The Soviet Comeback by Jamie Smith (best ereader for academics TXT) 📕

“He is finally ready,” Klitchkov replied.

“But he is so young, colonel. He will make mistakes if you put him in the field,” replied the man in the lab coat.

“Of course. But that does not mean he is not ready. He is our most magnificent creation,” Klitchkov answered, with a satisfied expression.

The interrogator looked up at Nikita from his notes. “Where is your family?” he asked.

A tiny flicker was visible on the lie detector’s reading as Nikita turned and looked directly at the mirror, directly at Klitchkov. Despite being unable to see him, he fixed him with a piercing stare through the glass.

He paused for a moment. “Somewhere safe,” he answered, with no small amount of accusation.

CHAPTER 4

The valley lay beneath him, with a snow laden hill sloping smoothly down from his vantage point on the road. Nikita’s breath rose before him as he looked out across the crisp, white landscape to a stone izba, nestled in the valley, smoke snaking its way out of a chimney to the dark, cloudless sky. The flickering glow of candlelight in the window screamed of warmth to Nikita, his body temperature ever dropping in the freezing twilight. His dark eyes burned in the moonlight with suppressed rage.

It looked so idyllic, like a postcard sent from the Swiss Alps. But the reality was a far cry from a luxury chalet. This reality was a cold stone cottage nestled in the far northern reaches of Siberia.

He made his way down the road, more closely resembling an icy track, and his eyes fell upon a snowman. Clearly built some time ago, the snow had iced over and the carrot nose lay half buried in the ground.

He bent down and attempted to screw the carrot back into place, but it was now so frozen that the carrot no longer fitted. Bending over, he hitched up a trouser leg, and pulled from his sock a glistening six-inch dagger. His large hands worked deftly as he fashioned a small cleft to slide the carrot into. Eventually satisfied, he smiled gently to himself before moving towards the small homestead.

As he drew closer, he began to pick up the sound of laughter, a sound unfamiliar to him now, with a sense of humour not high on the list of priorities for Soviet operatives. But then neither are nerves, yet Nikita could not deny a sense of trepidation squirming in his stomach as he approached the black door.

He looked up and noticed that the window frames were also painted black, along with the awnings. So unnecessary and so out of place in the surroundings, he thought to himself. “Perhaps the KGB do have a sense of humour after all,” he muttered wryly.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door. The sounds from within stopped instantly.

After a long pause, he heard the voice of his father shouting through the door in poorly-accented Russian, “Who is it and what do you want?”

“It’s a memory trying to find its way home,” said Nikita, responding in English.

There was a scrabbling at the door as the chain was pulled off and several locks clicked into place. The door was yanked open and Nikita looked up at the huge silhouette of Gabriel Allochka. Even in the shadows, Nikita could see that his hair was now lightly dusted with grey.

Wide-eyed, he appeared almost scared. A silence sat between them that felt like an eternity to Nikita. “Father…” he said tentatively, feeling confused, almost like the boy he thought he’d left behind five years ago.

Gabriel’s eyes crinkled sadly, and he reached out and tentatively stroked Nikita’s cheek. “My boy, is it really you?” he said softly.

“Father it is me, your Niki,” Nikita replied, feeling his eyes stinging, fighting back the tears he had been trained not to show.

Gabriel pulled him into a rough embrace and began to laugh, a deep sound that came all the way from his toes and transported Nikita to a different time and place.

“My son! I feared we had lost you forever. Quick, come in out of this freezing cold.”

Nikita forced the thick wooden door shut quickly and the warmth of the cottage then hit him, giving his hands chilblains.

Before he had time to take in his surroundings, a small figure flew across the room with arms wide open, and shouted “Niki!” before stopping suddenly a few yards from him. His little sister Milena’s eyes were wide and she appeared suddenly cautious. She had grown a great deal and now approached the slight awkwardness of being ten years old.

“Milena,” Nikita said softly and moved towards her, opening his arms. But she stepped back before turning and running back upstairs, fear on her face. “Milena,” he whispered again as his stomach dropped and his heart ached.

“Do not worry about Milena,” Gabriel said from behind him. “You look… different now; it is hard for her to understand.”

Nikita nodded silently.

A voice thick with emotion suddenly rolled down the stairs. “I know that voice…” Appearing down the staircase, Sophie Allochka had tears streaming down her face. She almost fell into his arms, and grabbed him so tightly that it hurt. “My baby, come here. I love you, praise be to God!” she gasped, hugging him even tighter as if afraid he might escape again if she let go. She pulled back and held his face in her hands. Again, a flash of something that almost looked like fear crossed her face, but as quickly as it appeared it was gone and she kissed him on the forehead. Over her shoulder, Nikita could see Milena peering from behind the bannister of the stairs, slowly moving down the steps.

“You are years late,” she squeaked to him from the safety of the stairs.

Nikita bowed his head. “I know. I am sorry, little sister. Will you forgive me?” She said nothing.

From his