“Seeing you, a Marine doesn’t need to become a junkie to act like crazy.”
Scornfully, the Top steps towards Pete but Nooria stops the huge warrior by gently putting her hand on his chest.
“Are there swags in Zone, Mikhailo?” she asks Tarasov and darts a disapproving look at Pete who looks down to his shoes, shunning her eyes. “Like my glowing stones?”
“You will be in your element, I promise.”
“I want to leave right now!”
“Outstanding,” the Top observes. “When do we leave, No-Go?”
“Gimme a sec,” No-Go replies without looking up from his computer screen. “Thanks goodness, no visa’s needed with your US passports. That speeds up things. You can leave… let’s say tomorrow at 9.30 AM from LAX, stops at Chicago and LHR, arriving in Kiev at 1.15 PM the day after. With all the luggage you’ll have probably you’ll need business class or better.”
The Top and No-Go share a mischievous smile. “Once in a while we can afford a bit of comfort, can’t we?”
“Are our passports okay?” Tarasov asks.
No-Go glances at another computer screen.
“No noise from CBP and Interpol yet, but I’ll warn you if something pops up in their internal protocols.”
“Can you really hack into everything?” Tarasov asks in awe.
No-Go gives him a self-satisfied grin. “You want to see the self-nudes Lana Del Rey keeps in her smartphone? My gosh, that girl is… talented.”
“Who is Lana Del Rey?” Tarasov asks, innocently enough but still causing Nooria to give him a disapproving look.
“That’s enough bragging,” the Top snaps at No-Go. “Make the arrangements. Nooria, you check with the infirmary if they have something we’ll need. Tarasov, go through our gear once it’s assembled to make sure Jimmy didn’t forget anything. Pete, you stay put and keep your cynicism to yourself. Clear? Now I need to have a word in private with Stone. See you in an hour. On second thought, let’s make it two.”
“Sir!”
No-Go jumps from his chair and salutes. As soon as the Top has hurried off, Pete leans over the terminal to have a closer look at the screen.
“Hey dude,” he whispers. “You serious about Lana Del Rey?”
“Pete, on me,” Tarasov sternly says. “Let’s see if our gear is ready. Come!”
No-Go starts tapping on his keyboard again. “Didn’t even tell you that your trip will be sponsored by Shell… not as if they’d ever realize I’ve tapped their system. Go well, you’re going into hell… hey guys, you want travel insurance with the tickets?”
Tarasov gives him a laugh while he walks toward the storage rooms with Pete and Nooria.
“Guess that means no,” No-Go says to himself. “And like usually, no one cared to say thank-you to the local computer wizard. Tough boys, tough boys… what would you do without my magic?”
He hits enter and starts humming a song. It’s you, it’s you, it’s all for you, everything I do, I tell you all the time…
After an instant the melody is suppressed by the buzz of the laser printer ejecting e-tickets and boarding pass printouts.
19
Back at Ashot’s bar in Bagram it all had appeared so easy.
Two days ago, when the brawny stranger appeared at Ashot’s bar, he soon gathered himself quite an audience of bored Stalkers, all raving for stories about adventures, new mutants and artifacts. He claimed to have not only been to Panjir valley but a secret bunker or laboratory facility too. They all listened to him like idle knights must have listened to tales about the eastern realms before setting out on a crusade. The stranger’s words flew like the vodka they were knocking down, and the next day, just like those knights of old times, two dozen adventurous Stalkers set out to find the promised land of artifacts and followed him to a wide, anomaly-infested valley beyond the forests covering the Shamali plains.
The stranger, wearing battered Duty armor beneath his ragged, long leather jacket, proved a perfect guide. The closer they got to their destination, the more fantastic his promises became. Oh yes, all those new and mysterious artifacts — the Emerald, raising stamina; the Heart of Gold, projecting its owner’s image; the Heartstone, boasting health and preserving life. Unlike in the Exclusion Zone, every artifact is useful. The stranger’s words made sense after alclass="underline" a hidden area in the godforsaken wilderness far from Bagram, which he, as he himself had said, knows like the back of his hand.
A few Stalkers turned back with their premonition being stronger than greed. Their leader just laughed it off, saying that the less Stalkers arrive, the more artifacts the remaining men can keep for themselves. If their march had taken one more day, the Stalkers would have believed even a promise of artifacts growing on trees which only need to be shaken off to harvest. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, or just the hope that a trek as perilous and hard as theirs must be rewarded with treasures well worth the efforts. But two days after leaving Bagram, they arrived at what might have been an electronic sub-station once. Leading directly into the hill behind it was a bunker entrance, still half-buried with dust and rubble.
Now, in the underground vaults, the remaining Stalkers — about twenty of them — are exchanging looks of concern as they proceed deeper and deeper through this labyrinth of decaying concrete and rusting steel. One of them pats his PDA, as if the device could display a map without a signal. Another keeps looking backwards, checking if he could still find his way out if he got lost.
“Keep moving, boys,” a Stalker says. Judging by his improved body armor and powerful Saiga shotgun he is a veteran of many raids.
“Where’s our guide, Cougar?”
The voice of the young Stalker walking behind him tells of fear.
“That’s why you should keep moving, Pashka!” replies Cougar. “We don’t want to lose each other from sight!”
“This place is just too darn creepy,” another Stalker whispers looking at the ceiling where water is dripping from thick, rusty pipes. His battered armor has a strange, blue and brown camouflage that betrays him as a former member of Clear Sky, a faction decimated in the Exclusion Zone years ago.
“Jesus, Willow,” the young Stalker says. “You’ve been everywhere, even to the CNPP. If you got shit in your pants…”
“I haven’t been to the CNPP, ” the former Clear Sky member says. ”That’s why I’m still alive.”
“Stop gum-beating, guys,” Cougar sneers. “Let’s move!”
More eerie corridors follow. Rusted signs and faded Cyrillic letters on the wall remind the Stalkers that this place had been a scientific facility decades ago: Secondary Laboratories. Ventilation Maintenance. Library. From this point ahead entry in protective suits only. Long Live the Achievements of Socialist Science.
Blue glow of anomalies on shrieking metal catwalks that threaten to collapse under the men’s weight. A seemingly bottomless cavern lies below with massive pressure tanks.
“What the hell was this place?” a Stalker whispers anxiously.
Cougar doesn’t care. His thoughts are fixed on the back of their guide. He doesn’t allow anything to distract him, unless he wants to lose him from his sight. In this huge underground labyrinth that would be fatal.
“We have arrived,” their guide says at last when they have passed yet another long corridor and through a steel door, ducking and bending to avoid the rotting cables hanging from the ceiling.
“Here?” Cougar skeptically asks looking around. “Where are all the artifacts you promised?”