Chapter 2
Nina choked on her solyanka. Sam couldn’t help but snicker at her sudden jolt and the odd face she made and she damned him with a narrow-eyed look that set him straight quickly.
“Sorry, Nina,” he said, trying in vain to obscure his amusement, “but she just told you the soup is hot and you go and shove a spoonful in just like that. What did you think was going to happen?”
Nina’s tongue was dead from the scalding soup she tasted too soon, but she could still cuss.
“Need I remind you how fucking hungry I am?” she sneered.
“Aye, at least another fourteen times,” he said in his annoying boyishness that had her clutching her spoon with a proper fist under the blinding bulb of Katya Strenkov’s kitchen. The place smelled like mold and old fabric, but for some reason Nina found it very comforting, as if it was her home from another life. Only the bugs coaxed by Russia’s summer chafed at her comfort zone, but other than that she enjoyed the warm hospitality and crude efficiency of Russian families.
It had been two days since Nina, Sam, and Alexandr crossed the continent by train and finally reached Novosibirsk, from where Alexandr landed them all a lift on a less than roadworthy rental car that brought them to the Strenkov farm on the Argut River, just north of the border between Mongolia and Russia.
Since Purdue had abandoned their company in Belgium, Sam and Nina were now at the mercy of Alexandr’s expertise and loyalty, thus far the most trustworthy of all the untrustworthy people they had been dealing with of late. That night when Purdue disappeared with the captive Renata of the Order of the Black Sun, Nina had given Sam his nanite cocktail, same as hers, given by Purdue to alleviate the two of them of the Black Sun’s all-seeing eye. That was, as far as she hoped, as forthcoming as he could be, given she had chosen Sam Cleave’s affections over Dave Purdue’s wealth. With his departure he had assured her that he was far from relinquishing his claim on her heart, regardless of the fact that it was not his. But such were the ways of the millionaire playboy and she had to give him that — he was as relentless in his love as he was in his adventures.
Now they were lying low in Russia while they plotted their next move to gain access to the renegade complex where the rivals of the Black Sun held their fort. It would be a very dangerous and trying task, as they no longer had their bargaining chip — the soon-to-be deposed Renata of the Black Sun. But still Alexandr, Sam, and Nina knew that the defector clan was their only refuge against the order’s ruthless pursuit to find and kill them.
Even if they could persuade the leader of the rebels that they were not spies for the Renata of the order, they had no idea what the Brigade Apostate would have in mind for them to prove it. That in itself was a scary notion at best.
The men who guarded their keep in the Mönkh Saridag, the highest peak of the Sayan Mountains, were not a bunch to be trifled with. Their reputation was well-known to Sam and Nina, as they learned during their incarceration at the Black Sun headquarters in Bruges not a fortnight before. It was still fresh in their recollection how Renata was going to send either Sam or Nina on a fatal mission to infiltrate the Brigade Apostate and steal the coveted Longinus, a weapon about which not much had been revealed. Until now they had still not ascertained if the so-called Longinus mission was a legitimate assignment or simply a ruse to sate Renata’s malicious appetite for sending her victims on cat-and-mouse excursions to make their demise more entertaining and elaborate for her amusement.
Alexandr had gone alone on a scouting trek to see what manner of security the Brigade Apostate held at its compound. With his technical knowledge and survival training he hardly held a candle to the likes of the renegades, but he and his two companions could not hole up at Katya’s farm forever. They had to connect with the rebel group eventually, otherwise they would never be able to return to their normal lives.
He had assured Nina and Sam that it would be better if he went alone. If, by some way, the order was still tracking the three of them, they would certainly not be looking for a solitary farmer’s hand in a banged-up LDV (light duty vehicle) on the plains of Mongolia or along a Russian river. Apart from that, he knew his homeland like the back of his hand, therefore making for faster traveling and better command of the language. If one of his colleagues were to be questioned by officials, their lack of knowledge or language could seriously impair the plan, if they did not get captured or shot.
He drove up the desolate little gravel path that meandered toward the mountain range that marked the border and silently announced the beauty of Mongolia. The small vehicle was a knackered old powder blue thing that creaked and squeaked with every bump and hollow the wheels navigated, provoking the rosary on the rearview mirror to swing like a holy pendulum. Only because it was dear Katya’s ride, did Alexandr tolerate the annoying clash of beading against the dashboard in the silence of the cab, otherwise he would have ripped the relic from the mirror and tossed it out the window. Besides, the landscape was godforsaken enough. A rosary would not hold any salvation for it.
His hair was fluttering in the cold wind that rushed through his open window and the skin of his forearm was starting to burn from the chill. He swore at the stripped handle that could not wind up the glass to give him some solace from the frigid breath of the flat wasteland he traversed. Inside him a small voice reprimanded him for his ungratefulness for the fact that he was still alive after the gut-wrenching events of Belgium where his beloved Axelle was killed and he barely dodged the same fate.
Ahead of him he could see the border post where Katya’s husband thankfully worked. Alexandr cast a quick glance at the rosary that scratched on the dashboard of the shaking vehicle and he knew it was reminded him of that lucky blessing too.
“Da! Da! I know. I know, dammit,” he rasped at the swaying thing.
The border post was nothing more than another decrepit little building, surrounded by extravagant lengths of old barbwire and patrolling men with long barrels just waiting for some action. They walked lazily here and there, some lighting smokes for their friends and others questioning the odd tourist who was trying to get through.
Alexandr saw Sergei Strenkov among them, taking a picture with a loud Australian lady who insisted on learning to say “fuck you” in Russian. Sergei was a deeply religious man, as was his wild cat, Katya, but he humored the lady and instead taught her to say “hail, Mary,” convincing her that it was the phrase she asked for. Alexandr had to laugh and shake his head as he listened to the conversation while he waited to speak to a guard.
“Oh, wait, Dima! I’ll take that one!” Sergei shouted at his colleague.
“Alexandr, you should have come at night,” he spoke under his breath as he pretended to ask for his friend’s papers. Alexandr passed him his documents and replied, “I would have, but you knock off before then and I don’t trust anyone but you to know what I am going to do on the other side of this fence, see?”
Sergei nodded. He had a thick moustache and heavy black eyebrows that made him look even more intimidating in uniform. Both Siberian, Sergei and Katya were childhood friends of the crazy Alexandr and spent many a night in detention because of his reckless ideas. Even then, the skinny, tough boy was a menace to anyone who strived to keep an organized and safe life and the two teenagers quickly learned that Alexandr would land them in serious trouble before long if they kept agreeing to join him on his illegal fun adventures.