David Nickle - Rasputin's Bastards

“To make matters worse, I believe that our… cargo… has taken possession of Kilodovich. They are clever children, Stephen, smarter than we ever had imagined, and stronger too. Who knows what they will do with him… how they will use him. I think it will not be to our benefit, however it goes.

“So. When I’m recovered, and out of this prison they’ve made for me, I will take up the search for Kilodovich. In the meantime, you must lay groundwork. Contact Shadak. Apologize to him on my behalf. Find out from him exactly what happened so far as he knows. Allow Mrs. Kontos-Wu to assist — Shadak likes her — but take the lead yourself. You have worked for me now for five years. There is more in you than you know. And I know that you are ready for this new responsibility.”

Stephen stood a little straighter at that. He was ready.

“But Stephen (said Kolyokov through Mrs. Kontos-Wu) — that doesn’t mean you’re ready for the tank. Under no circumstances are you to go in there. The tank is still my dominion.

“And the children — our cargo — are too dangerous to deal with on their own terms. Particularly for you. And particularly now that they’ve got Kilodovich. Goodbye for now, Stephen. Remember what I’ve told you.”

And with that, the voice of Fyodor Kolyokov was gone from Mrs. Kontos-Wu’s lips. Her eyes blinked open. “Stephen?”

“Stephen’s gone to the can,” said Miles.

It was almost a day before the doors to the children’s brig opened again. The little room stank of sweat and blood and shit and the stink seemed to leave too little room for oxygen. It all reminded Heather of a 60 Minutes segment she’d seen on life in Russian prisons — which, she supposed, was not far from the truth. The Russians were running the show here, and sure as day turns to night, they’d turned Holden Gibson’s yacht into a prison after the old Soviet ways.

And shit — but didn’t those Soviets stick together when it came to the crunch? Alexei the KGB agent stood in the open door. He was carrying Holden’s Glock in one hand, aiming it in the general direction of the crowd. His mouth was cast firm, and his eyes had a cool, empty determination to them that Heather barely recognized.

Christ , she thought. Where was he yesterday, when I needed him ? “Get up,” he snarled.

“Jesus fuck,” said Gibson, who had been snoring contentedly on the bottom bunk for about an hour. “I am going to tear you another asshole, you fuckin’ traitorous mutinous Russkie.”

Heather smiled in spite of herself. It so often amazed her how Holden Gibson managed to stay alive at all, the way he behaved with the most dangerous of people. Alexei, for instance. He pointed the gun at Holden now — lined him up in its sights. “Get up,” he repeated.

“Je-sus.” Holden squinted at Alexei — and evidently saw the same thing Heather had in his eyes: an absence. Alexei would shoot him if he didn’t get up. Heather felt a quickening of her pulse, a faint hope that Holden would defy her KGB killer.

But Holden saved himself, and stood up with the rest of them. Seeing everyone on their feet, Alexei backed out of the door. “Come,” he said. “All of you. Follow me to the deck.”

“Who died and made him Captain?” muttered James as he passed close by Heather. She gave his ass a tweak and followed close behind as they pushed into the corridor.

“No one yet,” she whispered in his ear, and he smiled a little back.

The two of them had been planning a move on Holden since Dallas. He had been behaving more and more strangely since then — following this “dream” of his; pulling his kids off the routes, and finally, piecing together this bizarre operation. Heather had confided in James from early on, and at the best of times they agreed their boss was abusive, incompetent, self-destructive, had poor communications skills. And sooner or later, needed killing. The Russian Alexei Kilodovich, with his little ballpoint pen brain-smacker and his shady secret agent background had seemed like a godsend. Until, that is, Alexei turned out to be a chickenshit when it came to killing evil old men who had it coming.

It was true that the freak show kids Holden had managed to pick up here on the ocean were a complication. But shit — it wasn’t like she and James weren’t giving him opportunities. Heather could count at least four missed opportunities since Alexei arrived, and a couple more since they got back with the kids. Hell, for one of them she even got James to pick a fight with Simon in here, to give Alexei a distraction. How hard could it be to kill a smelly old bastard like Holden Gibson? Heather’d do it herself — if she thought for a second she could get away with it around this crew. Too many of them still paid lip service to Holden’s insistence on absolute loyalty to hand over the reins of power to an obvious assassin. Heather knew that — and as she’d found out early on in their association, when she approached him to do the deed for her, James had worked it out as well. James was a bright boy, all right.

And looking over his shoulder at Alexei, who was now beckoning them all forward with one hand while he levelled the Glock at them with the other, Heather was beginning to worry that her Russian stooge was a bright one too.

Alexei led them upstairs to the lounge. It was four in the morning, so the sky and sea were still dark beyond the windows. And it wasn’t much brighter inside. In the dimness, Heather could see that the chairs had been arranged facing aft, as for a seminar. Normally, Holden Gibson would hold court from behind the table they faced. Now, three of the children sat behind it. Their faces and forms were in shadow, and they were still as statues. Heather shivered. Even outnumbered, they were scary little fuckers.

“Take seats,” commanded Alexei. “Keep silent.”

The crew did as they were told. Gibson motioned for Heather to join him, but she pretended not to see and sat by James at the back.

“All right.” It was the baby’s voice, preposterously deep and serious. “We are nearly at our destination. I must apologize for your incarceration. It was a necessary thing until we completed the journey. We didn’t want to risk — a premature awakening until we were near the safe harbour. I hope that we can put that behind us and become friends in the days and months ahead of us — for there will be much reason to, I think.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, ‘friends’?” demanded Holden, standing up. “And what’s this ‘days and months ahead of us’ bullshit? And—”

Holden yelled and grabbed his head, and the baby continued. “You are all a part of something — the same thing, in a way, as we children. As Alexei. It will become clearer to you in the next few hours, as we make our way to land, and finally meet the Koldun face to face.”

Gibson rubbed his eyes, and gasped: “What the fuck is a Koldun, kid? Why the fuck are we even up here, anyway?”

This time, to Heather’s disappointment, Gibson didn’t double over in pain. “To prepare ourselves,” said the baby. “We children have been doing so for years — but you Americans… you’ve forgotten the ways. So in the hours before we make landfall, I have decided that we shall meditate together. Close your eyes now. It is time to begin.”

“Fuck this,” said Gibson, and turned on a heel. No one stopped him as he stepped out onto the deck.

“Close your eyes,” said the baby again.

You can’t be serious , thought Heather.

But she shut her eyes like everyone else. She wasn’t about to fuck with this kid — if he could talk in her mind like that, who knew what else he could do? If he wanted her to sit and meditate, that was fine with her. It wasn’t like she hadn’t done weirder shit at Holden’s behest.