The Soviet Comeback Jamie Smith (ebook reader online free txt) 📖

Nikita drew his gun and pointed it at Klitchkov, not taking his eyes from the road. “Give me a reason, Chairman.”

Chairman Klitchkov did not so much as blink at the weapon only inches from his face. “Threatening to kill the leader of the KGB? That is gross misconduct and treason. Whatever happens today you will face court martial and you will hang. So, OK, agent, I will give you answers, if that is what you seek. Who am I to deny a dying man’s request?” he said, grinning.

“Yes, we put your family as far from civilisation as possible, although I must confess it was Yerin’s idea. If you can tell me anywhere else within the Soviet Union that they would have been welcomed, I’d be interested to hear. I gave them the only thing I could, a life away from physical and emotional abuse. Believe me, I know the meaning of abuse,” he added, his eyes sliding to the side momentarily as he ruminated on some long past hurt. “Shoot you in Kamchatka?” He said, snapping back to his retort. “I do not deny it! My only regret is that I did not wound you further. I knew that we would require you to endure more than any other KGB agent and I had to be sure you were strong enough. You walked miles with a gunshot wound to the leg and high-level blood loss. I challenge you to look me in the eye and tell me it didn’t reveal in you a strength and endurance you had never previously known.”

Nikita said nothing. The road had narrowed, carved out of banks of snow higher than the vehicle itself. The chain-clad wheels were furiously working for grip on the powdery road. There was not, and would not be, any sign of habitation now until they reached the Allochka home.

“I knew that you had found out that it was me,” Klitchkov continued. “The fact you were able to identify that in those circumstances shows that you are made to be an extraordinary spy. Do you know how many others I have done the same thing to, and not one of them has ever known that.

“You think I hate you? That I despise you? Tell me, who was it that recruited you for the KGB?”

“Do not pretend that you had my own interests at heart,” said Nikita drily.

“I do not. But I am not in the habit of taking children from their families, yet I have never felt any guilt. Imagine your life in Kamenka now if I had not given you an opportunity that a million young Russian men would dream of. You would not have survived, and neither would your family. I gave you a life, a skill set. You will never go hungry.”

“Assuming I survive,” Nikita retorted.

“Assuming you survive,” agreed Klitchkov. “I cared little for you. Come on, nobody in Russia likes anyone who is not a Russian!” He laughed. “But I admit to finding you now worthy of the title of Russian, more so than many white men I have known. I live in a nasty, cruel world, and make no apologies for being a nasty, cruel man. I must confess that I often rather enjoy it!” He laughed maniacally. “The begging, the pleading of lesser souls gives me quite a thrill. Not to the level of depravity of Brishnov, you understand, but I enjoy the power. I always have. Murder never bothered me. But I am also a man of my word. You may not like my decisions but I have always kept my promises to you. I promised to keep your family safe. That much I will do,” he said, before adding, “and I also really want to make that Veselovsky dog suffer.”

Nikita looked at Klitchkov and smiled, lowering his gun. “That is something I can help you with,” he said, before adding, “sir,” respectfully.

Moments later, the walls of snow around them dipped and a track led off to the left. It was not traversable by car, leading up the mountain at a sharp angle. Nikita pulled the car to the side and killed the engine. “We must go by foot from here,” he said, as they both climbed out of the vehicle.

Nikita walked around to the boot and threw it open, revealing an array of weapons bound in a heavy cloth. He unfurled the bundle and selected a VSS Special Sniper rifle, weighing it in his hands. It had a highly polished, squared off wooden handle, and a short magazine stock. Wrapped around the barrel was an integral silencer. An accessible and mobile sniper, perfect for a clandestine operation if he needed to take Brishnov out from distance, or while on the move. Slinging it across his shoulder by the strap, he reached down for a Makarov pistol, putting it into his belt, to add to the one in a holster at his right hip. He grabbed then for a weighty Sig Sauer P226, putting it into the shoulder holster.

Klitchkov tutted at Nikita’s choice of the Sig Sauer. “A German fascist gun, Allochka? You should be ashamed,” he said before picking a pair of AK-47s with obvious delight, also strapping a VSS across his back. They both armed themselves with a variety of cruel looking knives. Nikita’s eyes fell upon a Spetsnaz ballistic knife, and he slid it into a concealed sheath between his shoulder blades with a cold expression, remembering again the training in the East Siberian Taiga.

A pair of thick white ski coats and trousers were there also, and Nikita and Klitchkov both climbed into them, before shovelling ammunition into the deep pockets. There was nowhere to hide the truck, despite the fact it was a beacon to any who might be following on from them, but they shovelled snow over the roof and bonnet as much as they could.

Finally, they pulled