Sunset in Silvana (Da'ark Nocturne Book 1) (13 page)

“Escape without him?” Anoushka interjected in alarm, a little too loud.

“Shh!”  Tanya put her finger to her lips.  “Yes, Anoushka, we may have to.”  She put her arm around her friend.  “What else can we do?” she whispered.  “We have get back to Regni – who knows what’s happened – or is going to happen while we’re away.  If John is at Lake Kuraken, we’ll try to take him with us, but it’s vital we get home as soon as we can.  Look, we’ll talk later, but for now, we’ve an opera to endure
.
” 

Comrade Jones
had restarted, and plodded through its rather predictable ending without further interruption.  Somehow they managed to stay awake, and even to simulate enjoyment.

As they had been promised, a luxurious buffet had been laid on after the performance for the President’s special guests.  Tanya assumed that he was supposed to be present, but he wasn’t.  She put this non-appearance down to caution.  After the impromptu extra ‘entertainment’ they’d witnessed, she'd have thought twice about making herself vulnerable, had she been in his shoes.

The use of psionics is physically draining and leaves one hungry, so it was interesting to note the number of security personnel who attacked the buffet with gusto; the catering staff were having to work hard to keep it replenished.  Although Tanya had not been very psionically active, the amount of ‘fallout’ flying around had left her quite peckish, so she, too, made a beeline for the food.

She loved savouries, and the seafood canapés looked particularly delicious, but the need for quick energy led her to the fruit meringues.  She took three, and was liberally anointing them with cream, when the security general who had unwittingly followed Iain’s lyrical example earlier approached her.  “Comrade Hero Milanova, may I introduce a friend of mine who is eager to meet you?”

“Why, of course,” she replied with a smile, which broadened as she realised the friend was, in fact, the young woman she’d seen twice earlier.  She noticed that, unsurprisingly, the girl’s plate was piled high.

“My name is Sophie,” the newcomer said, “Sophie Mikova.”

“As I’m sure you know,” the general continued, “Sophie is one of our most talented ballerinas.  She is currently staying with me at my dacha.”

“I am so glad to meet you, Comrade Mikova.”

“Call me Sophie,” the girl gushed.  “Grigori, darling, would you please get me another glass of champagne?”

“Coming right up, my dear.”  The general disappeared in the direction of the bar.

Sophie winked at Tanya.  “I would so like your autograph, Comrade Hero.”

“You must call me Talia.”  Tanya dared not use telepathy in such close proximity to all the security officers, some of whom were probably trained ‘sniffers’, and she knew Sophie would feel the same, so they bent over the piece of paper Sophie brought out from her handbag and conferred
sotto voce
as Tanya slowly wrote her ‘name’.

“You know who I am?” Tanya whispered.

“Yes – don’t you remember
me
?”

“I’m afraid not.  I – and my team – have been brainwashed, and we’re only just breaking the conditioning.  Are you here to rescue us?”

“I didn’t even know you were here until recently.  I have my own mission.”

“I saw – look out, here comes your tame general”

“And what are you young ladies talking so seriously about?” the general asked.

Sophie gave a vacuous laugh.  “Just girlish things, Grigori darling.  You men don’t know the importance of just the right shade of lipstick.” 

The general laughed indulgently and said, “Sophie, I’d like you to meet some more of my comrades.  If you’ll excuse us, Comrade Hero?”

“If I must,” Tanya said.  “It has been such a pleasure to talk to you, Comrade Sophie.  I hope we meet again soon.”

“As do I,” the faux ballerina replied as the general whisked her away.

Once the purgatory that was
Comrade Jones
was over, Bartes and Anoushka escorted the still slightly bewildered Iain to the reception – Bartes reckoned that he needed to be chaperoned until he came to terms with his new/old self.  As they led the young man to a sofa, a harassed-looking Major Valentine button-holed them.

“Could I have a word with you, Comrade Boris?” he asked.

“If you wish, Major.  Would you look after Ivan for a while, Anoushka?”  When she smiled her assent, Bartes followed the Major to a quiet corner.

“How is Comrade Ivan?” the Major began.  “He was behaving rather strangely.”

“He has a lump on the side of his head,” Bartes replied, “but he seems all right otherwise.  He’s had a bit too much to drink.  He does that from time to time, as you well know.  I do apologise on his behalf.”

“Please try to keep him under control, at least in public.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you.”  He gave Bartes a weary look.  “Enjoy the rest of the reception,” he added as he made his way toward the buffet.

Bartes surveyed the throng.  Iain and Anoushka were chatting quietly together, Tanya was talking with a slender young woman and a security general, neither of whom he recognised, and Joseph and his friend Peter were eating pastries and drinking wine.

He was a little concerned at the increasing inebriation of young Joseph. 
If he recovers any of his memories while he’s drunk,
he thought,
he could easily give us all away.  I think I’d better do something about this.
  He had started toward the boys when one of the serving staff, a rather attractive young blonde, bent down and whispered in Peter’s ear.  The boy looked round at her nervously.  His eyes widened in apparent recognition, he swallowed and nodded almost imperceptibly.  She moved away and Bartes saw her go through the door to the fire stairs.  After a couple of minutes, Peter slipped away from Joseph and cautiously moved toward the same exit.

Bartes looked around for Tanya, and saw that she was just leaving the powder room.  He caught her eye, inclined his head in Peter’s direction, and set off after him.  He tried to catch up with the boy, but before he could reach him, the lad started down the stairs.  Bartes followed, but before he’d gone more than a few steps, he heard voices: Peter’s and a young woman’s.  They seemed to be arguing in whispers about something.  Tanya had, by now, caught him up, and they slowly and carefully descended together.  There was a brief moment of panic when Bartes’ foot slipped on a discarded waitress’s uniform.  The noise was slight, but the voices instantly stopped. 

They froze and held their breath.  It seemed an age before the whispering restarted and they could continue their descent.  They’d just reached the top of the last flight of stairs when a brief breeze indicated that the external door just below them had been opened.  They were just in time to see the waitress, now dressed from head to toe in black, hold the door open for Peter and slide through after him.

Bartes was about to follow when Tanya laid a restraining hand on his arm.  She had seen a woman in security uniform lurking in the shadows at the bottom of the staircase.  When the woman emerged from the darkness, they saw it was Captain Reynard.  Fortunately, she was so intent on her prey that she didn’t look up.  If she had, she could hardly have failed to notice them.  She too, went out of the fire door, and she seemed to be whispering into a comms link as she did so.

“What are we going to do now?” Tanya whispered.

“The sensible thing would be to go back to the reception.  Peter’s not one of us, after all, so it’s not really any of our business.”

“And if we’re caught, it could mean reprogramming – but I’m curious...”

Bartes sighed.  “So’m I – let’s go after them.”  They carefully descended the last few steps, and Bartes opened the door just wide enough so they could see out.  There was a large waste hopper several metres to the right, behind which the Captain was crouching, cradling her pistol.  She was oblivious to them, her concentration on the yard in front of her.  Motioning Tanya to follow, Bartes slipped out, and they crouched behind a pile of crates on the other side of the door.

In the yard was an unmarked black van, and two sable-clad figures were helping Peter into the back of it.  Neither they nor the absconder had seen Captain Reynard.  Suddenly, there was the sound of running feet from the side of the Opera House and a security detail came boiling around the corner.  This was clearly what the Captain had been waiting for.  She rose to her full height, stepped out into the light, raised her gun and yelled, “Stop right where you are!”

One of the figures, the ex-waitress, spun on her heel and yelled “Get Peter to safety” to her colleague, and launched herself at the Captain, a wicked looking knife in her hand.  The Captain’s gun barked once – twice – a third time – and the girl fell in an untidy, twitching heap.

“Bastards!” her companion shouted.  He had closed the van’s back door and, as it began to drive away, he heaved something in the direction of the oncoming security detail before he, too, was cut down.  The grenade exploded not far from Tanya and Bartes, and there was the sound of shrapnel and other, more organic, fragments hitting the far side of the crates they were hiding behind.  Several of the troops had moved to cut off the van, but it knocked them aside, and drove away followed by a hail of gunfire.

The fallen girl lay in the shadows, a couple of yards from Bartes and Tanya.  Her dead eyes seemed to look straight at them and a wisp of blonde hair that had escaped her woollen headpiece blew in the night air.  Strapped across her back was a compact laser carbine.

“I want that gun,” Bartes told Tanya.  “I’m going to get it while they chase the van.”  He began crawling toward the corpse.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Tanya hissed, “You’ll be caught.”

She was in no position to stop him without drawing attention, though, and Bartes was soon struggling to free the weapon.  He couldn’t get it over the cadaver’s shoulder, so he began to undo the sling.  It was sticky with the girl’s life-blood, and proved difficult to release – so much so that he hadn’t finished when some of the van’s pursuers started to return.

Tanya swore a most unladylike oath.  “If this works, you’ll owe me big time,” she muttered as she got to her feet and walked out into the light as far from Bartes as she could.  “What’s going on?” she called in a tremulous soprano.  She looked around in feigned horror, screamed and collapsed.

As the returning troops rushed to her side, Bartes completed his task and melted back behind the crates.  While he was disassembling the firearm and hiding its components in his clothing, he heard a familiar voice.

“Comrade Talia!  Wake up, Comrade.”  It was Major Valentine.

“Wha – where am I?”  Tanya’s voice had an artful tremble that deserved an Academy Award.

“You’re in the courtyard of the Opera House.  There’s been an incident.”

“O – Of course.”  She swallowed.  “It’s – it’s just – all the blood – and there was somebody’s arm, just lying there and – and still twitching.”  She paused and shuddered, her eyes closing as if to erase the sight.

“Come along, Comrade, you’ve seen worse: you’re a Nurse Manager, for goodness sake.”

“You don’t understand: at the Centre, you expect it, and can divorce yourself from the misery.  Here it’s different – oh, so different.”  She seemed to gather herself, and took a deep breath.  “All right.  What can I do to help?”

“Go back to the reception.”

“What?  But…”

“No buts – we have our own medical team available, and I’d hate to spoil your dress.”  He paused.  “What were you doing down here, anyway?”

“It was rather stuffy and hot up there, with so many people wanting to talk to me, so I came down for a break, and a breath of fresh air.  Boris was going to follow me, but he got caught up in a conversation just as I left.”

Pat upon his cue, Bartes emerged from the shadows.  “What the devil’s happened here?” he asked, putting as much concern in his voice as he could.  “Talia, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”  She smiled wanly.

“Not another assassination attempt, surely.”  Bartes frowned at Major Valentine.

“No, Comrade Boris – young Josef’s friend Peter has been kidnapped, and Comrade Talia simply came upon the aftermath.  Would you please escort her back to the reception?”

“As you wish.  I hope you recover the lad quickly.  Josef will be desolate without his friend.”

“Not to worry.  Captain Reynard is in pursuit of the perpetrators, and I doubt they’ll escape her clutches.”  His voice held barely-concealed contempt for his subordinate.

As they mounted the stairs, Tanya rounded on Bartes.  “That – that was – was so far beyond stupid that there isn’t a word for it,” she said in a low growl.

“I’m sorry,” Bartes said defensively, “but, given the circumstances, we could do with a weapon, and it seemed too good an opportunity to miss.”

“You’re lucky no-one saw the blood on your hands.  You’d better wash it off before we re-join the party.”

“Right away.”

Bartes performed the necessary ablutions, and as they approached Iain and Anoushka, Tanya whispered, “Where did you put that bloody gun, anyway?”

“I disassembled it and hid the parts under my clothes – so if I walk a little stiffly, it has nothing to do with your obvious charms – this time, at least.”

She snorted, giggled, then laughed aloud, and Bartes joined her.

“What
has
got into you two?” Anoushka asked.

“I’ll tell –” Tanya got out between fits of giggles, “tell you – later.”

She and Bartes tried to regain a semblance of composure, but when Iain muttered about “too much vodka”, the floodgates opened again.

About a quarter of an hour later, Major Valentine re-joined the reception and approached them.  “Comrades,” he said, “you’ve had a very busy day, so I’ve arranged for transportation back to your dacha.”

“Thank you, Comrade Major,” Tanya said with a sigh.  “I am so very tired, and my back is still painful.”

“Once again, I apologise for putting you through this evening.   Now, if you’ll finish you drinks and follow me…”  He paused and looked around.   “Where’s young Josef?”

Bartes had a sudden palpitation that something had happened to the boy while he and Tanya had been distracted with Peter’s abduction, but Anoushka spotted him.  “Over there – under the table,” she cried.

Indeed, Joseph lay in a drunken stupor, a vacuous smile on his face, and Bartes had to hoist him over his shoulder and carry him.  The Major led them down the fire stairs they’d used earlier, and out into the courtyard.  The bodies and other detritus had been removed, and the pools of gore sprinkled with sawdust.  Indeed, the clean-up operation had been so efficient that Iain and Anoushka didn’t notice anything until Bartes pointed things out as their helicopter rose into the air.

The same vehicle that brought them to the opera was used to take them back to the dacha.  It was a heavily armoured gunship, and they were accompanied by several troops in full battledress.  When Bartes gave a look of envy at their advanced combat rifles, Tanya scowled at him, sighed theatrically, and muttered, “Boys and their toys…”

They landed on the beach by the dacha.  Major Valentine alighted with them and they were met by RD, who took one look at Joseph and figuratively exploded.  “What’s happened to him?” he asked, his eyes flashing.

“Too much vodka,” Anoushka replied.

“I’ll give him ‘too much vodka’ in the morning,” RD growled ominously.

“I’ll put him to bed,” Iain volunteered, rather uncharacteristically, and he took the boy and carried him to his room.

The rest of them assembled in the lounge.  “Have you eaten, Goran?” Anoushka asked.

“Been too busy…”  RD seemed a bit tongue-tied.

“Then it’s a good thing I brought you a doggy-bag, isn’t it?”  She produced a large paper sack full of goodies, got a couple of plates from the galley, and laid out the food.  “Now eat.  We don’t want you collapsing in the middle of a yacht race.”

He grinned.  “Thank you, Anoushka,” he said, and began eating with obvious hunger.

Bartes looked at Anoushka. 
She lifts the spirits of everyone around her,
he thought. 
Perhaps she has a wild talent for psionic empathy.  I’ll have to ask Tanya to investigate when she has time.  She certainly has an effect on RD that I wouldn’t have predicted.

“Comrades –”  Major Valentine had waited until Iain had returned before addressing them.  “I have made enquiries, and in tune with Comrade Boris’s clever suggestion, you are to be ferried to a dacha at Lake Kuraken tomorrow evening.  I’m sorry we can’t move you earlier, but we need to make the appropriate preparations.”

Bartes smiled wryly.  He had a feeling that the preparations in question were more to keep them imprisoned than to keep them protected.  He’d hoped that the unexpectedness of the change of location would catch the security forces on the hop, but there seemed little chance of that. 
Ah, well,
he thought,
it was worth a try.