his finger in Scorpion’s face. “You didn’t learn that either at Columbia, Pane Kilbane. I think you are CIA.”

“Also Mossad and MI-6. I’m a triple threat. What did the message say?”

“That sukin sin!” Shelayev snarled. “Cherkesov wants good relations with the Russians. Horosho! Okay! Extend lease for Russian naval base at Sevastopol. Horosho! But that mudak bastard wanted to give Crimea back to Russia. For what? For money like a Jew!” He turned and spit on the floor. “We are sons of the Cossacks. You understand? For this, we fight! For this,” his eyes narrowing, “we kill.”

“The Crimea? You killed Cherkesov because of Crimea?” Scorpion said.

“Crimea is ours.”

“When the fuck did I land in the nineteenth century?” Scorpion said, shaking his head. “What the hell is next? Balaklava and the Charge of the Light Brigade?! Did Gorobets say what would happen once Cherkesov was dead?”

“He said Davydenko would be President.”

“Davydenko the idiot?”

“Better him than Kozhanovskiy and Iryna Shevchenko, who want to sell us out to the Americans!” Shelayev said hotly.

“So you killed Cherkesov?”

Shelayev looked at him and didn’t answer.

“The C-4 in Cherkesov’s car,” Scorpion said. “How’d you wire it? To the ignition?”

Shelayev shook his head. “Cell phone. I wanted to be sure he was in the Mercedes when it went off. Someone might have started the engine before he got in.”

“You were Gorobets’s security. It made it easy, didn’t it?”

“I did the final security check, so no one would spot it before. I got under the car. It only took maybe twenty seconds.” Shelayev shrugged with a faint smile of pride.

“If anyone saw you, you were just doing your job.” Scorpion nodded. “Have you heard about the war?”