Michael Bunker - WICK

“The other thing he had, comrade Vladimir Nikitich,” Mikail said, as he slid another half step toward Vladimir, “the other thing he carried with him when he left this very cell, was a plan. You see, old man Volkhov had a nephew. I’d not thought of it until just now, and perhaps it is too late, but I think that it is not. Volkhov’s nephew lives in a very peculiar house, in a very peculiar spot in the town.”

“How is that, Mikail?” Again, the tremor in the voice. Vladimir shuffled his foot on the floor, as if looking for someplace to go, but there was nowhere else to go.

“His nephew is Pyotr Bolkonsky,” Mikail said softly, “and Pyotr Bolkonsky lives on the very edge of town. In fact, his house is probably closer to the perimeter fence than just about any other house in Warwick.”

“I know that house, Mikail. It is the one with all of the raised gardens and strange landscaping. But we searched it and found nothing.”

Mikail’s right fist caught Vladimir in an uppercut to the solar plexus that doubled the larger man over just as Mikail’s knee came up and hit Vladimir directly in the face, breaking his nose. Vladimir fell to the ground and Mikail stomped him brutally until he was unconscious and bleeding.

The violence happened so fast, and was so unexpected, that Sergei shrunk silently into the darkness until his back hit the far wall of the cell. He saw only shadows, and heard only the grunts that came from Vladimir until he saw that the bigger man was out cold on the ground. Even after what he had seen in the last few days, Sergei was shocked at the brutality of the beating.

When it was over, Mikail stood over Vladimir like a bulldog over a bone and spoke to the unconscious man in flat, low tones. “You are correct, Vladimir. You found nothing. And no one. I had not wondered, until just now, where all the dirt came for those peculiar gardens and all of that strange landscaping. But now I have wondered, and I think I might know how our comrades, Vasily and Pyotr Bolkonsky, have escaped Warwick.”

“I left my glasses in the tunnel,” Cole told Peter privately. “I don’t know how I did it, but I did. I took them off before we left, perhaps when I was using the privy. I didn’t even think about them with all the excitement of leaving the tunnel. It was dark. I couldn’t see anyway. What can I say, Peter? I’m sorry.”

“Well, you cannot go back for them, Cole.”

“I must. I’m not heading out into this broken world as a blind man.”

“Are we to risk everyone’s lives, even your own sister’s life, because you forgot your glasses? Don’t be a fool!”

“Well, I feel somewhat like Gloucester without them.” He looked at Peter, to see if the older man understood his reference. Sometimes a man makes references to prove to others how clever he is, and other times he makes them because they give his life meaning. For Cole, it was almost always the latter. Before he could decide whether Peter’s frown indicated understanding or not, he continued, as a way of explaining. “I’ll be helpless without them, and every one of you will be at risk if I cannot see, so don’t sit there like a king, leering at me.” Nothing. Maybe a half-smile. “I have to go back. And besides, we need to know what’s going on back there, anyway,” Cole said.

Peter shook his head. “It’s too big of a risk. I can’t let you go.”

“Listen, Peter, if Lang had not come back through town in his heroic attempt to save people, I wouldn’t be here anyway. And you wouldn’t be worrying about me, would you? I’m not going back into town, friend. I’m just going to the tunnel. I can be back in a few hours’ time.”

Peter wanted to argue with him, but the older man knew that Cole had made up his mind. He tried to recruit Natasha and Lang to help him dissuade Cole from the trip back to the tunnel, but they’d both, surprisingly, been on the younger man’s side.

“He’ll need his vision if he’s going to survive long out there, Peter,” Natasha said. “Who knows when, or if, such glasses will ever be available again in our lifetimes? We will need every tool we can muster if we’re to make it to safety.”

Cole looked at Peter and saw the seriousness in his face. “Please, Peter.”

Peter sighed in resignation. “Ok,” he said. “But if one person is going back, then we all go back.”

Cole protested. “No. I’ll go alone. It is my responsibility and I will manage it.” He was respectful, but he persisted. “I can see fine during the bright daylight, and it would be silly and foolish for all of us to put our lives in danger just because I was stupid enough to forget my glasses. It was my mistake, and I need to fix it.”

“But if we all go, Cole, then we can protect each other and cover for one another if something happens.”

“If something happens, Peter, then that means that things have gone horribly wrong, and we will have the whole group at risk.” Cole knew enough to appeal to Peter’s leadership feelings and his responsibilities. “I know you would admit that, in a worst case scenario, you would rather lose one unimportant member rather than the whole group. Be reasonable. You have Natasha and Lang to think about. I need to go alone.”

Lang chimed in with his agreement. He also believed that it was a bad plan to travel back as a group. They were more likely to be seen with four of them trying to make it back into the tunnel, he suggested. Peter considered the case and saw the reasonableness of this conclusion.

“I see your logic, Cole, but please do not say that you are unimportant. I don’t think that you are unimportant to your sister, and you are certainly not unimportant to me or Lang. I’ll allow it, but you should at least wait until tomorrow. It’s late in the day now, and it’ll be getting dark soon.”

“Ok, Peter,” Cole said, smiling.

“And if you don’t make it back, I’ll be very upset with you—and with myself for giving in to you.”

“You’ll see me again, Peter. Never you worry. In the end, you’ll see that this is much ado about nothing.”

“Yes, well, let’s hope. So far it seems more like a comedy of errors, with very little to laugh about.”

Cole smiled at this, and gave his friend a thankful squeeze on the shoulder. He looked at him and suddenly felt overwhelmed with the warmth of emotion.

In short order, it was arranged, and on mid-morning the next day, Cole started off on his retreat back to the tunnel.

Wednesday — Morning

Mikail stood by the door in the darkness and waited, staring single-mindedly out of the glass window. He’d not said many words to Sergei through the night, and when Vladimir finally came to and began to stir, there’d been an unspoken agreement that the issue had finally been settled once and for all. It is common with violent men like Vladimir that, like chickens or dogs or wolves, once they are put in their place, they become loyal followers pretty quickly. It is the bully that is the pose in such men. The truth of the bully lies in their cowardice.

As the silence built up, piling upon itself in the cool of the early morning, Mikail’s certainty and resolve grew. He turned to his comrades and barked out orders.

“When I make my move, you’ll know what to do,” he said, brusquely and without emotion.

“Yes, Mikail,” the other two men replied as one.

Although he was not there when the traveler named Clay, Lev Volkhov, and Vasily had broken out of this same cell, he imagined that their planning had gone much differently--and their plan had failed. He was assured in his own mind that his plan would not fail.

“I will expect you to move quickly. I will not…” he paused, to let the implication of that word sink in, “…tolerate failure.”