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UNDERGROUND 100
The nightmare disappeared into the dark corridors of the subconscious, leaving only a scream in the memory, like a pulsation of drug-blunted pain. All the senses at once let in a new reality. There was no more smell of sweat and stale underwear, the creak of sand in wet boots, dirty damp clothes, cold walls and the smell of engine oils. A clean pillowcase pleasantly cooled my left cheek, an unobtrusive breeze blew in my face, flowing from somewhere above along with the muffled voice of Nikolai Karachentsov, singing about a maple leaf. But the main thing is daylight. Yes, yes, curtains behind which are sun-drenched snowy valleys, although Pustovalov has already realized that this is just an imitation in the form of light panels.For Pustovalov, the serenity of such awakenings, possible only in a childhood unfamiliar to him, was a curiosity. And therefore he was in no hurry, enjoying the comprehension of the sacrament, although he felt persistent pressure in the region of the bladder. M
UNDERGROUND 101
- What are you? Victor was worried.- What? – Pustovalov turned his head around. On his face appeared that naive, mischievous smile that Dasha liked so much.- Whats up?- To me?- Don't push!- You're pushing. – Pustovalov returned the accusation and immediately pushed him again. Victor tried to restrain himself, but he, in the end, failed - he also smiled and pushed Pustovalov in response. In a moment, both of them burst into laughter and pushed under the displeased hiss of the “viewers” like real teenagers, which, however, was not so far from the truth.***At breakfast, everyone gathered in a small dining room, and Pustovalov saw that the “last batch” of passengers included only about thirty people. They were the most ordinary people, mostly middle-aged. There were literally enough seats, but he heard that the average party here reached two hundred people and they ate in turn.The tables were for four, Pustovalov, Dasha, Katya and Kharitonov, without saying a word, sat down at o
UNDERGROUND 102
Everyone looked at Victor, and the psychologist looked at some kind of square device that appeared in his hands.- You are well done. What is your name?– Victor.“Victor, but didn’t they scare you?”Pustovalov at that moment looked at the psychologist.“No, they didn’t scare me,” Victor chuckled, “the guy who came to my aid scared me.The man nodded.Yes, I forgot to say. He entered the car a little later and first sat between me and that girl. He took out a ballpoint pen and began to peck at his knee with it. Well, you know, he acted like a psycho. In fact, he was a psycho. He scared this girl with his strange behavior, and I talked to him a little. I wanted to calm him down so he wouldn't hurt her. And then, he left. And, in general, that's why we met.So you managed to calm him down?- Yes, he was excited, and then after we had a chat, he left."How did he scare you?"- He appeared suddenly when the gopniks grabbed my legs and turned me over. I saw…Victor was silent.– What did y
UNDERGROUND 103
The psychologist nodded.- Continue.- He had a garage. That… person. And in the garage, a special basement. He dug it for these things, put electricity in it, made reliable locks and soundproofing. We didn't know it then. There was nothing special about him. I remember only the hat and being tall. In the car in which he drove us, I saw him only from the back, because I was sitting in the back seat. Although, later, I spent twelve hours with him in a cramped room in bright light, but I still remember only his high growth. He said that we could get to the dacha of some businessman who had gone to the Canary Islands. He has real treasures there: whole boxes of Snickers and even players and a Japanese prefix. It seems like we will help him open the door, and he himself only needs "gold". My friends believed him.- You are not?By the time I understood everything, it was already too late.– When did you understand?- When we were in the garage, and a large knife appeared in his hand. He s
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