Page 96 of Power's Fall
The ugly utilitarian office furniture looked almost obscene when contrasted with the delicate wood carving of the crown molding and windowsills. Just inside the door was a long metal table that had been haphazardly draped with felt cloth, which in turn was piled with guns, gun parts, knives, and two rocket launchers.
Fuck.
After a quick look at the weapons, Vadisk walked across the room to study a map that was spread out on one of the desks, bending to brace his hands. He straightened at the sound of footsteps.
“You’re new. I haven’t seen you before.”
Turning, Vadisk studied the speaker. Young, confident, a little aggressive. A boy who thought he was grown. The man beside him, probably a father or uncle, given the similar facial features, put a hand on his shoulder.
“You just joined?” the older man asked in a more friendly tone.
“Yes. Just moved here. I came down looking for work.” Vadisk shrugged. “There’s nothing in Krasnoperekopsk.”
“You’re from Krym?” the younger man demanded, clearly suspicious Vadisk might be a Crimean Tartar.
“You’re not? Are you a tourist?” Vadisk shot back. “We need men who will fight because they care about what happens here.”
The younger man opened his mouth, but again, the father or uncle squeezed his shoulder. “Krasnoperekopsk is a hard place to live. I’m Dimitri,” the man said. “And this is my son, Ivan.”
“Lev,” Vadisk replied, holding out a hand.
“We have family here,” Dimitri said. “We came from Voronezh to help them defend their home.”
Vadisk nodded in acknowledgement as Dimitri looked him up and down. “You’re a big one, aren’t you?”
He shrugged, the uniform shirt groaned, and he froze.
Dimitri smiled. “They don’t make it in your size?”
Vadisk shook his head. “This was the biggest.”
“I help us stay organized,” Dimitri said with pride. “Make sure we have bullets, tea.”
Because bullets and tea were of equal importance.
“I’ll see if I can get you something bigger.” Dimitri turned, heading for a desktop computer with a cracked monitor that was set up in a corner.
Ivan was still eyeing Vadisk. “You know how to fire a gun?”
“Yes.”
“You know how to blow up a boat?”
Vadisk raised his eyebrows and shook his head, his stomach tight.
“Come on.” Now seeming even younger than Vadisk had thought, Ivan motioned him over to the table of weapons with an inappropriate amount of enthusiasm. He pointed at the rocket launcher. “See this? Used one to blow up a boat this morning.”
“You did?”
Ivan’s expression soured. “No, but I was right there. They’re still looking for the bodies.”
“Bodies?”
“Yeah, some foreigners who were trying to escape. They were on the boat—well, at least one of them was, I saw him myself—when it went up.” Ivan made explosion sounds.
Sinaver thought Montana was dead. But in his call with the Spaniard, he’d promised to turn over all three of them.
“Easier, cleaner ways to kill a man than that.” Vadisk picked up a handgun and tapped the center of his forehead with the muzzle. “Shoot them right here.”