Looking For The Light (Book 2)

Looking For The Light Chapter 14 - Vikenti

            Vikenti had been to cities all over Europe, and even some in Asia.  From his humble home town he’d been welcomed in capital cities with open arms, snuck into overthrown towns on disputed borders, and had just about every reception in between.  He arrived in New York City, his first time in the United States of America, largely being ignored.  Dressed in his PR uniform, civilians kept their distance. He walked with a team of others dressed in a similar uniform – except for the stripe running down the right sleeve and pant leg.  Each Spetsgruppa got to choose their own color and emblem.  The legendary Yaysto wore grey with an egg.  The Drakon Pushki wore red with a dragon.  This team wore a deep green, their emblem a mountain.  The Spetsgruppa Ostorozhno.  There were only two of them in New York with him, the other three were still in Paris, searching for Eli’s gunman.

“Sir, where are we going?” Lieutenant Racha Kaninoff asked.  She was a small blonde, but for her size, she was a no nonsense person. She took her duty seriously, and Vikenti admired her commitment to service.

“Manhattan, Long Island, New York City?  It’s all I have to go on.” Vikenti sighed, lighting a cigarette the moment they were outside of the airport.

“It’s a big place, sir.” Cautioned Serviceman Karl Tannenbaum, a generally optimistic man, with an easy smile.

“It is.  Which is why I did some research in the air.  I found the address Captain Sima was sending all the information about the other Captain Sima to in New York.  Colonel Murroh Lytton, Valentina’s father.” Vikenti informed his companions.  He took another drag off his cigarette before issuing his orders.  “Lieutenant Kaninoff, please secure transport.  Serviceman Tannenbaum, a moment of privacy? I need to make some calls, some personal.”

“Yes, sir.” They said together. Kaninoff was on her way to a car rental kiosk at once, while Tennenbaum wandered to a food truck.  Vikenti finished his cigarette before taking out his phone.  He had a few messages, but he only was interested in the one from Miro.

“I’ve missed talking like this.  Are you coming home in January?”  Miro Alkaev had written him. 

Miro, short for Miroslavl, had grown up with Vikenti, their fathers having served together in the military before retiring and returning a simpler way of life.  Miro had always been one of Vikenti’s friends – all the boys generally got along, the community was too small for petty conflicts to get too big.  Vikenti had memories of sitting around a bonfire with his fathers, and the other fathers, with his friends.  Miro was there, ruddy cheeks and a missing tooth from an accident a goat.  The other boys were lost to time.  Vikenti could remember them if he tried, but Miro was the only one in his mind.  He wore a dirty kerchief around his neck, toying with a brass whistle between his dirty fingernails.  They were only eleven then, listening to their fathers trade stories.

As they got older, they talked more, got closer.  Miro proved to be skilled cook, and Vikenti a skilled hunter.  He would always make the best out of what Vikenti brought home.  There were countless memories of Vikenti sitting on the table in the Alkaev cabin, watching Miro butcher something Vikenti brought back especially for him. 

He remembered one time in particular, Vikenti was nearly eighteen, just months away from adulthood and joining the PR.  By then, the whole community knew he was gay.  Some of the other boys their age had started to treat Vikenti differently, but Miro never changed.  He was as surprised as the others, but accepted his friend for who he was.  But recently Vikenti had the feeling Miro was keeping a secret.  He’d gotten moody, quiet and withdrawn.

Vikenti watched Miro carve into a boar as easily as if it were a loaf of bread.  Miro’s kerchief now was worn on his head, holding back unruly dark hair.  He didn’t look at Vikenti, not wanting to lose a finger to his razor sharp knives, but he still paid his friend attention.