Life is worth it

Preface

If there would be the possibility to save one person's life, from any time period, who would it be....

......................

She strode through the streets, without any destination, any intention, so it seemed. She got sure not to attract attention. Her late 80's street style clothes made sure of that.
With a backpack, her long, blonde, to light brown, slightly curled hair tied back in a strict ponytail, she forced herself to walk faster. Her evenly classical features with full lips attracted some male pedestrians, looking appreciative and curiously after her.
To avoid any further attention she pulled the hood of her sweater down, covering half of her face.
It's Moscow, early April 1988. There were a few vehicles on the roads, Ladas, Moskwichs and some Urals, stuff like that. The roads weren't overly crowded with motorized vehicles as she was usually used to.
The waste gases, soot and unusual situation brought her to the brink of a severe migraine. She came along a few markets where foods and household things were offered. But she wasn't hungry. Not during a mission. She was used to it.
There were flat buildings, supermarkets in eastern bloc style, grey and colorless skyscrapers and prefabricated concrete apartments. A song of the Soviet synth-pop-band 'Alyans - на заре' blasted from somewhere.
From time to time she could make out very attractive buildings, like typical art nouveau architecture of the 1920.
In a harsh movement she focused her vision back on the street.
It was not granted to her to admire the various historical sights, she had to reach Shchukino district. She crossed a few beautiful, well-kept parks, were older men shoved large chess figures on a giant chess board painted on the floor, when she reached a nice and calmer region of the town.
She had no map, didn't need to, she had memorized the way from the parking spot of her car thoroughly in her head. She knew were it was. 'The object, the target person', a calm steady voice in her head repeated. Like giving her instructions. 'Don't mess the mission, bitch. You only got 2 hours.' 2 Hours, she thought.
That mission could cost her life, she didn't even know, if and how she would come back home.
She finally reached a quiet street where she came along from north-east.
Pekhotnaya Ulitsa.
She went on the sidewalk, on the left side, along a metal fence with regularly set stone posts. His car was parked on the left side of the road. As she passed it, she ghosted her fingers over it's smooth surface. The right side of the road wasn't attached or cultivated, instead, there were bushes and a few low young trees.
'Perfect to hide and observe', she thought.
She positioned herself across the mansion Nr. 26 and waited.
In the meantime dawn fell upon her. There was no person on the street, only a barking dog in the neighborhood and the low hum of the traffic in the background.
She noticed the sweet smell of hyacinths and daffodils mingeling with the cooking smells of someone's 7 p.m dinner.
She realized a growing nervousness inside of her, when suddenly a light went on in one of the rooms of that beautiful mansion behind the high fence. Because the gate was closed and probably locked from the inside, she had to manage to surmount the fence as fast and silently as she could.
She already made up her mind to emerge from her hide to cross the street, when a car slowly approached. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed it before, the shine of the headlights almost revealing her presence. The pace of the car slowed down and almost came to a standstill. "Fuck." she thought. "That's it. I'm doomed." It could be someone of his family she contemplated, or someone else is watching the building as well.
That would makes things even more complicated. In that case, she would have to wait until the next morning.
The pace of the car increased, reached the other end of the street, reached the next corner, out of her sight. Thank god it was dark and silent again.
The street was now illuminated in a faint yellowish light by a few street lamps. 'Now !' The voice in her head demanded, 'There's barely time left !'
She tensed every muscle in her body and tried to focus her mind to fight down her nervousness. She emerged from her hiding spot and strode to the fence. Athletic as she was, she made on the fence with one leap, sat on it and thoroughly inspected the mansion from above in a stooped position. With a feline grace she hopped off and landed noiselessly. Adrenaline and the feeling of an early triumph crept through her body, when she reached the entrance of the villa.
She finally dared to ring the doorbell.
She waited, but nothing happened. She rang the doorbell again, then knocked, knocked harder, Nothing.
She listened at the door to detect possible noises, but everything remained silent.
With growing anger, she slammed one fist several times against the entry, that the massive wooden door quivered slightly.
Silence.
'You're dumb', the voice in her head presumed. 'Did you really expect someone to open the door for you and invites you for dinner ?' "No, thanks. But I'm a decent person and give the opportunity to avoid property damage...", she said out loud to herself. She sat down to the little stone stairs at the entrance and considered her options for awhile.
"Enough ! No more antics...", she rushed off to round the house, to find any other possibilities to get in.
There, at the rear of the property, there was a little window, maybe the guest toilet or a window of the stairwell, she didn't know. It was in a low altitude, no problem for her to climb up. She grabbed a small steel pin from her backpack and climbed onto the windowsill. With a practiced push she slammed the steel pin into the glass.
It broke immediately.
She managed to kick the sharp pieces of glass into the gaping hole in front of her with her shoes, then crouched on the windowsill and stared into the black hole to adjust her eyes to the darkness. After a while, faint shapes of her surroundings became more visible.
There. The basement exit. Perfect.
Normally, the basement exit leads to the staircase. She jumped down and with a low thud she landed on the stairs. Glass splintered and crunched. From somewhere above, she heard a dog barking.
Slowly and carefully she went up the stairs until she got to the stairwell. The smell of stale air and cigarette smoke approached her. A few stairs further and she was in an upper doorway. She sneaked along the doorway, the stale cigarette smell was almost unbearable.
But something in the doorway oddly distracted her focus. In the semi-dark she really couldn't make out what it was at first. Something hung out of the half opened drawer of a dresser.
It was like an evil symbol.
Carefully She reached to it and slowly opened the drawer a little further.
It hit her hard when she saw what it was.
A rope.
A mountaineering rope, more precisely.
It looked harmless, as if someone had left it there by accident.
But she knew better.
Unbridled indignation rose within her. She pulled that rope out of the drawer and slang it around her left wrist, a long end hanging down to the floor.
She went further to an illuminated room in front of her, got sure that she could take a look in that room, but let the most of her body be hidden behind the doorframe.
She came to a standstill when she spotted him. There he was.
The inorganic chemist guy of the Kurtchatov Institute.
He was alone, so it seemed, except of a threatening snarling dog somewhere near. He was in the kitchen, stood behind the kitchen table, already alerted by the noise she'd made in the stairwell, his head slightly raised, arms hanging down, a cigarette in his right hand, ashes on the floor.
He was pale, unshaved, looked tired, his eyes red rimmed, with dark circles. He was wearing something pajama-like, bare feet. His hair was messily tugged behind his ears, on the back of his neck forming small dark curls.
Despite his distinctly sickly condition, his still hulking, tall and athletic frame demanded her to be careful. With one stroke of his arm, he would be able to put her lights off.
She looked around, if there was something threatening he could use, a knife or something else. There was a mess of books on the kitchen table, loose paper collections, photos, pens, pills, spectacles, used dishes, and an overfilled ashtray.
She should try to go easy on him and explain how to proceed next.
But she couldn't. She was at the brink of a rage.
In her left hand she felt the rough texture of the rope. She could imagine how it would painfully cut the soft skin of his neck.
She raised her arm, showing him what she'd found. She saw that he was staring at it.
"Is it that what you wanted", she said accusingly between clenched teeth, "I hope you've considered emptying your bladder and intestine before doing this. I don't think you want anyone to find you that way. With full pants. Soaked with piss, right ? I've examined some of those suicides", she insisted to him, "they all thought death comes easy by hanging, but that indeed was a fallacy. Death struggle lasts long and at the end, they were no longer able to control their excretions."
Legasov went even more pale, his face grey like the ashes of his cigarette.
The cigarette in his slightly trembling hand dropped to the floor, still smoldering. He didn't even pay attention to it.
'Shit', she thought, 'I'm all screwing this up. 'He sets the house on fire and doesn't even notice.' For the first time she wasn't so sure to be the right person for all of this. She stood there, panting, sweaty strands of hair stuck to her face.
Legasov slowly tried to move away from the place behind the kitchen table. To gain more free space and without braking eye contact, he positioned himself behind the kitchen-chair, his hands now resting on it. He looked barely noticeable to the entrance of the living room, a few steps away.
She noticed his little actions, had to do something before he made it to any room where he could lock himself in.
Then, In an exploding motion she leaped towards him and tried to cut him off.
He saw her moving, grabbed the chair and threw it in an high ankle towards her, but didn't hit the target, then desperately ran to the living room. He almost crashed into her. His massive body would have kicked her away like a cone, if she hadn't managed to take a step to the side. With the push of her right shoulder she gave him a solid spin, that he hit the wall hard with his front side. He exhaled sharply. She flinched, that may have hurt him. This evening he wouldn't throw things at her anymore.
Startled by the mayhem, the snarling dog emerged from his place under the kitchen table and stood barking with bared teeth in front of her.
'Things are getting out of hand', she thought. But she had to get the bigger problem under control at first.
Quickly she was at Legasov's side again, grabbed his left wrist, tore his arm violently onto his back and shoved him hard against the wall.
He was struggling to grab her in order to pull her down.
She almost tripped over his long legs, but was more agile.
In one swift motion she pulled handcuffs out of her right pocket, grabbed his left arm again and tied his wrist to the heating pipe of the kitchen-radiator.
That was just the half of the battle. Now she had to take care of the barking dog. She bend down to grab the collar of that long haired fluffy animal, but that fierce beast bit her violently away.
"Tomka !" Legasov cried out, "No, not Tomka ! Let her go !"
She endured the bites just finally to get the chaos under control. Finally she was able to grab the collar. Against it's will she drag Tomka into the dining room and closed it. The dog barked hysterically and jumped repeatedly against the door, it's claws making scratching noises.
She sighed heavily, went to the kitchen-sink and let cold water run over her mutilated and swollen fingers.
After a while she moved to the fallen chair, grabbed it and placed it behind the professor. She guested him to sit down, what he reluctantly did.
He seemed calmer now. "Why that panic ?" she said to him softy, "You already planned your own death either, why not die through the hand of a young lady ?"
She picked up the rope, wrapped it around her hands and wrists, strode smiling towards him.
In one swift movement she wrapped the rope around his neck, and drew it close enough so that he could barely breathe.
He said nothing, leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes, eyelids fluttering.
She knew it was an utterly inappropriate behavior towards him, but she had to force him to cooperate. She had to get him out of here, to rip him out of this vicious circle of depression and self chosen darkness.
Swiftly she stood up. "Good. We have a lot of work to do. Where is your passport, vehicle key and a suitcase ?"
Silence.
His head was still bend back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. His lower jaw now scornfully pressed forward.
But underneath all his swagger she noticed his nervousness. "Don't make it worse, don't let me things do, you may regret afterwards," she said in a calm low voice.
"Passport is in my office upstairs..." he annoyingly cut her off..."in a drawer of my desk.... the keys in a drawer of the dresser where you found the rope... and a suitcase in the bedroom upstairs."
Again, she was overwhelmed by his voice, she'd missed it since they met in Chernobyl before. She loved his unique soft, low and melodic baritone intonation, with a youthful undertone, that stayed in contrast to his current appearance.
She rushed away, to gather all the things, in the hope he wasn't lying to her to gain more time.
She packed his suitcase with the most essential things she could find, trousers, turtleneck and shoes to change his pajama, grabbed his passport, money, some other important things and hurried down to find the car keys.
She deposited it all at the entrance of the hallway.
But one thing was still left to do.
She couldn't trust him.
Without any shackles, it would be easy for him to overpower her, flee and alert the police or someone else.
She had to give him a medication, to make him a bit....docile, so to say.
She didn't want to have any attention or drama outside.
She reached in one of the pockets of her pants and placed something thoroughly under her tongue. He wouldn't swallow the Lorazepam willingly, so she had to try....something else.
She knew that he was able to foresee the most of her actions easily.
She turned back to him and knelt between his legs. With her left hand she removed the rope around his neck, with the other hand she softly cupped his right cheek and turned his head towards her. She came close to his face. He smelled of cigarettes, he turned into a chain smoker a habit he developed in Chernobyl, due to the huge stress and responsiblility he endured there. Underneath that smell she noticed a quite familiar odor, a pleasent pheromone cocktail that represented unmistakably him.
They made brief eye contact on that short distance, there was a surprised expression on his face. She turned to his left side, caressing his cheek with her nose and lips. Softly she placed a couple of feathery kisses along his jawline and looked at his delicate lips, his upper lip had the unique shape of a butterfly wing.
She closed her eyes and pressed her lips on his. He slightly pulled back in disgust. She persisted, with the tip of her tongue trying to get access of his mouth, but he didn't give in, clenched his jaws.
'Good Boy', she thought, 'as ever, stubborn and almost impossible to get...' It aroused her, to see him in that position, shackled to the heater.
She would like to trail her tongue over his neck, leave wet tracks on his broad chest and the soft flesh of his belly, trail her tongue slowly down to his deeper regions....far more south...she could almost hear his pleading sighs....
'You bloody bitch !', her inner voice announced it's return. 'Keep going to place that fucking lorazepam under his tongue or you will feel the full effect of the drug, instead of him !'
Her hands came up, resting softly on both sides of his cheeks. With her thumbs and forefingers she slightly pressed his jaws, a little bit more pressure, until he was forced to open his mouth.
With a swift movement of her tongue she placed that drug deep into his mouth and pulled away.
He noticed it and grimaced when he swallowed the bitter pill.
She didn't want to deepen the kiss, she wasn't so sure if he would end up biting her tongue.
Standing in front of him, she pouted, arms crossed.
"Thought you would enjoy that special kiss a little bit more."
With a grim face, he gave her a disdainful glance.
She waited a few minutes, checked the time on her watch.
"Where are we heading ?", he asked drowsily after a few minutes.
"Not saying", she replied.
Of course.
He expected no other answer from her.
"Without Tomka, I'm going anywhere."
He said that with a convincing certainty.
She looked at him, deep in thoughts.
"Do you remember that beautiful horse the "militsia" had captured near our quarters ?
I tried to save it, you and I washed it with clay and soap to decontaminate it from radionuclides. We rode it together on the sandy beach of a tributary of the Pripyat river, without saddle and bridle, barefoot....but", she paused and inhaled shakily, "it was still so contaminated, that it was shot after two days. Even you couldn't prevent it."
He avoided her gaze - he remembered.
She turned around and went to the dining room, where Tomka scratched and whimpered behind the door. She opened the room, the fluffy animal ran to its shackled master, bounced excitedly and tail wagging up and down at him.
Time was running out. At any minute someone of his family could show up, his wife, his son.
She unshackled Legasov from the heater and helped him to stand up.
He swayed, tripped backwards. The Lorazepam finally did its job.
She helped him to change his clothes, laid his arm around her shoulder, steadying him.
Then, she guided him to the stairwell. She buckled on her backpack, grabbed the suitcase, put Tomka on a leash and with that bulky chemist tugged on her side, she finally was ready to leave the house.
Halfway down the stairwell, it hit her hard. She stopped immediately. 'You damn fool !', the voice in her head complained, 'Is it possible that you're spoiling the mission, that you forgot the main thing over your damn reward, your payday, the chemist, you wanted to save ? Do your fucking job !'
"Where are the tapes ?", she asked him in bewilderment.
He wordlessly looked at her, suddenly stepping backwards against the wall behind him to gain more stability. He looked to the ground, glancing at her again, running one hand through his hair. He slightly shook his head.
"You aren't the main object of that quest. The mission is to find and hand over the tapes", she revealed to him in a low voice.
He frowned. "Who is 'them' ?"
"Not allowed to say..."
He nodded. He may know. He was a fast thinker.
"What they don't know", she confessed, "is, that I slightly altered the plan. The tapes are going with us. You remain the owner. If you want, you can publish them later." '...and I get killed for it soon.' She silently thought to herself.
"Is that a kidnapping ?", He asked amused.
She smiled knowingly to him, cockily bit onto her bottom lip.
He frowned at her in a mocking way.
Something said to him, that he had to trust this devil, no matter what she had done to him today.
"The tapes are in a drawer of the kitchen table", he said calmly.
She got sure that he could steady himself for a while, gave him the dog's leash and rushed back into the kitchen.
Violently she opened the drawer and there they where, the precious tapes, revealing previously undisclosed facts about the Chernobyl catastrophe. Political dynamite for the East as well as for the West.
But there were only 4 of them.
"Where is the fifth ?" She shouted to him.
"Still in progress....in my head !" He shouted back.
She grinned. Of course, that's why she needed him, in person....
She grabbed the tapes, rushed back and thoroughly deposited them into her backpack.
She swiftly nodded to him appreciatively for telling her the truth.
When they got out of the house, Valery Legasov savored the fresh April air. Violets and honeysuckles gave off their scent. With the chill air, a deep feeling of purification and hope infiltrated him. It had been usually him, who was in a leading position. Now it was at him, who had to be guided, this feeling was utterly relieving for him.
In the distance he heard a few blackbirds singing their melodic song, far more away, the busy hum of Moscow's city traffic.
In the pale light of the street lamp they both went to the parking lot where his car was. She opened the passenger door for him, Tomka took a seat in the footwell of the passenger seat, then she deposited the suitcase into the trunk.
She took seat behind the steering wheel.
"Where are we heading ?", he asked again, sure, that this time he would get an answer.
She sighed.
"Moscow Airport. Berlin. Charité. There you'll get a medical check-up. If everything is ok, US, Maine, Appalachian trail, we got type B tourist-visum for six months. I have fake quarantine documents for Tomka and enough bribe money for the check in."
He frowned in bewilderment and pushed out his lower lip as ever, when he was contemplating. Then, an ironic smile around his lips.
"Catharsis", he summed it up in one word.
"Yes. Catharsis." She replied. She started the car and switched the radio on.
They played 'Blue Monday' by New order. She smiled, turned up the radio and hit the gas.