Читать онлайн "Red Lies" - Comby Cristelle - RuLit

Pain registered an instant later; it exploded within her, much like the window had. Nerve endings fired up as one, everywhere and nowhere at once, and Sofiya couldn’t make sense of the notion. She tried screaming again, but the darkness that swallowed her stole her breath first.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 1986.

In Moscow, an official report bearing the KGB seal on the front page was secured in the Komitet’s archives on the morning of September 3, 1986. It contained the official inquiry report on the death of Soviet diplomat Viktor Petrov and his wife, Directorate K agent Sofiya Petrova (née Litvinova). Their deaths were logged as road accidents and recorded to have happened on August 12, 1986, at 4:30 pm, in Moscow.

A summary of the investigation’s findings reported that though the first respondents got to the scene quickly, nothing could be done for the diplomat and his wife. The two of them, along with cab driver Piotr Rachmaninoff, perished in the flames that engulfed the vehicle instants after the collision. Prison parolee and lorry driver, Nikolaï Anatoliev, also died on the scene. Though further analyses revealed a high level of alcohol in the driver’s blood, Anatoliev’s cause of death was logged as resulting from a broken neck sustained during the initial impact.

The last paragraph of the report detailed that the families of the deceased were notified the day after the accident by city officials and that the victims’ bodies were returned to their loved ones after the investigation was closed to the satisfaction of the KGB.

Near the end of the morning, in London—some seventeen hundred miles away, on the south bank of the Thames River—a different report bearing the MI6 crest was approved.

Mission director, Ian Kenneth, placed report 783AB8 in a manila folder, with a satisfied pat of his hand. This mission had been one of the agency’s most ambitious to date, and one of Kenneth’s proudest achievements. With a total length of almost nine years, it was also one of the longest to date. Kenneth gave the report one last proud, and almost affectionate look, before handing it to his assistant, Joanne. The young woman sealed it and applied a thick, red ‘Confidential’ stamp on its front. A couple of hours later, the main archivist, Kenny Stubbs, took it to sub-level three, and placed it in an archive box with the other successful missions concluded in August 1986.

London’s report read, “Mission Red Lies was completed on August 11, 1986, when our agent successfully acquired the list of all undercover Soviet spies currently in activity throughout the globe. The next day, agent Andrews and his asset were extracted by our services under the cover of a car crash. The bodies of recently deceased Muscovites were placed in the car rubble in their stead. The car was then set on fire to compromise evidence and render any definite identification of the bodies impossible. The complete report of agent Andrew’s infiltration of the Soviet Union under the alias Viktor Petrov, and subsequent nomination as Counsellor to the Russian Embassy in Stockholm, can be found in file 2568-25B.

Agent Andrews is hereby returned to civilian life with a special commendation. For his own protection, he is awarded the new identity #19860228. His asset, Sofiya Petrova-Litvinova, is granted political asylum within our country for service rendered to the nation; she is awarded the new identity #19860229.”

Early that afternoon—some three hundred miles west of Vauxhall, in the small Cornish village of Sennen—the inhabitants of Cove Road got their first look at their new neighbours. To the residents’ surprise, the young couple unloaded uncharacteristically few boxes from their gleaming, top-of-the-range dark-blue Volvo car.

Less than an hour after their arrival, they pushed open their garden gate to head out for a walk, hand-in-hand.

The man was tall with short blonde hair that was just the right length to curl at the extremities and the beginning of a scruffy beard. On his face stood high cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and a pair of bright and luminous eyes that carried a sunshine-though-misty-foggy-air feel to them. On his lips, he wore a smile that transformed him from someone menacing into someone you wished you knew.

The woman by his side, with her pixie haircut, was almost as tall as he was and graceful in her every move. Though she wore simple clothes, faded denim, and a loose cotton white shirt, she had a poise and allure to her reminiscent of that of a former ballet dancer. Wide green eyes illuminated her delicate oval face, and on her lips hung a charmingly innocent smile that was infectious.

Laura and James Stanton walked hand-in-hand until they reached the coast and the high cliffs that overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. The day was warm, and the sea breeze accompanied them as they headed south on the old southwest coast path. Curling around rugged granite cliffs, the old footpath took them to Land’s End, the extreme westerly point of England.

Amazed at the sight, Sofiya gazed at the open sea at her feet, and her eyes lost themselves in that vast ocean of blue. It stretched to the west as far as the eye could see, and further still. For the first time in her life, she felt capable of forgetting the country that lay so far away at her back. Inhaling the salty sea breeze, she realised she was ready to start a new life: one without masks and lies.

By her side, the man formerly known as Viktor Petrov held her hand tighter in his, a silent promise that he wanted the same thing.

“Thank you,” she said, turning to face him. “For keeping your promise.”

“You’re very welcome, my love,” he said, bringing her hand up to lay a chaste kiss on her porcelain white knuckles. The golden band of her wedding ring caught a stray ray of sunshine and reflected it in the man’s light blue eyes. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, and this was another moment that belonged to no one else but them. This kiss was like their relationship—soft and chaste, respectful and undemanding—and Sofiya smiled into it.

At the couple’s back, two thousand miles east of Cornwall, the Soviet Union was standing on its last leg. As Sofiya had feared, the fallout of the Chernobyl disaster was the last straw that broke the camel’s back of a frail economy already undermined by an endless war in Afghanistan.

In the not-too-distant future, the subsequently attempted reforms will leave the Soviet Union unwilling to rebuff challenges to its control in Eastern Europe. During 1989 and 1990, the Berlin Wall will come down, borders will open, and free elections will oust communist regimes everywhere in Eastern Europe.

Finally, in late 1991, the Soviet Union itself will dissolve into its component republics, and the Iron Curtain will be lifted once and for all as the Cold War comes to an end.

THE END

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

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