Sunset in Silvana (Da'ark Nocturne Book 1) (6 page)

The helicopter landed on the beach by the
Comet
, and Talia, Anoushka and Boris disembarked.  The latter looked back at Josef.  “Not joining us, Comrade?”

“I’ve got to visit my tutor for some classes.  Anyway, ol’ sourpuss would only have me washing up – that’s worse than lessons.  Peter will be there with me, and maybe we can get the old duffer to talk about hovercart design.  It used to be his hobby, you know.”  He grinned at the prospect as the others entered the restaurant.

Goran himself met them and led them to a table by the small stage where a folk band often played.  “Welcome, Comrades,” he said expansively.  “Comrade Anoushka, it’s so good to see you back with us.”  He gave her a broad smile as he pulled out her chair and helped her to be seated, then stepped up onto the stage.  “Comrades,” he announced loudly, “Today, in honour of our glorious Comrade President’s Birthday, we have a special treat in store.  May I introduce Political Commissar Tatiana Cheslenko, who will address us concerning ‘Our Children – Our Future’.”

A young and personable blonde woman in a uniform took his place and began to speak.  Until recently, she would have had Boris’s full, if slightly reluctant, attention, but somehow the rhetoric seemed even more empty than usual to him that day, and he had other things on his mind.  He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he jumped as Goran led the applause at the end of the oration.  “Bravo, Comrade Commissar,” their host cried as he got to his feet and escorted the young lady from the podium.  “Now come and join us for lunch.”

“I’d be honoured, Comrade Hero, to be part of such an august company – if only for a few moments.”

He helped her into a spare seat that he’d reserved for her.  “Nonsense, my dear – we are the ones who would be honoured.  Did you hear what she said about the duty of children to be obedient, Comrades?  I only wish Josef hadn’t missed such an interesting and informative talk.  I’m all in favour of education, but this was far more relevant than some dry, dusty history lesson.  Comrade Commissar, perhaps we could invite you to visit us at our dacha tomorrow?  You could repeat your sage advice for Josef’s benefit – and maybe we could get to know each other a bit better.  What do you say?”

“It would be a pleasure.  I’m positive I can rearrange my schedule for such a worthy cause.  And please, call me Tatiana, all of you.”

Goran beckoned the Head Waiter over and said, “Well – Tatiana – what would you like to eat?”

The Commissar perused the menu and pursed her lips.  “I’ll have the Flickeral Salad,” she said, then gave a slightly embarrassed smile, adding, “followed by the Butterscotch Pudding.  It’s a bit decadent – but it’s irresistible.”

“Don’t worry,” Anoushka said, laying her hand lightly on the visitor’s.  “You’re among friends – we won’t tell.  Anyway, I feel the same way – I’ll have the same.”

“And me,” Talia added.  “It sounds like a delicious combination.”

“What about you, Comrade Boris?” Goran asked.

“I’ve always enjoyed your Pork in Red Wine, Comrade – with potatoes and vegetables, please – and I’ll follow that with Chocolate Cake and Cream.”

“I’ll just have a portion of the stew,” Goran told the Head Waiter.  “When I’ve been supervising – and tasting - the cooking all morning, I find I haven’t much of an appetite, Comrades,” he added by way of explanation.

Boris had expected the Commissar to act like her public persona, but was pleasantly surprised: she deliberately eschewed politics, changing the subject if the conversation turned in that direction, happily chatting about music, video programming and sport, and discussing clothes and make-up with Talia and Anoushka.

“Ah, well,” she said as they finished their coffee, “Now, I must bid you farewell and return to my duties.  Until tomorrow –“

“Until tomorrow,” the others replied as she waved goodbye.

They made their way to the
Comet
’s private quay and boarded Goran’s Meteor catamaran, the
Grim Reaper’s Darling
, its name reflecting his rather macabre sense of humour.  He began setting the sail as Boris cast off and pushed the boat out from the shore.  He took the tiller, and Talia and Anoushka lay out on the cabin roof together, basking in the afternoon sun.  Boris joined him at the stern as they began their cruise along the coast.

“Comrade Goran…” he began.

“Please don’t call me Comrade when we’re alone,” Goran said.  “It doesn’t sound right, for some reason.”

“That’s one of the things I’d like to talk with you about,” Boris continued. “It’s hard to explain, but…the girls and I have a strange feeling that we’re not what we’re meant to be…that we’re being – manipulated somehow.”

“Manipulated?  That’s interesting.  Go on.”

Boris outlined the recent events: the attack on Talia, the implanted memories, the fishing-boat with the microphone and the discovery of the nose-filters.

As he talked, Goran’s eyes widened, but he looked more relieved than surprised.  “This would explain a lot, including some of the strange dreams I’ve been having.”

“Dreams?”

“Yes – mostly they fade when I awake, but sometimes a bit lingers.  They normally involve you and the others, but we seem to be in some sort of military detail.”

“Talia thinks that the drugs in our injectors might be keeping away our true memories and making us suggestible,” Boris said.  Goran raised a slightly contemptuous eyebrow.  “Look, I know you don’t like her, but she
is
a nurse, and she knows what she’s doing – she found our nose filters, for goodness sake.  I think she’s right, and she’s drained our dispensers and replaced the drugs with blood plasma to see what will happen.  I suggest you let her do the same to yours as soon as possible.”

Goran shrugged, and Boris made his way forward, where he was soon sitting at the front between the hulls, dangling his feet in the spray and fishing.  The sun was warm and the fish were biting, and soon a couple of good-sized pluny lay beside him on the deck.  He had just re-baited his hook and was about to cast it again when the peaceful afternoon was rudely shattered.  There was a strange whistling sound, followed by a splash off the port bow, a muffled explosion and a fountain of water.

“Mortar!” he yelled instinctively.

Goran immediately heeled the boat over to starboard, while the others dived for cover.  There was another splash, a muted ‘whump’ and another cascade.

By this time, Talia and Anoushka had rolled off the roof.  The former landed behind Boris on all fours like a cat, and he could sense she was ready to respond to the danger.  There was a tense silence for some seconds before she called, “What do we do?”

“We’ve got to keep going and get out of range as soon as possible,” Goran shouted back.  “The shore is too shallow here to beach the boat and make it to cover safely.  Anyway, whoever’s doing this may have friends waiting for us if we try.  But there are some dangerous shoals if we go out too far.  Here comes another shell – brace yourselves.”  He threw the tiller over and the yacht yawed to port instants before the muffled report as another mortar bomb was fired.

“I think I can see where they’re coming from,” said Boris, pointing into the woods just ahead of them.  It was perhaps surprising that Goran had known the shell was coming before it had been fired, but he was too concerned with keeping hold of the boat to worry about that.  The shell hit the water and exploded to starboard, but closer this time.

“I wish there was some way we could fight back,” Talia shouted.  “Is there nothing we can do?”

“Oh, sure,” muttered Boris.  “We can install a top-of-the-range interceptor system – just check in your handbag, Talia, love.”  Aloud, he called back, “We can just pray that we won’t be hit, and that they haven’t any snipers with them.  We’re sitting ducks out here, and a wooden boat is scant cover from a high-powered rifle bullet.”

“Can’t you go any faster?” Anoushka asked Goran in a tremulous voice, clearly trying to fight off hysteria: she gave a yelp as he heeled the boat over to avoid the next missile.

“We’re at the mercy of the wind,” he replied.   “It’s driving us onshore.  While we run ahead of it, we’ve got enough speed that I can just about avoid being hit, but I have to tack out to sea sometime soon or we’ll run aground.  Once I do that, we’ll lose momentum and become an easier target.”

“Leave it as late as you dare,” Boris advised him, as the boat swung again and a shell exploded disturbingly close, “We’re past their launch point now, and when we change course we’ll be heading away from it.  Hopefully we’ll soon be out of range.”

Goran threw the tiller over again: there was another explosion to starboard, but further away this time.  Anoushka gave a shrill giggle with no humour in it, and Talia exclaimed, “Missed again!”  The next shell fell thirty yards astern, its noise now muffled by the spray thrown up as the catamaran swerved and zigzagged further out to sea. 

“It’s OK, ’Noushka,” said Talia, putting a reassuring arm around Anoushka’s shoulders, “it’s stopping.  They can’t reach us now.”

When there had been no bombs for several minutes, Goran changed course once more.  “We can’t go much further out,” he said.  “There’s an underwater reef that would rip us to pieces.  Let’s shadow the coast till we reach the dacha.”

“Are you certain it’s safe?” Anoushka asked.

“We’re well out of range,” Goran assured her.  He started to smile, but then his jaw dropped.  “Me and my big mouth – get down!” he shouted as he once more turned the boat sharply towards the beach.  There was an explosion just off the starboard hull and everyone was drenched by the spray of an all-too-near impact.

“Where’d that one come from?” Boris yelled.

“Up ahead,” Goran called back as he swung the yacht out to sea once more.  So began the second instalment of their dance with destruction.

“Do you think it’s the same mortar?” Talia called.

“Does it matter?” Boris replied, looking back at her.

“I suppose not.”  She shrugged hopelessly.

Goran chose that very moment to react to the next shell.  Unfortunately, this time Anoushka’s grasp slipped and she slid across the superstructure.  Goran instinctively let go of the tiller to catch her and the catamaran slid back on course.  The shell exploded just under the starboard bulkhead.  The boat was thrust sideways and there was an ominous cracking noise.  The tiller jerked in Goran’s hand, and he had to let go of Anoushka to control it.  She gave a cry of despair as she slipped into the water.

Before Boris could react, Talia dived after her.  He knew that Talia was a far stronger swimmer than he was, so he waited, his nerves taut, for a chance to retrieve the two of them.  He tried to keep an eye on how they were doing, but the waves and the frequent course changes made it difficult: at one point he saw that Talia had got hold of Anoushka, and they were only a few yards to starboard, but a few seconds later they were much further away. 
At least those bastards are firing at the boat rather than Talia and Anoushka,
he thought. 
It’ll give them a fighting chance.

After one particularly violent turn, he lost sight of the two girls.  Several minutes passed as the boat continued its evasive course and Boris scanned the surface of the water in vain.  “I think we’ve lost them,” he called to Goran, his heart sinking.

The sombre mood was broken when a voice from below gasped, “Don’t – give up – on us yet.”  Astonished, Boris looked over the front of the superstructure.  Underneath, between the hulls and clinging by her right hand to the hindmost inner strut of the starboard one, was Talia, her other arm round the chest of a bedraggled and stunned-looking Anoushka.

“The girls are hanging on to the boat between the hulls,” he called to Goran as he made his way towards the back.  “Try and keep her steady while I pull them aboard.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Goran shouted back as Boris roped himself to the back rail, but the latter had just reached down and grasped Anoushka round the waist when Goran yelled, “I’ve got to turn to port – now!”

Talia gave a surprised yelp as Boris yanked Anoushka from her grasp, and her body swung away from the hull as the boat heeled over.  He lowered his burden as gently as he could down into the cockpit.

He was worried that they lost Talia during the last manoeuvre, but she still clung on, though her knuckles were bloodless.  He took her now-free left arm and managed to haul her up onto deck and lowered her down beside Anoushka.  She slumped down on the one end of the bench, gasping for air and kneading her hand, while Boris checked Anoushka over at the other end.  Both girls seemed to be exhausted but otherwise uninjured.

By now, they had once again reached the limit of the mortar’s range, so there was a short period of blessed peace, but after some moments, it opened up again from further down the coast.

“How’s she handling?” Boris called to Goran.

“Listing a little to starboard.  I think she’s shipping water.  We may have to swim for it.”

Boris looked over at Talia, who shook her head.  “I don’t think the girls are in any shape for that,” he said.  “We may have to take our chances with the shoals out to sea.”

“Wait,” Goran called out.  “What’s that?”  He pointed back towards the city.  Boris squinted in that direction and saw a small dot in the air.  Soon, to his relief, it resolved into a helicopter.  Once it got close enough, he could see its security markings, but his celebrations were tempered when he saw that it wasn’t a gunship – only an unarmed transport.