As tears go by

DAY 0 // 2 Shuyak island, three weeks earlier

The island was in the Kodiak Archipelago. That place was peculiar. It had only one tree species: haughty Sitka spruce. That day of February the sky was dark blue, not a cloud in sight and the sun shone like a diamond all over the Sitka spruce forest. The snow was everywhere. Inside the forest, on a rock overlooking the bay, there was a cluster of dilapidated buildings hemmed by a chain-link fence topped with razor-wire. A couple of Quonset huts stood between the rundown concrete buildings and the dish antennas. That place was a dismissed Aircraft Control and Warning (AC )site built in Fifties together with Cape Chiniak on Kodiak, and Sitkinak in the Trinity Islands. They were never activated. The advance in radar technology, eliminating their need. They were decommissioned, less that one. However, after fifty years, it was in ruins. Inside the head building, naked corridors, locked metal doors, dusty rooms. From behind a partially open door, the buzz of a generator and two voices belonging to a woman and a man oozed out. She was gassing up a power generator, she was in her twenties and looked like an innocent classy platinum blond with the disturbed blue eyes of a fallen angel. Wore a loose-fitting T-shirt, a pair of winter camouflage pants and combat boots. Her winter jacket was straddled over a chair. She looked at him. He looked like a faux-highborn. Being in winter clothes, he was not smartly dressed as usual. With the mind's eyes it was easy to see him wearing a Caraceni suit, a Marinella tie, a pair of handmade Ferragamo shoes shiny as a mirror. In short, he was a snake in a suit. In their first encounter, he introduced himself as Sidney Pink, but she was certain it was a fake name. He showed her a picture of a man. "Do you know him?"

She stared at the picture. It was a bald, sturdy man. One eye was patched, his face was full of scars. He had the look of a marauder or a pirate, but he was neither of the two. " I worked for him in Chechnya. His name is "komandir" Konstantin Woland Cubays. He is from GU. The Military Intelligence service."

Sidney nodded as he knew already the answer.

"He is gathering a group of skilled operatives on a boat in the middle of the Adriatic Sea. Your job will be to discover his plan and report to me as soon as possible."

"Wait, everybody thinks I am dead."

"Get a grip. Your friend is freelancing. Six months ago he resigned from Stiklioshka. He cannot know you are dead. Call him and ask him you want in." Stiklioshka meant a glass house and was the Russian nickname of the GU Headquarters in Moscow.

She met his eyes. "What if he knows?"

He snickered. "You a bright resourceful young women, Anastasya. If you introduce yourself properly, showing your usual self-reliance, he will not wonder a thing."

She swallowed it hard.

Pink smiled. "If he knows you are dead, you will tell him you faked your death to run away. CIA, FBI, USMS, and your people wanted to do you. He was a good friend of your family, he will help you willingly, I am sure of that."

"He was in Afghanistan with my dad. My dad saved his ass and died. Listen, in our previous meeting I told you I was not willing to take a job against my people, and especially him."

"I did not forget that you worked for the Kremlin, Anastasya. So you still feel... loyalty. Have I to remind you they stabbed you in the back? We just want to know what your ex-handler is doing out there, nothing else. A very easy gig for a big time like you."

"You are a liar," she blurted out. Her eyes full of fury.

Sidney frowned. He did not like of being called a liar, especially by a young Russian woman. "Ascertain what I asked. Remember there is just me between you and a bullet. How do you call in Russian an... unmarked grave?" He said with a voice full of ice.

She lowered her eyes. "Bratskaya Mogila."

"That' right, Bratskaya Mogila. You don't work anymore for Moscow, but once out this door, to do the right thing is up to you. I am your only hope to stay alive another day."

She stared at Sidney Pink for a spell as she could read his mind, then she said. "Who do you work for? Who are you?"

He shook his head and chuckled. "Do you know Ben Jonson?"

"Are you referring to the British play-writer or to the Jamaican-born Canadian sprinter?"

"Good girl, they taught you well. I am referring to the play-writer. He wrote a play with a fantastic line... Nobody can remember properly: Helter-skelter, hang sorrow, care will kill a cat, up-tails all, and a pox on the hangman."

"What does it mean?"

"Is the original sentence for the modern saying - Curiosity killed the cat -."

"In Russian we would say 'Curious Varvara had her nose snatched at the market'."

He nodded. "Do what I told you. I assure you it is the best bargain ever for someone like you."

She sighed and stared at the wall behind him.

"When I set off?"

He nodded. "This is the right attitude. How do you say cat in Russian?"

"Kot."

"Your call-sign will be Kot. I will give all the details on the seaplane."

"Wait, I need some Italian fancy clothes, get my hair and my nails done and..."

"Do not rush, we are in Alaska wilderness, here."

"I know. Furthermore, the virgin forest of Sitka conifers, the island includes miles of rugged coastline, pristine white beaches and waterways. An inhabited paradise, with a couple of small problems, no road access and very bad sea conditions: high winds, large swells, rough seas. Heavy surf occurs frequently. The inner bays are safe and protected, but if someone fell in the waters, none could help. By the way, I am fed up eating Silver Salmon and Halibut."

"Good girl. Were you planning a getaway or you just pick up a local tourist leaflet?"