| "Wings" | ||
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Sheremetyevo Airport June 16, 2008, 1300 hours He watched out of the window as the ground began to move away from him as the aircraft lifted up into the vastness of the sky. He pretended to himself that he could tell which of the small dots on the ground was Yelena, but in truth he knew that he could not, much as he would have liked to. Again he felt the pangs of guilt about leaving her, and it felt a little worse this time because he was leaving her to go and see another woman. Probably, he corrected himself. It hadn't been made clear exactly what he was going to be doing, not to the degree that he would have liked. He was guessing that she would be there, Trouble. What an apt name, he thought once more. Certainly she had caused him and his team trouble on that strange night in Savvinskaya Sloboda, outside the dacha of Comrade Petrenko. It seemed like a long time ago, yet he could still remember every feature of her face, and especially those eyes. Emeralds. How would she react when/if they met again? How would he react? It was now that these questions began to enter his mind like bats entering a cave, instinctively knowing exactly where to go. He could not hide from them. Not that he wanted to of course. In fact he viewed them as a challenge, something to test his mind with. His body was still recovering from the beating he got at the hands of Fat Bastard, whether he liked to admit it or not. It had been a hell of a gamble, but one which had worked out in his favour. Trouble, his mind reminded him, bringing him back to the questions at hand. Somehow he knew that it was going to go well, things would work out. From what Sergei had said they could even be working together at some point in the future. What would that be like? She certainly seemed capable, but would she really be up to his standard? He chuckled quietly at that thought, noting how harsh and egotistic it sounded but knowing what he meant by it. Although he was still a child in comparison with the vast majority of people in his profession he still had to accept the fact that he had skills that, despite not realising they existed at first, were on par with the elite in the world, and his pistol skills were unrivalled by anyone bar Sergei. Anyone you've met, he corrected, though in truth he didn't believe that would happen. It was just like with Sergei: the old man just seemed to have a hold over him, and could somehow make him miss the vital shot in a 500-point match. It was this same ability that he knew would allow him to defeat anyone else. You've strayed again, he reminded himself. Ok, back to his question. How well would the two groups integrate? Quite well, he supposed They would both be trained to an extremely high standard despite the assumed differences in training methods, and both would be highly intelligent. Trouble sure seemed to have some brains behind those pretty green eyes of hers, and her team-mates had managed to capture Kirill without too much trouble, even though Kirill had made the mistake of not treading carefully enough. It was something he had drilled into them since. Still, the Americans looked capable enough. "So who is it that we are meeting?" he asked Evgraf Zotovich Polyakov, Sergei's deputy and the man honoured (or burdened as he thought of it) with the task of representing the RGZS to the Americans. "We shall be meeting their command structure, plus an equivalent of you," was the reply. "Cool, a team leader. They got a name?" Polyakov sighed. "You will find out soon enough." Nikolai wasn't going to be fobbed off that easily. "So what am I actually going to be doing then? I'd hate to just be a fifth wheel." "I am going to be discussing matters of mutual interest." He turned to face the youngster sat next to him. "You will be acting as an ambassador for our unit." Great, he thought, I'm a fucking ambassador. Not going to get to shoot, or run, or swim�. Or do anything fun at all by the sounds of it. Well what did he expect? To participate in a training exercise? Go to a movie? Tour of the White House? No, he was going to sit. And be quiet. That's it. "Bugger," he muttered to himself. Then again would he be able to have fun knowing that Yelena was back in Russia waiting for him? Carrying his child? Suddenly loneliness assaulted him with all the force of a tsunami, silently advancing on him as Team Myech had done countless times before. He felt his heart sink, that feeling that felt so physical even though he reasoned that it must be psychological. Fuck, whatever it was he didn't like it. He just wanted to be with her at that moment, to hold her in his arms and feel her body close to his. To rest a hand on her stomach and feel for the kicks of their unborn child. And as quickly as that the journey lost its appeal. Return |
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