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UNDERGROUND 104
Boris generously spread butter on a piece of bread, put a plate of Emmental cheese on top, pressed down slightly, and, twisting the created sandwich, bit off a third from the corner at once. At the same moment, his face twisted into a grimace of disgust - instead of creamy pleasure, his mouth filled with the taste of acrylic paint, a can of which stood next to the oil on the windowsill.Nevertheless, Boris chewed a piece and swallowed it. It got even more disgusting. Throwing the sandwich into the trash can, he took three long sips of black coffee and stared at Yakov, who was either sleeping or talking on the phone - reclining in an armchair and pressing his smartphone to his ear, he blinked slowly like Dmitry Medvedev at a government meeting. The clock was a quarter to four. He had been awake for almost a day.Finally, the smartphone moved to the table.“Shiburova Ayana Bachievna…” Yakov said, stumbling over every word.- What are you muttering?- One thousand nine hundred and twenty
UNDERGROUND 105
There was a knock on the window. The hard-shaven face of the security officer blocked the festive Moscow. Short silvery hair hinted at a rank no lower than a colonel. Boris rolled down the window.- Major Vindman?- He is.- To General Afanasiev!Boris never visited the general at his workplace. Now he felt like Akaky Akakiyevich, going up to the seventh floor - without exaggeration, straight into one of the "towers". Elsewhere, the accentuated old-fashionedness of the interior would have evoked irony, but here all those carpets, wood paneling, banners in glass trunks, massive doors without signs, and sleek, overweight secretaries in Armani suits that saturate the ionized air with the aromas of French perfume only enhanced the atmosphere of majesty.Vindman was struck by the abundance of men with large stars on their epaulettes in a reception room the size of an assembly hall. Boris, not without pleasure, walked past them to a double door with golden ornaments. But once in the “presid
UNDERGROUND 106
“At seven, it’s like the apocalypse. I don’t know what’s in her head, but definitely not rainbow pictures from Instagram.“Boris,” Yakov paused before getting into the car, “we don’t even know what he looks like.Thank you, Elder Fura. And then I forgot.They were delivered to Chelyabinsk on a military plane. Yakov was sleeping, but Boris couldn't get the first four digits of "1835" out of his head. He understood that there was nothing complicated in them, if the rest were just coordinates, then there was no special trick in these four. But the train of thought still could not get into the right track, it irritated him. He seemed to be missing something simple yet important.Taking into account the collection, obtaining permits and the time difference, they arrived in Chelyabinsk already at the beginning of the fourth. It immediately became clear that the Chelyabinsk airport is located quite decently outside the city, namely twenty kilometers. Makarov was supposed to arrive later, the
UNDERGROUND 107
They settled in a hotel, directly attached to the station. We decided to observe at eight in the morning, in case "eighteen" is also "eight".- Then maybe an hour? Yakov clarified.- At one o'clock the station is empty. Eight is also rush hour.“So this is your method, chasing suspicious men?” What if Gargantua is a woman?- So, we will chase after the women.It's at least more fun.Early in the morning Makarov arrived - despite the time difference - peppy and clean-shaven, like a TV presenter of the morning news. He woke up Boris and Yakov and raised everyone's ears, including the local police, "acting" in the framework of a high-profile federal terrorism case (officially they were still dealing with the Stotsky case, which was separated into a separate proceeding). The Chelyabinsk Department of Internal Affairs allocated people, now a patrol police car was on duty at each exit. In addition, four employees arrived from the regional office. They kept watch inside the station, changing
UNDERGROUND 108
Boris shuffled to his "post" along the way, throwing a glass into the trash can. The crowd of people below flowed like a full-flowing motley river. Peak hour. Boris yawned. He felt heavy apathy and deadly weariness. Putting his hands on the railing, he literally hung on it, spitting on the fact that he began to attract more attention. Yawning again, he stared at the scoreboard. It was already unbearable to look at the streams of people below. He felt nauseous. It must be the crappy schnitzel we had for lunch.And what if he throws up this undercooked schnitzel right into this human river. That will be fun for Makarov, who reports this to the general. Arrival board and departure board. They also dreamed of him. All these Chrysostom, Penza, Krasnoyarsk. Roughly six. No thirty-five. At eighteen thirty-five nothing arrives or departs. Damn thirty-five!Having endured only twenty minutes instead of the prescribed thirty, Boris hobbled to the seats and literally collapsed on them, thrust hi
UNDERGROUND 109
Shopping center Leroy Merlin. Only here Yakov and Boris heard that the whole city was on its ears. Sirens were buzzing everywhere, someone somewhere was shouting in a drunken voice, apparently from surging excitement. Boris looked around at the edge of the mall parking lot. Behind her was a dark wasteland. Behind it is a fence and a huge building with black window gaps.“Lost,” said Yakov, grinning from the hard run.Boris shook his head.- We drove him, he did not count on it. He needs a break. Boris looked at the long abandoned building.- He is there.Yakov looked at Boris doubtfully, but he was already heading for the fence. Running along it, he finally stopped.- Traces.In the fresh snow, footprints were indeed visible, with a clear indication of dragging and dragging.- Damn size! Jacob was surprised.- He climbed over here, - said Boris, - give me a lift.Yakov helped Boris to get over, and at once deftly got over himself. Boris, crouching down, hurried towards the end entranc
UNDERGROUND 110
A stammering female voice from behind reported:“My eyes see many more bloody fields. I don't know what Sivanma is up to. But how long will he be entertained by our troubles?Since the Chinese, who was standing opposite Pustovalov, continued to look into his eyes, deepening the tension with silence and, as it were, setting off a strange electric chirp, Pustovalov raised his eyebrows inquiringly, showing Dasha, who was also looking at him at that moment, a "puppy" look. The Chinese did not appreciate Pustovalov's acting abilities. Despite the acrid smell of sweat, the stench of the mouth, heavy sniffling, the black collar of the once blue shirt, the forehead wet with sweat, reminiscent of darkened dough flavored with pepper, unshaven in the form of sparse hair, as if the owner of this body had been using the female hormone tarragon in the form of large volumes for many years beer, reducing the male norm of testosterone by at least half - despite all these purely human signs, the Chines
UNDERGROUND 111
The picture appeared on the screen again, and the voice of the announcer sounded - he continued to broadcast, as if he had been telling something all this time, and someone simply turned the sound back on. This time, cheap 3D models showed a diagram of an underground shelter. Multi-colored geometric figures, cubes, cylinders, spaces, ventilation ducts, networks, elevator shafts flashed before my eyes. The announcer said that the Sisiji company provided such shelters at its own expense for almost the entire world, and the one in which they were located was called U-4. The announcer did not skimp on praising Sisiji and its leadership, exposing them in the literal sense as the saviors of mankind - well, how else? The state-of-the-art shelter is provided with everything necessary to support the lives of several thousand people. Pustovalov was most interested in the virus protection system. According to the speaker, the vault was a huge isolated space at great depths, separated by tens of