An Angel of Death

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The making of an assassin.
3.8k words
4.2
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Berlin

Nadya pushed through the crowded dance floor of the club, discreetly pocketing the injection pen. She exited before her work was noticed and joined the flow of drunken clubbers streaming along the sidewalk. A few blocks away, she ducked into another bar, found the bathrooms and locked herself in a stall. The costume was simple enough to remove. She put the wig and glasses in her shoulder bag. The brown contact lenses went into the toilet. She used makeup remover to return her face to its standard clean state. The cleaning wipes joined the contacts and she flushed. With a change of shirt and shoes, she completed the transformation of her look from club princess to college student. Emergency vehicles passed as she made her way to her rental car. She drove to a hospital and tossed the injection pen into a bio-hazard bin. On the way to the airport she stopped several times to dispose of the rest of her costume and the shoulder bag. She dropped off the rental, retrieved a suitcase from the trunk, and checked in for her short flight back to London.

***

Nadezhda Petrovna Morozova grew up in a run-down neighborhood in Moscow. Her father worked in a factory until an injury permanently sidelined him. Her mother was a clerk in a local market. They both drank heavily and fought frequently. They loved her, in their way, but did little parenting. This only troubled her a little. She wanted a very different life and devoted herself to school. They were proud when she was accepted into a top university as a seventeen-year-old. She was in her second year of study in St. Petersburg when a police officer visited her tiny shared flat to inform her of their deaths in a traffic accident. She allowed herself a day to grieve them and then threw herself completely into her studies. The dread of a return to poverty kept her focused. She felt entirely alone. Enrolling in martial arts classes gave her a sense of strength, and left her physically exhausted for sleep each night.

Nadya excelled at languages, psychology, and athletics. In her final year, this attracted the attention of security service recruiters. The FSB was a romantic dream job for the 21-year-old. She was thrilled to work for her country. Her first three months of training gave her the sense of belonging to a new family. She was assigned to a counter-terrorism unit as a junior officer.

Her first job was tracking Chechens in Moscow, ferreting out the separatists, and cataloging their trivial offenses to threaten them into confessing to larger plots. Her talent lay in building trust. She was young and attractive, to be sure, but it was her charisma that made her a great interrogator. In fact, she felt little empathy for anyone, but could convince them all that she only wanted to help.

The FSB rewarded her with an undercover assignment. They sent her to Ingushetia, another troubled republic in the Caucasus. She traveled with a group of aid workers, to do medical outreach in the farming villages outside the Capitol, Magas. Her real job would be to uncover the networks that supplied weapons and other aid to the separatists. She was excited to go to the war zone, to fight for her country.

Nadya arrived in Magas late at night. The morning was a revelation. She stepped outside and breathed air sweeter and cleaner than she'd thought possible. She'd never ventured outside of large metropolitan areas. Magas was the tiny capitol of a sparsely populated republic. She walked past several low apartment blocks to a street that ended at fields. Before her was a plain dotted with farms and villages amid agricultural tracts, stretching away and up toward the snow-capped teeth of the mountains. She felt exhilaration and unease at the unfamiliar open space.

The clinic they opened treated mostly farmers but also victims of the violence. Locals helped with translation. One of these translators completely unwound her moral compass.

Laisat Dimayeva came to the clinic on a warm spring day in Nadya's second week. She was young, perhaps 20, and ethereally beautiful. She wore western clothes, pants in fact, but also the traditional scarf. The locals were Muslim, but the women didn't wear hijab, instead tying the beautifully patterned scarves like caps. Laisat had brown hair and hazel eyes dotted with specks of green and gold. Her face was soft, but defined with high cheekbones and full, pink lips. She spoke a heavily accented hello in a honeyed voice and Nadya was momentarily speechless. She recovered quickly while the girl introduced herself. By the end of the day, Laisat was employed as Nadya's assistant and translator.

That evening Nadya couldn't concentrate during the local intelligence chief's daily report. She was still agitated when she retired for the night. She tossed about in bed, unable to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Laisat's face, heard her voice, imagined her body. She opened the window, hoping the cool air would calm her. When the sky began to lighten, she fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming, of course, of Laisat.

Nadya was no stranger to sex. She'd had many lovers in Moscow, all older women. All in the strictest secrecy. The FSB would never tolerate these assignations. She wasn't ashamed. The risk was almost as thrilling as the sex. But she'd never felt anything like what she was feeling now, for this innocent country girl.

That was the week new bombings started. Nadya spent her days in the clinic, ordering supplies and assisting the medics, who were overwhelmed with treating the victims. Laisat was a valuable assistant, fluent in Russian as well as many local tongues. She had a quick mind and a flawless memory. Nadya knew she was falling for the girl, but had no time to entertain fantasies. Every night now found her in dark basements, interrogating prisoners. These were tough men, resistant to her charms. She was frustrated and tired and began to take pleasure in watching the torturers inflict her will.

Nadya took a night off from interrogation to inventory the large influx of medical supplies. She inspected every parcel while Laisat recorded the quantities. Laisat was uncharacteristically quiet, and seemed distracted. She looked worried, and had dark rings below her eyes. When Nadya reached past her for a box, Laisat froze. Nadya looked into her darkening eyes and was momentarily speechless. She smiled, patted Laisat's arm reassuringly, and stepped away. They finished the inventory and Laisat left for home, leaving Nadya unsettled and bemused.

Laisat seemed to withdraw in the following days. Twice, Nadya felt her staring at her. She did nothing, not wanting to frighten the girl away. Nadya continued to lead her double life, saving people by day and brutalizing them by night. After one hellish, bloody interrogation she came home exhausted. She'd just stepped into the shower when she heard a light tapping from her back door. She dressed quickly and drew her gun from its holster. She stood to the side of the door, unlatched it, and kicked it open. She nearly dropped her gun when Laisat stepped inside. She'd been crying. Nadya set down her weapon and pulled her into a hug. Laisat held her for a moment, then sighed.

"What is troubling you, sweet girl?"

Laisat didn't answer but stared at Nadya's mouth.

She reached up to touch Nadya's lips and it was all Nadya could do to stay standing. She kissed Laisat, as light as a whisper, and smiled, trying to reassure her. The girl was almost trembling with nervousness.

"I want...," she said.

"Come with me," Nadya said, and offered her hand. She felt a shiver of pleasure when Laisat held it. She led her to the bedroom and coaxed her to sit next to her. Laisat kissed her then, so gently and tentatively that Nadya thought her heart would break from the tenderness of it. She lay back on the bed and drew Laisat next to her for more soft kisses. Laisat grew bolder as they continued, deepening the kisses. Nadya let her lead. They kissed until their lips were swollen and then Laisat hugged her, snuggling close. Nadya held her, burying her face in her neck, inhaling her sweet scent as they both fell asleep.

Nadya woke alone, covered with a blanket. She grinned, happier than she could ever remember being.

Nadya couldn't focus at work the next day. Laisat usually arrived in the early afternoon, after she'd seen to her daughterly duties at home. That left Nadya with four hours of nervous anticipation. She didn't know if Laisat would even show up after their intimacy. When she finally entered the clinic, Nadya could feel her from across the room. She looked up to see Laisat smiling back at her. Laisat was busy that day, translating for the family of a young woman and the medical staff who helped her give birth to twins. Nadya was deep in her own work, writing up supply orders, when she felt Laisat beside her.

"Good job, today," she told her.

"Thank you," Laisat replied.

Nadya looked around the office. No one was looking their way. She took Laisat's hand. "Thank you for visiting me last night."

Laisat blushed but squeezed her hand.

"I want to see you again," she whispered.

"Tomorrow night," Nadya told her.

Nadya spent the next day studying new intelligence and filing reports for her superiors in Moscow. She was sure the insurgents were planning something big, but couldn't figure out what is was. The ones she interrogated were only aware of their specific orders, not the larger strategy. There had to be local leaders, but she had no idea who they were or where to look.

It was an uncharacteristically hot and muggy day. At dusk, Nadya opened the windows, hoping for a cool breeze. She showered, dressed, and went outside to look at the stars. The night was still and warm. Flashes of lightning flickered against the distant mountain peaks. She turned to go inside just as Laisat approached. Nadya held the door open for her.

Nadya had expected awkwardness but Laisat wasted no time. She put her arms around Nadya's neck and pulled her into a long, sensual kiss. Nadya broke the kiss and said, "bedroom." Laisat smiled and led the way. At the bed she turned to Nadya, looking a bit nervous.

"I've never..." she said. Nadya took her hands and kissed them. "I've never even undressed in front of anyone."

"Laisat, don't be afraid,"

Laisat nodded and began to unbutton her tunic. Nadya watched, fascinated as she shed her outer layer of clothes, leaving only a thin camisole-type shirt and underwear. Nadya quickly removed her own clothes. Laisat's eyes darkened and she stared, lips parted, at Nadya's body. Nadya turned down the blankets on the bed and gently guided Laisat back onto the soft sheets. She lay down next to her and kissed her. Laisat touched her, tentatively, and looked into her eyes.

Nadya nodded and Laisat became bolder, exploring Nadya's body with her hands. Her touch was naive, curious, and wildly pleasurable. Her warm fingers played across Nadya's nipples and Nadya kissed her, trying to slow her down. Nadya had never been more aroused. She took hold of Laisat's wrists and trapped them against the mattress above her head as she straddled her waist. Laisat squirmed beneath her but returned her kiss. When Nadya released her hands, she reached for Nadya's braid, releasing the long blond hair to fall over both of them. Nadya reached under Laisat's undershirt and pushed it up above her breasts. She licked the perimeter of one then took the nipple into her mouth and sucked. Laisat cried out, clasped her shirt, and tore it off over her head. She pulled Nadya into another kiss and gasped as their breasts touched. Nadya kissed her neck and worked her way down her body with more kisses. She licked her belly. Laisat whimpered. Nadya slowly lowered the underpants but Laisat showed no patience and kicked them off. Nadya spread her legs wider, pushed aside damp, silky hair, and ran her tongue along the swollen folds of her labia. Laisat mumbled incoherent pleas. Nadya twirled her tongue around Laisat's clit and slid a finger partially into her. Laisat was nearly screaming now, cursing, maybe, in Ingush. She latched her fingers into Nadya's hair and held her in place as she writhed in pleasure. When Laisat finally pleaded, in Russian, for release, Nadya sucked her clit between her lips and plunged two fingers into her. Laisat rode wave after wave of orgasm then collapsed. Nadya slowly removed her fingers and was chagrined to see blood on them. She didn't know what to say, and didn't have to say anything because Laisat pulled her up, kissed her hard and wrapped her legs around her. She held Nadya tightly, as if they could meld together somehow. Nadya loved it. She'd never felt passion like this. She'd never wanted anyone this badly.

Laisat rolled Nadya onto her back and kissed her more. She touched and teased but Nadya needed more. She took hold of Laisat's hand and pushed it between her legs. Laisat grinned when her fingers slid along wet, slick flesh. She stroked lightly, touching all over, occasionally brushing Nadya's clit. Nadya was going mad, she was certain of it. She loved the unschooled, seemingly innocent touches, but didn't think she could stand it for long. When Laisat finally took her clit between her fingers, working it slowly, Nadya came harder than she'd known she could.

A breeze chilled their sweaty skin. Laisat drew a sheet over them and held Nadya close until they both fell asleep.

Nadya woke to a loud noise. She held completely still, feeling Laisat's sleeping breaths against her skin. The room lit up with lightning and a terrible clap of thunder followed. Laisat jerked awake.

"It's just thunder..," Nadya started to say but a round of automatic weapon fire sounded in the distance. She sprung out of bed and began to dress. Laisat did as well. The clock by the bed showed 1:38.

"Let's get you home," Nadya said.

"What about you?"

"I'll go to the clinic, to see if we receive wounded. You need to be home when your parents wake up."

Laisat nodded and followed Nadya out of the dark house. The gunfire had come from the opposite direction to her home. Nadya took her to the back door, hugged her, and kissed her goodbye.

"Be careful," Laisat said, and disappeared into the dark house.

Nadya ran for the police station. It started to rain hard.

The basement of the police station was a frenzy of yelling men. Four were in chains, with one of them on the ground being kicked by several of her colleagues. They stopped kicking and stood at attention when she walked into the room. Markov, the senior local cop, followed her into her office. He had a stack of papers that he dropped onto her desk.

"Insurgents attacked our weapons depot earlier this evening. We tracked them to a farm north of town. We killed three and captured these. No one escaped. We believe one of the seven is the commander of this region. They aren't talking."

"They'll talk," she said. "I will handle the interrogations. Ready room B. I'll need one assistant. Start with him." She pointed to the beaten man on the floor.

Three hours later she stared at the final prisoner. She was sure this was the boss. He'd given her nothing. Not even his name. He was barely conscious at this point. They'd beaten him thoroughly. His face was swollen and bloody.

"Water," he said.

She nodded at her assistant. He brought a bottle to the prisoner's mouth and let him swallow a few sips. The prisoner glared at her.

"Just tell me your name, and I'll stop the pain."

"You'll kill me."

"You are going to die no matter what you do. I can make it less painful."

"Fuck you, bitch."

Her assistant punched his face hard enough to knock the chair over. She heard a crack as his head hit the floor.

Someone knocked on the cell door. It was Markov, grinning, holding a folder. She looked at the photo inside. It was her prisoner. The rest of the file made her feel sick. Ruslan Dimayev. She skimmed over his list of crimes and known associates to find his family information. And there it was, he had a sister. She turned to look at him. He was lying on the floor, free of the chair, dead.

The sky was turning pink when she left the police station. They'd finally wrung a confession out of one of the terrorists and many more would be arrested in the coming days. She was angry, filthy,frustrated, and very tired.

"Nadezhda Dimenskaya!" Someone shouted her cover name. She turned around to see Laisat pointing a gun at her.

"Laisat, please, listen."

"Did you know he was my brother when you killed him?"

"Laisat..."

"Liar. You used me to find him."

"No, Laisat, I..."

"Murderer!"

***

Nadya heard the gunshot and then the world went black.

The bullet had hit her chest, collapsing a lung, but missing her heart. Five months later she was back at work. She'd lied about her assailant, saying a bearded man had shot her. She never spoke to Laisat again.

Her new assignment kept her mind occupied. She was based in Moscow. Her team investigated sex traffickers. These people were even harder to track than the terrorists. They would follow money trails into infinite layers of shell companies. Sometimes there would be a person behind them, but this was always a minor associate. The big players stayed invisible. Their investigations led them to cities all over Europe. It was in Tallinn, Estonia that her career with the FSB ended. She and two colleagues were searching a crumbling Soviet era apartment block. They'd received a tip that Russian girls were being held there, en route to brothels in Germany. The apartment they found was the worst they'd ever seen. The girls were young. Not yet teenagers. They were tied to each other and to furniture in the room. They were filthy. The smell was overpowering. They were afraid of her male colleagues so she sent them both to the hallway to phone for help. She used a knife to cut the ropes that held them. Most of them were too weak or frightened to stand. One didn't move at all. She heard a toilet flush and drew her gun. A man entered the room, pants off, dick hanging limp, and a child crying next to him. She emptied her weapon into his face.

She resigned to avoid a diplomatic incident.

Nadya was twenty-six. She had no family and no real friends. The FSB had been her life. She'd never seen a problem with this. Even after her shooting, she'd focused only on her recovery, locking away her emotions. Now she tried to lose herself in vodka and semi-anonymous sex. The memories floated up through her alcoholic haze. When she slept she saw faces, of the people she'd killed, the prisoners she'd broken, the victims she'd rescued, and always Laisat. A phone call from a former colleague saved her.

Pavel Sergeyev was a colonel in the FSB. He had retired several months before she resigned. Now he phoned to ask her to meet him to discuss business. She showered, dressed in relatively clean clothes, and met him at a busy restaurant. He worked for a private company now, he explained. He had access to information about many of the worst of her enemies. Would she like to work for him?

"I don't want to be a spy." She said.

"Nadya Petrovna, my offer is for something much better. You and I have the same foes. I will give you their names and all of our intelligence relating to them. You will be paid to do what you enjoy."

She accepted the next day.

Sergeyev was wrong. Nadya didn't enjoy killing. Her targets were cruel, powerful, and beyond the reach of the law. She took a professional satisfaction in quick, untraceable hits. She spent days, sometimes weeks, tracking her subjects, until she knew their every move before they made it. She worked in cities across Europe and Asia. When she wasn't working, she was in gyms, keeping herself fit for work. She lived only in the present, allowing no space in her head for memories of her past. Her martial arts instructors had taught her to find a point of stillness inside her mind. She learned to reside there, observing every emotion, memory, and present action from a cool, centered awareness. She relied on this skill now.

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