“Her rifleman skills are fine, but that’s not the point—”
The pre-flight announcement interrupts him. By the time it is over, and the airplane lifts off the tarmac, Tarasov has already forgotten his question. It seems to have touched a sensitive point in the Top’s heart, however, because when the engine noise becomes lower at travelling altitude he finishes his reply.
“Yeah, women in the ranks… You know, when you see a friend die, that can devastate your heart. If you see your love die—that can bring the wild animal out from the bottom of your soul. We don’t need anyone going into a killing frenzy to revenge a dead woman, or taking on too high risks to get her out of harm’s way. Both are bad for discipline. That’s why we don’t tolerate any homos in our ranks either.”
“I get your point, but the ancient Greeks even promoted homosexuality among their soldiers. They thought, a man will fight harder and never behave like a coward if his love is seeing him. Matter of honor, too.”
“Your ancient Greeks were pussies. Neither did you get my whole point. In our ranks, not fighting hard enough is simply not an option. Being a coward even less so. Period.”
“I have to admit to feel a certain respect for your way of thinking, Top, even if it is rather old-school.”
“Yes it is,” the Top says yawning like a lion. “That’s why there’s no place for people like me in any of our forces anymore, not even in the Corps. You see, during the Korea war, a colonel told his Marines: ‘Not all the communists in Hell can overrun you!’ and damn right he was about that. He forgot to add, unless the Commies make it into the White House and use an army of lawyers to force you into their yoke, abusing and twisting our Constitution. It was judgment that destroyed us…”
The Top adjusts the pillow under his head and puts on his eye mask.
“But the true spirit of your country will be preserved until the Tribe’s flag flies over the Alamo,” Tarasov replies under his breath, not entirely sure if he actually meant his sentence as ironically as it sounds. Either way, Hartman probably didn’t hear it. When Tarasov looks at him after a minute, he sees that the sergeant major is in a deep slumber already.
Following suit, his mind has almost sunk into a peaceful half-slumber when he hears an annoyed voice from behind. Then someone pokes on his shoulder.
“Sorry to disturb, but is this woman with you?”
“She is,” Tarasov replies to the woman sitting behind him, next to Nooria’s berth. “What happened?”
“Sir, she is opening the twentieth perfume bottle and is mixing them together in an empty mineral water bottle. Please tell her to behave or I’ll call the flight attendant.”
Tarasov looks at Nooria who shrugs and gives a giggle, holding an Amarige de Givenchy and a Kashaya Kenzo in her hands.
“Is she disturbing you?”
“No offense, sir, but she’s behaving like a retard and the smell is nauseating!”
“I see… Nooria, could you please put those away and wait until we get to a place with more air? Thanks, dear. Would you like to drink something? Oh no, please don’t order mineral water. Try some champagne.”
Nooria frowns. “Sarap?”
“We’re on honeymoon and I insist. I’ll also take a glass… or rather two. It’s a long flight, so maybe three.”
The lady murmurs a thank-you but Tarasov grabs her hand before she can sit back. “Ma’am, do you see something on my hands?” he asks, softly but irresistibly drawing her over to himself.
“No, why?”
Tarasov leans closer and starts whispering in her ear. “That’s correct, because from the four men I killed in the last forty-eight hours, none did splash a single drop of blood on my hand. Now, for calling my wife a retard, I wish I could throw you off the plane but since we travel business class, I’m trying to behave. That’s my part of the bargain. Your part is to pay for everything, I say: everything my woman wants to drink and eat until we touch down. Do we have a deal, ma’am?”
“I’ll call the flight attendants,” she hisses. Tarasov’s grip on her hand tightens. “No… I mean, yes!”
“Attagirl,” Tarasov says releasing her hand from his iron grip and patting it. “Is that correct in English language to say? Attagirl?”
“I don’t know… I am from Latvia!”
“Nu tipa, slushay. Sit back and do as I told you, labushka, or you will have a very rough flight! Ponyal?”
It is only now that the lady gets genuinely scared — more by Tarasov’s choice of rude words than his sudden Russian.
“Tvor zakon?” she asks with her face growing pale.
“Huzhe, tipa. Sit back now, people are staring already.”
With a wide grin, Tarasov cuddles back into his comfortable chair.
“Mikhailo! There are six champagnes on menu,” Nooria asks from behind. “Which is best?”
“Let me see… now what would a genuine Ukrainian mobster drink? Dom Perignon maybe? Never heard about it but sounds promising. What’s Pete doing?”
“Sleeping.”
21
“Good job, Bruiser. When will you send the first artifacts?”
Even through the miniature loudspeakers of the laptop where Bruiser has Skype open and the not so good connection through the satellite phone attached to it, Sultan sounds exceptionally pleased. Bruiser returns the smile of the Exclusion Zone’s Bandit kingpin as he replies.
“Matter of days, boss. The boys are eager to move out but we ought to be careful. This place… it’s huge.”
“Don’t get too lazy, Bruiser. Is the airstrip safe?”
“We had no problem landing there. Yoga’s crew is holding it now and waiting for the reinforcements.”
“I want to see results before I bring more men down.”
“Understood.”
“One more thing, Bruiser. You sure about that burer business?”
“I asked our partner the same question but he insisted. He kept his word and it would be a shame if we didn’t do the same.”
“Agree. Such a weirdo… anyway, tell him it’s been done. I will send that beast with the next flight I can arrange, together with a few more men and equipment.”
“We could use more Svarog detectors. ”
“Those are expensive. Barkeep asked me a fortune for that burer and you know very well how much money this operation has cost me already. Keep your eyes open. You’re in the New Zone where there’s more artifacts than rocks, goddammit!”
“Yes, boss.”
“How are you dealing with the men?”
At this point Bruiser swallows hard. “Everything under control, boss.”
“Very well. Remember, I wanted to send Jack first. Don’t make me regret listening to your begging and letting you go with the first wave. Report your progress tomorrow.”
Sultan’s fat face disappears from the screen as he finishes the session. Bruiser is relieved that the kingpin cannot see the skepticism which now appears on his face. The makeshift bar where he now powers the laptop down seems to him even more rudimentary than the 100 Rads. His trigger-happy men have riddled the wall with bullet holes and turned the place upside down in search for loot. Sun shafts fall in through holes in the ceiling and make the swirling dust visible. In the courtyard, two dozen Bandits are celebrating—as if taking the defenders by complete surprise and overrunning the place through an unguarded underground passage would have been a victory to be proud of. Bruiser carefully bags the laptop and shakes his head over the bragging audible from the courtyard.
“…but dat sonofabitch didn’t tell datta passage leads right into da latrine! Damn, ya should’ve seen dat douchebag Loner’s face when he was about to piss and looked right into my gun barrel! He says, whaddafuck! And my shotgun replies, boom!”