She appeared in the doorway a minute later, her face flushed, looking slightly disheveled and solemn, and not making eye contact. After adjusting her rucksack squarely onto her back, she put one hand on Sergio’s shoulder and pushed him gently aside. Taking her passport from the table, she turned quickly away from them and started off down the passage.
Sergio looked over at the officer as if to confirm that it was okay to go ahead before following after Marco. The officer gave a similarly unsettling smile to the one the soldier had displayed, and Sergio immediately took that as his permission to leave. Hastily catching up to his companion, he was trying to figure out how best to ask her about what had gone on in that room.
Marco fidgeted with her clothing as they walked down the narrow corridor that led from Kuznetsky Most to the Red Line.
“Иди к черту, сука!” She huffed under her breath, shaking her shoulders in disgust.
Sergio held his tongue; his confused and concerned expression was enough to keep her talking, so the least he could do was listen.
“He was searching me like that to get a good feel. Asshole!” She snorted with disgust. “I should have just told them I was one of the Revolutionists, and then maybe they wouldn’t have minded. He didn’t even look in my bag!”
Finally understanding precisely what she was upset about made him feel even more uncomfortable than he had been standing outside the door waiting for her. The thought of that grungy communist running his hands over her made his skin crawl. Desperately, he tried to put the image out of his mind and change the subject for their mutual benefit.
“At least we got through. Everything else should be easy, now. Right?” Sergio asked with a hopeful smile, trying to lighten the mood.
“I hope so, yes, but I am not sure exactly which entrance to Polis will be open for us. We may have to go all the way down to Borovitskaya before we can get in. Do you know?” Marco shrugged, looking back at him for a clearer answer. But Sergio had never been at the heart of the Red Line before, and wasn’t sure where the proper entrance was either.
“When I last came through here, there was a different tunnel that we took to Pushkinskaya, and from there we were supposed to continue on directly to Polis.” Sergio glanced around the passageway, wondering exactly where that other tunnel was.
“Supposed to?” Marco had caught on to the one part of his story that he was hoping she wouldn’t ask about.
Sergio looked away with an ashamed shade of red filling his cheeks. There was no way he wanted to tell her about his botched entry into Realm territory with Mikhail Porfirevich. He certainly didn’t want to recount the misfortune of his first human kill and the time he spent in the Nationalist prisons awaiting his death. Although that did also conjure more pleasant memories of the very same Revolutionists that Marco had mentioned a moment ago.
“Well we definitely aren’t going to Pushkinskaya.” Marco said in a disdainful voice.
“We will find the way.” Sergio said flatly, looking straight ahead so that there was no chance she could see the trace of doubtful fear in his eyes.
Thankfully, she didn’t press either of the awkward subjects and they continued walking in silence.
Sergio had heard many rumors about Lubyanka station being used as a modern Communist prison where the despicable Reds kept not only their most reviled adversaries, but also familial enemies of their agenda and other ex-residents who did not follow their rules. He wondered what they might see there, or if they would be privy to seeing anything of interest regarding such gossip. Perhaps it was all just a great ruse; propaganda to frighten both enemies and inhabitants alike.
Finally reaching the end of the extensive corridor, they came to a twin set of escalators leading upwards and followed them. Sergio’s immediate impression of the main vestibule was dim and ominous. Normally, many stations had beautiful center platforms with curved ceilings, arched pylons, and ornate carvings or statues. But this station had very straight tiled walls set at an unsettling angle that seemed to loom over them. The glow of several sporadically-placed lanterns did nothing but intensify the eerie reflections and shadows that danced on the polished marble. It was impressive, but in all the wrong ways that made his stomach turn and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
The arches were completely walled in, and Sergio thought he could hear people speaking behind them but couldn’t make out any particular words. There was in fact not a single opening through which one could get to the side platforms or tracks, and so he turned his head around curiously. Behind the escalators they had come up from were stationed two pairs of guards on each side that he hadn’t noticed on their way up. They blocked the way into the other half of the station, where assumedly one could access the flanking train platforms. Were the stories true, then? And these were not mere soldiers but prison guards? He couldn’t help but wonder if the conditions in the Nationalist prisons were at all similar to what the Communists had. Sergio shuddered at the memory of his incarceration and turned his head back in the direction they were walking, trying to put all thoughts of imprisonment out of his mind.
“Is Colonel Vera usually somewhere in Polis, or does he go on stalking missions?” Marco asked suddenly.
“Uh, well, he does go on missions, yes.” Sergio stumbled over the words, trying to figure out just how much she wanted to know and why.
“Is he based mainly in D6, then?” She revealed with the hint of a smile.
Sergio was stunned into an uncomfortable silence. Although he probably should have expected her to have some kind of clue about it, her words halted him. If nothing else, she and her clan had proved on many occasions that they were very good at gathering intelligence. Still, he was not about to divulge Vera’s movements or schedule to her.
“It isn’t really very secret anymore, Sergio. Everyone knows of what your Order has found there.” She crossed her arms in front of her and sighed. “I just want to have an idea of how long I might be waiting for him, that’s all.”
“He is usually only in Polis for council meetings, now.” He reported flatly.
“Oh… I guess it could be a while then. You don’t think they’ll let me go to D6 do you?” She glanced over at him, but he avoided her gaze and her question.
Sergio wasn’t at all sure what to tell her, he didn’t want to make any promises he wasn’t authorized to make and end up disappointing her. Soon, his thoughts had wandered from their conversation to the people waiting for him. He began to formulate what he would say in his report about the whole situation when he returned to D6. What might Vera ask him about Marco or Roten Spaten, and how would he describe them? Vera would want to know their numbers, their location, special equipment, and anything he didn’t already know about their alliances and opposition. But unless they were a direct threat or allied with one of the Brotherhoodn’s many enemies, Sergio didn’t think Vera would ultimately care who they were or what they were up to.
Roten Spaten was certainly an intelligent and active bunch, but they didn’t seem to be interested in making a play on the world stage. Although they gathered as much information on the current events of the factions and kept in contact with the Revolutionists, they never seemed to physically interfere with or engage anyone openly. The most obvious threat to them, or at least to Marco, was the Nationalists; specifically a Nationalist spy named ‘Sturmann’ who hunted refugees of the Realm territory. Other than that, he couldn’t say for sure what the motivations of Roten Spaten were other than their basic survival and the protection of the people at their hidden station.