John Schettler - Fallen Angels - 9 Days Falling, Volume II

The door opened and a man stepped in, medium build, and dressed in a plain NKVD uniform with side pistol holstered and two thin leather straps crossed on his chest. Right over the place where the man’s heart was missing, thought Orlov. Yet as nondescript as his dress was, the man’s face and eyes were quite revealing. He was much younger than Orlov had expected him to be, and there was a cold, arrogant air about him, the character of a young man who had come into too much authority and power before he had lived enough to know how to use it. His eyes seemed to squint as he looked Orlov over, narrowed slits with obsidian ice behind them.

The Commissar walked to his desk, his footfalls loud on the old wood floor, but he did not sit down, He stood, regarding Orlov with those cold black eyes, one hand on his left hip. Then he calmly drew his pistol, raising it to the level of his cheek to take aim square at Orlov’s head.

“Name,” Molla’s voice was flat and terse, edged with impatience.

“Orlov.”

“Where did you get that uniform?”

Orlov looked at him, a glow of defiance on his cheeks as he sized up the situation. He needed to get the man closer to him.

“I took it from a dead man. He had little use for it, and I thought it would get me to my destination a little easier.”

“Dead man? You killed this man?”

“Of course,” Orlov returned quickly. “I don’t think he would have given me his uniform otherwise.”

“You killed an NKVD Officer?” Molla’s voice was loaded with recrimination now, the slits of his eyes more pronounced.

“Yes, I killed him. He insisted on taking me to Novorossiysk, and I did not wish to go there.”

Molla’s hand never wavered as he held the pistol, and now he slowly moved his finger tight on the trigger. It was a Nagant M1895, an old, reliable revolver dating back to the days of the last Tsar. Orlov could clearly see the bullet laden cylinder, and knew a round was chambered and ready to fire with one squeeze of Molla finger, but he was heedless of the danger. All he could think of was getting Molla closer.

“They say you claimed to have orders for me?”

“That was a lie.”

“Of course it was. No one gives me orders here, except perhaps Beria, and he is not around at the moment.”

“Lucky for us both,” said Orlov with a shrug.

Molla sensed something in the man, a strange kinship that was evident in his devil may care attitude. He was holding a pistol on the man, and yet he did not think the frank and direct answers he was receiving were born of fear. Most men would be clearly intimidated, eyes averted, with that pathetic pleading look as they struggled to find a way to prove their innocence. But not this man. No. He’s is unlike any man we’ve hauled in for a good long while now. This one is a fallen angel, just like me, dark seraphim, bound for hell and determined to start the fires now while he lives. It’s as if he thought he was invulnerable!

“This NKVD man was wearing that jacket?” Molla nodded to Orlov’s service jacket now.

“No, that was mine. All I took was the overcoat and hat.”

“It was yours you say? I have never seen anything quite like it.”

“That was what Loban said at Gibraltar.” Orlov baited his line, wondering if the Commissar would nibble.

“Loban? You were at Gibraltar?”

“How do you think the NKVD got hold of me in the first place? They had me under that stinking Rock of theirs and Loban sent me on a little cruise.”

“I see…” Molla obviously knew who Loban was, which was exactly what Orlov was hoping. “You said the NKVD man wanted to take you to Novorossiysk?”

“I suppose he wanted to turn me over to the military there. I’m a deserter.”

“A deserter?”

“Navy. That’s where I got that service jacket.”

“You were an officer?”

“Chief of the boat.”

“Of course you know what we do with deserters. Yes? But a few more questions before I kill you. Or perhaps I should leave you for the Germans, coward. Loban sent nothing more?”

“Oh, he sent a good deal more, but I had no use for it. I’ve come a long way and I left the attaché behind.”

“I see…” The commissar slowly lowered his pistol, resting his arm at his side, and sat on the edge of his desk, just a little closer to Orlov now. “Just where did you think you were going, Orlov? What were you doing at Kizlyar? Are you a German sympathizer? A Spy? Were you trying to get through our lines to get to those pigs?”

“Of course not,” said Orlov hotly. “I’m Russian! I was looking for the pigs on this side of the wire, men who roust women and children out of their homes and truck them off to places like this in the night. Men like you , Commissar.”

Molla stood up very quickly, his hand tight on the revolver again. He had killed a hundred men for far less cause than this man just gave him; interrogated thousands more with seared and severed flesh. He was brash, young, and full of himself, and now he had a strong sense that the man he had before him was of the same dark order, a demon of a man who could kill without remorse, without conscience. These were the most dangerous men in the world, he thought. I could use a man like this…if I could control him. Then his righteous anger flared, as he realized just what the man had said to him. Bound for hell or not, we still keep order.

“You stinking piece of shit!” Molla swore at Orlov now. “Tell me…Which eye should I put the first bullet through?” He raised his pistol again, pointing it right at Orlov’s forehead.

“Tell me,” Orlov said darkly, looking him square in those icy black eyes. “How long can you breathe when I get both hands around your neck?”

TheDuke sat at his desk, hands folded, a light in his eyes that signaled determination. He regarded the man before him favorably, good deportment, of seeming sound character, adequately trained and possessed of skills that would be most useful. Now down to the matter at hand.

“Mister Thomas, good of you to come so quickly.”

“My pleasure, your Grace.”

“Indeed. Well, I have a matter to put before you, the long term assignment I mentioned to you at our last meeting. By the way, your delivery was certified and accepted for processing and completion by tomorrow. I’m very pleased.”

“Thank you, your Grace.”

“Now then. I’m going to be taking a little trip. I suppose I should say a rather long trip, and I would like to ask you to accompany me. Your role would be to insure my safety, and secure certain effects I plan of transporting with me. You will also act as my agent in all ways—my right hand man, as it were. Might you be interested in such a position?”

“Sir… I’m honored to even be considered.”

“Excellent. But I must tell you, Mister Thomas, that this would be for a very extended period of time. There would be no termination date. You would have to consider the assignment indefinite. Given those circumstances the compensation would be commensurate.”

“Thank you, sir. I deeply appreciate your consideration and I would be most interested.”

“The situation would also find us incommunicado for the duration of the assignment. Should you have any pressing matters that would require your personal attention…”

The Duke’s raised an eyebrow, something Thomas had seen him do on a number of occasions when his mind had reached an absolute conclusion on something. He was telling him that there was no alternative. The position would require his full commitment. Lord, he thought. A full time position with the Elvington estate! Right hand man to his Grace, Duke Roger Ames! He was quick to clear the field of any potential obstacle to such an appointment.