Suspected Terrorists

《ii》

Apologies for any miss-translations. As you know, Google Translate is far from perfect.

《<>》

Viktor looked up from where he was unpacking boxes when the little shop bell rang.

A familiar young man stepped into the store wrapped up in a long, wollen coat, snowboots, leather gloves and a matching set of a blue, woollen scarf and hat. He carried a small basket against his hip.

"Доброе утро Алексей," Viktor greeted warmly as he stacked a can of beans onto the shelf. (Good morning Alexei.)

"Здравствуйте, Виктор," Alexei returned with a wry smile, pulling off his hat and shoving it into his pocket, revealing a mess of dark back hair. (Hello, Viktor.)

"Какие-нибудь Новости?" Viktor asked, like he did every week. (Any news?)

"Нет," Alexei replied as usual, whilst picking some fresh produce from the baskets by the entrance. "Как твоя жена?" (No.....How is your wife?)

"Рад снова вернуться к работе," Viktor laughed, remembering his wife's complaining at the lack of excitement during her pregnancy leave. (Glad to be back to work again.)

Alexei chuckled. "А ваш ребенок?" (And your child?)

"По-прежнему отказывается спать." Both men laughed again before Alexei disappeared down another aisle. (Still refuses to sleep.)

Viktor finished unpacking the stock and made his way back to the counter where he met Alexei patiently waiting. He scanned and bagged the items in Alexei's basket while Alexei fumbled around looking for change.

"Вот твои вещи," said Viktor, handing over the basket. (Here are your things.)

"Спасибо, Вик," Alexei replied as he handed him the change. "Увидимся на следующей неделе." (Thanks Vik......I'll see you next week.)

Viktor nodded. "А пока, мой друг." With that, Alexei left the store. (Until then, my friend.)

The young man was quickly reminded that he'd forgotten to put his hat back on when the cold air began to bite at his head. Sighing, Alexei put down the basket and pulled his hat out of his pocket to tug it over his hair, before continuing on.

He made it down to the little dock where he'd moored his little, grey rowboat - The Chase.

He boarded the boat and placed his basket of goods under the opposite bench before he began to row his way back out into the cold sea.

He navigated his way through the choppy waters surprisingly quickly for a man in a rowboat. Soon enough, he'd completed the just over 50 mile journey home and he moored his little boat on the pale sand of the bay. He pulled the boat a little further onto the beach before taking out his basket. He looked at the peeling paint on the boat and sighed. "Looks like you could use a fresh coat Wise Girl," he muttered as he delicately traced the faded, golden cursive.

Alexei trudged up the beach toward his little shack, eagerly awaiting a warm bath and hearty meal. He was so distracted by the thought, he almost didn't notice the smoke emitting from his chimney.

Huh?

Alexei froze. The thing about living on your own in the middle of a deserted island - no one should be in your house.