“The government’s riding for a fall, of course,” Kane had said. “They’ve tried to keep Secor violent but stupid, so it never becomes a threat to them. They’ve put so much trust into Secor now, though, they’ve had to step back a little, and clever people have ended up being recruited. Well, I say clever, but I really mean not entirely stupid. If they knew their Earth history, they’d know how much trouble they’re heading for. Give it a year or two and, in the normal run of things, there’ll be a coup d’etat.”
“Meaning what?” Katya had asked.
“Meaning Russalka would end up being run by the military. That always works terrifically well. People just love being ordered around by soldiers. But, not to worry. The way things are, Russalka doesn’t have a year or two. No pressure, Katya, but the fate of the world rests on your shoulders.”
Or to be exact, Katya thought as she poured her second cup, in the electronic box of tricks that I have in my bag.
At least there wasn’t a gun in the bag with it. Tasya had offered her a small maser, but Katya had declined. She’d used one once and never wanted to do so again. Besides, if things ended up in a fire fight, the mission was a failure anyway. Kane had run off to his cabin and returned with another piece of Terran technology that she might accept instead. It was a small black cylinder about twenty five centimetres long and two and a half in diameter, a press-and-hold button on the shaft, and a smooth metal plate at the end.
“Taser stunner,” he’d explained. “Good for about four shocks. Small chance of killing your target, but it really is small. Otherwise, they’re stunned or unconscious for about five minutes. Oh, and make sure there’s no contact between you and them apart from the plate when you press the button, or you’ll be dancing together into the arms of Morpheus.” Katya and Tasya had both stared at him until he had added, “I mean, it will electrocute you too. Nobody appreciates classical allusions anymore, do they?”
The coffee was good, even now that she was getting down to the grounds. It was as good to smell as it was to drink, and as often as not she inhaled its rich, heavy scent before actually letting the liquid flow across her tongue. She’d long since realised that coffee was the only luxury she truly craved, and it was right and proper that she indulge herself in it now. But, quickly enough, the coffee in her cup was gone, the pot was empty and that was that.
She called for the bill, but when it arrived she was bemused to discover that it came to a grand total of nothing at all. “We decided to waive it,” said the waiter. “We recognised you from the news when the war started. Helping the crew of the Novgorod escape from the Yagizban, and everything.”
“Thanks,” said Katya, a pit filled with concentrated embarrassment opening beneath her feet, “I appreciate the thought, but, really, I can’t accept.”
“Your money’s no good here, Ms.” The waiter smiled, aware of how awkward the situation was becoming but staying his course.
Katya thought for a moment and said, “How about this? I pay, and you give the money to the Veterans’ Welfare Fund? Then we’re all happy.”
The waiter nodded and accepted her payment. “You’re a good woman, Ms Kuriakova,” he said. “I’m proud to have met you.”
He returned to the counter, leaving Katya feeling wretched. The warm happiness the coffee had given her had all but burnt away. Guilt was growing within her. “I’m proud to have met you.” Not for long, you won’t be.
Out on the corridors again, Katya decided that she should just get on with her mission as soon as possible. The longer she delayed, the longer she would dwell on what she had to do and what it would result in, and the greater the guilt would grow. She doubted she would decide not to do it for practical or moral grounds, but the possibility that such guilt would make a coward of her haunted her.
She needed to harden herself somehow, to find some way to make herself as ruthless as she needed to be. Unbidden, the image of Tasya Morevna materialised in her imagination. Was this what had happened to her? She had to make a hard decision, and the only way she could go through with it was to make herself into a monster? Perhaps it was the only way Katya was going to be able to do this. She smiled to herself; she had never expected to find herself earnestly wondering, “What would the Chertovka do?” A war criminal, perhaps. A cold-blooded killer, certainly. Oh, Katya, what wonderful inspirational figures you worship these days. The pirate and the She-Devil.
The door was on one of the less grand shopping corridors, small permanent stalls lining it on both sides. Perhaps a third of them were locked up, the businesses within them gone, the signs removed or painted out. They had probably sold silly fripperies, at least by Russalkin standards, and the economies of war had starved them of revenue. It was sad, but convenient, as the door she was heading for was between two such abandoned stalls and thereby hidden from casual observation.
Exercising the skill of a professional criminal in giving the impression that she had every right to do such a thing, Katya walked to the door, tapped the sequence Tasya had taught her into the lock pad, and entered. The door clicked behind her, and the mission was on.
Not for the first time, Katya wondered just where Kane got all these pieces of information and, not for the first time, she thought it just as well she didn’t ask. Door codes, blueprints, schedules, procedures… he had touched upon so many things in his briefing that he had no right to know, yet mysteriously did. His network of informants and fixers ranged wide and their services ran deep, but there was one thing they could not provide him with, and that one thing was why she was there.
Katya was in darkness. She had been told not to switch on the lights as there was a chance the power usage in that area might be noticed. In the moment she had the door open, however, she had seen the electric torch sitting on the floor inside the disused access corridor, just as Kane had said it would be. She felt for it now, found it, and switched it on. In its light, she took her identity card from her pocket and examined it.
It had been slightly disappointing to discover that Kane didn’t really need her for the mission; he needed her security clearance. Beta Plus was a grade usually only entrusted to senior military and high ranking officials. Most people had Gamma ratings and might go their whole lives without even seeing a blue Beta card. In a purely practical sense, it was a greater honour than her medal, her Hero of Russalka decoration in its beautiful wooden box. That was aboard the Vodyanoi now, in a locked drawer of Kane’s desk where he’d put it for safekeeping. It wasn’t so much the medal she treasured, but — when her disgrace inevitably came — she couldn’t bear to think of them taking away the box.
She started to follow the route she had memorised through the forgotten corridors. Not that it was entirely necessary to trust to her memory — whoever had prepared this part of her journey in advance had left clear tracks in the grime and dust. It was faintly disappointing that she had memorised the directions when somebody had left a trail that any fool could have followed. Out of sheer bloody-mindedness, she primarily used the directions, only glancing at the disturbed layer of dirt on the floor to corroborate them.
She was not amused when she discovered the route took her into a lift shaft, the doors braced open with a misappropriated hydraulic jack. Her instructions had merely been, “Climb three levels” at this point. That skipped the trifling fact that this would mean stepping across a void that was too deep for her torch’s beam to reach the bottom, but which — judging by the echoes of lapping water beneath her — would end in a fairly considerable splash should she fall.