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“Здесь мы будем делать наш новый дом”
-Unnamed Soviet Refugee, 1988
6
If New Pittsburgh was an example of Chaos, Novyy Dom 3 was an example of order in the extreme.
The city that had once been Ballarat was long gone, replaced by row after row of identical housing blocks, each one alighned in proletariat perfection. The streets were clean; the parks well kept. The sound of childeren playing filled the air.
Of course, Zlata knew the truth of the place. Novyy Dom was a potemkin village; a stage play masquerading as a safe haven. The buildings were real, but inside they had been shells, cold, bare rooms in which families huddled for warmth. The people were real, hell some of them really wre ordinary people, lucky to escape the fiery destruction of western Russia; Looking for peace, saftey, they instead were press ganged by the KGB, performing like circus animals befor ethe disbeleaving Australians. See the soviet man! See him stand tall in the ashes! See how he still dose not question his leaders.
In her mind, Zlata shook her head. The KGB. Even after their poltical games had sdestroyed half the world, they still sought to bring what was left to the flame. They had used the camps as bases for the new “revolution”, to seed dissent amongst the Australians who had reluctantly let them. Let them survive.
Zlata remembered her arriavl, the hope she had felt, to finally escape the forces that had locked her in her shell. And when she found those same forces at work here, plotting, planning, she rebelled.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
Flynn visbily shudded as he drove. “Jesus, this place always gives me the creeps; all the building being the same, all straight. It seems so....”
“Fake,” Zlata offered. “Sterile. The people who designed this place were not very imaginative; it was not ment to be somewhere people lived, but a symbol of soviet power, or what was left of it.”
Flynn looked over to her, eyebrows raised. “Sounds like you aren’t a fan.”
“This place was just as much a lie for the refugees as it was for you.”
“Still, things have gotten better,” Thomas said from the back seat. He was looking out the window, in a move that was obvious to Zlata that he was avoiding looking at her. He was sitting as far away as the back seat allowed him. He pointed at a few stalls that had been set up in a side street. “Street markets, people out and about, no more of that lock step marching around any more. Their actually living their lives now.”
Flynn shrugged. “Yeah, now only some of them are KGB rather than all of them!”
In her mind, Zlata frowned; the doll remained still, ignoring it. “Does the DAC come to Novyy Dom often?”
Flynn thought for a moment. “uhhh, Yeah, a few times. Some of our cases have involved wartime soviet tek making it into the markets; most of it coming from here.” he looked in the mirror. “ Hey, Rob, what was the name of the Kazakhstani rebuild who had the hots for you? You know, tried to seduce you on your first case?”
Thomas shudded slightly, then laughed. “Aisulu, I think! Hell, I went through three weeks of meds after that!” He turned to look at Flynn, a smile on his face. “I'm having a huge arse panic attack, and all you can say is how pissed you are that she liked me more than you!” He laughed again, then caught Zlata looking at him; He froze, mid laugh, then immediately looked back out the window.
Internally, Zlata sighed; She was used to this. Her appaerance was unsettling to most normal people, let alone an APIAS sufferer; Still, she felt a pang of annoyance. Which was strange, since she had only met these people that morning. It was hard to imagine less than a day had passed.
Flynn shifted in his seat. “Sooooo,” he said, his tone immediately putting Zlata on the defensive. “What's your feeling on the place now?”
She considered the question; it seemed normal enough, honest, but Zlaat was beginning to suspect Flynn's intentions.
“Its better,” she answered. “the people are just that: people. Not pawns or actors. They have hope again.”; as if to illustarte her point, they drove past a park, smiling mothers playing with happy children; “ And since Berezin took command, the Soviet refugees have been noting but cooperative.”
Unlike some, she wanted to say, but she felt that was petty., She held no malice towards the Americans, she had left that on the battlefield, but she was fed up with the inccinuatrion that the soviet refugees were all sleeper agents, preparing to take over the country, while the violent acts of certain americans were mostly ignored.
Mostly. Punching White in his smiling face had been deeply satisfying.
A huge building rose up above the blocks. Like a multi tiered pyramid, it almost scrapped the roof of the dome.
“This place always confused me,” Flynn said as it came into view. “It looks like an Aztec temple; doesn’t really fit the soviet chic.”
“It's ment to be a fortress,” Zlata explained. “Those levels? Firing positions, capable of targeting anywhere in the dome. To deter any attack by outside forces.”
“Or stop the people from rebelling,” she heard Thomas say from the back.
In her mind, Zlata nodded sadly. 'they spent so much time and energy trying to make sure all these good soviet citizens stayed that way. God, if only they used some of that to save more people...”
“What did thy think would happen?” Flynn asked.
“Excuse me?”
“What did they think would happen if they didn't treat the refugees like prisoners?”
“Simple. They were afraid the people would experience hope for the first time and overthrow them.” In her mind, she sighed. “For all their bluster, the communist party was well aware of the mess they made, and of how eager people were to escape them.”
“And they were right,” Thomas said. “At least with you, anyway.”
Zlata looked behind her and saw Thomas was looking at her intently; He held her blank red gaze for a moment, then his body shuddered slightly and he quickly went back to the window.
In her mind, Zlata looked confused. Strange.
The inside of the administration building was typical soviet opulence: drab carpets, drab walls, dim lights and an inexplicably large amount of wood linings. The waiting area before the generals office was at least a little more impressive: a large wooden door led into the office, flanked by pictures of Lenin and Bakatin.
“Before we go in,” Flynn inquired, “Is there anything you could tell me about Berezin?”
“I've never met him personally,” she answered, “But I’d heard about him during the war. Very popular, known to care for his men, and, well, his record with dealing with us is well known.”
In a corner, the secretary looked up from her desk; Seeing Zlata, she quickly stood, snapping out a salute. “Welcome, Colonel!” she said in Russian.
Flynn raised an eyebrow. “Colonel?”
In her mind, Zlata looked annoyed. “I think their just being polite.' She addressed the secretary. “ANP. Detectives Mikhaylov and Flynn to see General Berezin.”
“Of course ma'am; I have orders to bring you to him immediately.” The secretary quickly moved to open the door.
Thomas cleared his throat. “I-i'll just stay out h-here,” he stammed. “Might look for a toilet.”
Flynn nodded. “Stay out of trouble,” he said with a smile. Thomas smiled back.
Zlata felt the same odd pang of annoyance again. What was it?”
The generals office was much better decorated; red curtains, better carpet, leather couches and a massive wooded desk.
The grey haired General Berezin stood as they entered. “Colonel Mikhaylov! Detective Flynn! Welcome!”
In her mind, Zlata looked embarrassed. “Please, General, sir, I’m no longer in the army. It's just detective now.”
The General smiled. “Ah, wishful thinking on my part. It was a sore day when we lost you, Zlata Ivanovana, but I guess all clouds have silver linings; your work with the Australians has been an inspiration for us all. Please, sit.”
The two detectives took their seats, the General sitting himself. “Now, from what I gathered from DFAR's request, you have something of a situation that may require the assistance of the soviet government ?”
“Most correct, sir,” Flynn began. “We're here on behalf of the Department of Abnormal Crimes; ah, I assume you know of it, sir?”
“I'm aware of its purpose.”
“yes, well, the DAC is currently investigating a series of murders, including one which occurred just last night.”
“From the evidence we have gathered, we have theorised the killer may be operating in the camps,” Zlata added. “But we lack the information and cooperation on death records at the moment to say so reliably.”
The General was nodding as he listened. “Mmmm, and I imagine, these deaths are somewhat, unusual, for the DAC to be involved?”
“Again, correct sir,” Flynn answered. “What we're looking for is deaths that fit our suspected killers MO. Trust us, they will stick out like a sore thumb.”
“What we're seeking, sir,” Zlata said, “Is the cooperation of the soviet authorities in this matter. We require access to the medical and militia files in relations to violent crimes, assistance in monitoring for further deaths, and any support possible to allow the DAC to investigate any leads that may occur in the camp.”
The General sat silently for a moment, considering their request. Zlata studied him; she had heard much about Berezin in the war, and more since he came to Australia. He was a hero; his actions on the Bulgaria front prevented the entire soviet southern flank from collapsing, saving thousands of lives.
But she also knew he was not popluar with the party; he was regarded as a trouble maker, often arguing with his orders if he felt they get good people killed for no reason. It was no supise he had not been promoted in ten years. Zlata imagined his posting here had been an effot to get rid of him; how much had that backfired on them?
The General made a n agreeable noise and nodded his head. “Ok” he said. “we will provide all support possible.”
Flynn blinked; he clearly thought it would be harder. “Don't you have to seek permission from the soviet government?”
Berezin smiled. “Detective Flynn, I am the supreme commander of the 2nd Southern Refugee group; I am the soviet government!” he leaned forward. “ Those fools in Yamantau hardly leave the bunker, let alone travel all the way here to the camps; to them, the outside world is nothing but reports on paper. I'm here, they are not.” he tapped the desk for emphasis. “And if a killer is loose, threatening not just my people, but yours as well, then it is in our best interests to work together to stop this fiend.
In Zlata's mind, she smiled; she imagined Flynn must have been flatfooted by that little speech. She looked over to him, expecting shock and confusion; instead, he was just smiling.
In Zlata's mind, she shrugged; the dolls shoulders remained still. She looked back at the General. “Shall we begin working this out?”
Over the next hour and a half, Zlata and Flynn briefed several Soviet officials on the murders; each promised to check their files , search their morgues, looking for any clue. One militia commander even tasked a group of officers to specifically investigate anything related to the killer.
“If he's been here, or still is, we'll find him,” he promised.
Zlata couldn't help but feel a little proud; she may no longer be a soviet citizen, but it was still her motherland, and to see her former countrymen so eager to help made her feel warm in the few parts of her still flesh.
“I can only hope this will be enough,” Berezin said. 'Our resources are thin, but we will do everything we can to find this killer.”
“It is more than enough,” Zlata replied. “On behalf of the ANP, I thank you, Artyom Valdovich.”
“What about you other agencies?” Flynn asked.
Zlata looked at him. Other agencies? Then she realised who he meant; a sense of dread began to build.
He meant the KGB
“Ah,” Berezin replied. “Them. Yes, they will most likely investigate, but I assure you, I have complete control of them; any information they uncover will go to you first.”
Flynn smiled, nodding. “Excellent.” he rose from his seat. “We'll, I think we've done all we can for the moment. Thank you very much for your coopertion General; our people will be contacting yours to get the lines of communication open.”
The General rose slightly. “Wait, before you go,” he said, “ Might I have a chance to speak to Detective Mikhaylov alone?”
In her mind, Zlata raised an eyebrow. In the flesh, Flynn did the same.
“Of course,” he said, a bemused look on his face. “I'll just wait outside.”
Zlata watched him go, wondering what the General wanted to say to her.
“I hope my request will not be trouble,” the General said in Russian.
“It is ok, Artyom Vladovich,” She said; in her mind she let out a sigh.
“Zlata Ivanovana,” he said. “A beautiful name. I have wanted to meet you since I was sent here.”
“You are also well known,” she replied. “What do you wish to speak to me about?”
“several things,” he replied gravely, “That I felt you should know first; whether you choose to tell your new allies is up to you.”
In he r mind, she frowned. “What has happened?”
Berezin looked grave. “Bakatin is nearing death; the latest attempt to rebuild him failed, and his mind is gone.” he tapped the desk. “The party is keeping it a secret, of course. But it looks like we will have a new secretary before the years out.”
“Yamantau must be a battleground,” Zlata said.
Berezin nodded. “If my sources are correct, the KGB is making headway in the struggle; Malenkov is likely to be the next in line.
“What does this mean for the camps?”
“It means they'll try to tighten their control, reign us back in,” Berezin replied. “It means tearing down everything I’ve worked for. The latest directives I’ve received have been clear: they want me to toe the line and use the camps to influence the Australians, no matter the consequences.'
Berezin leaned back. “They know I’ve compromised the KGB elements here, know their loyal to me. And to that end, they have activated a new agent, to try and usurp me.”
In her m kind, Zlata frowned in concern. “Are you sure?”
“Quite. My sources have been hearing rumours for years, but I’ve only just received solid proof. His code name is Ivan the Terrible, and he has one mission: assert soviet dominance over the local government.”
“Ivan the Terrible?” Zlata said, disbelieving. “they really have no idea of the outside world, do they? To tray and attempt this, in they state they are in, is suicide!”
Berezin nodded. “Zlata, to them, the Soviet Union is as powerful as ever, and monsters like Southern Cross don't exist. To them, they won, and it confounds them that the world refuses to follow their lead. They would do anything to twist reality until it fit what they desire!”
In her mind, Zlata shook her head. “No matter the cost. Ten million defenceless refugees; What would happen to them if this Ivan ever tried to take on the Australians? Southern Cross alone could destroy Yamantau; The camps would not last a second!”
She stood, feeling an urgency to leave. “Thank you, Artyom Vladovich. I will use this information well.” As much as she detested the idea of feeding the Australians paranoia, she was honour bound to report this.
“I know you will, Zlata Ivanovana,” Berezin replied. “I have one last request; one more question.”
In her mind, Zlata looked unsure. The Generals tone suggested what he was about to ask was not pleasant.
“Of course, Artyom Vladovich.”
Berezin took a deep breath. “I know you must have been questioned a thousand times, that you have told all you know. But the rumours since that day have been thick, and repeated till this day.
A chill fell over what was left of her natural spine; Zlata knew what he was going to ask. She had been asked many times before.”
“What happened when Klepin died?”
Klepin. The butcher of Turkey. The Monster.
Her Creator.
In her mind, Zlata took a deep breath; the dolls air pumps whined in accordance.
“I can only tell you what I told all the others; I remember returning to his headquarters, and then I was laying in a field hospital three days latter. Klepin was dead.” She paused, unsure if she should continue; she decided she could trust Berezin. “ I had no memory of what happened, but I had a feeling.”
“A feeling?”
“Yes,” Zlata said. “I felt I had wrapped my hands around his brain case. And squeezed.”
Zlata found Flynn propped up on the secretaries desk, phone in hand. He wasn’t really using it; he seemed more interested in the secretary. From the look on the poor girls face, the interest wasn’t mutual.
He looked up at Zlata, replacing the handset and passing the secretary a card. “For if you change your mind,” he said sleazily. The secretary regarded the card with disgust, dropping it in a draw.
In her mind, Zlata smirked. “Improving international relations?”
Flynn shrugged. “Done conspiring?”
That annoyed her. “Where's Thomas?”
“Down the hallway still; I think some cyborg's got him cornered again.”
I turned out it wasn’t a cyborg, but rather three rather young, rather pretty, female militia members that had Thomas cornered, all talking rather animately too him. Seeing Zlata walking down the corridor, Thomas had a look that was half relief, half terror.”
“Constable Thomas,” Zlata said, “If I could pull you away from this engagement, we have work to do!”
The three girls snapped to attention; Thomas quickly fell in behind . The girls all waved, calling out farewells in russian.
Flynn looked annoyed. “Three! Three!”
“I-I couldn't help it!” Thomas said. “One came up to ask me a question and the next thing you know...”
“Don't worry,” Zlata said. “He's just annoyed because he lucked out with the secretary.”
Thomas laughed. “Errol Flynn strikes again!”
In her mind, Zlata raised an eyebrow. Errol Flynn?”
Before she could ask, Flynn spoke. “So, what did the General want to Talk about, if I may ask?”
“Of course,” Zlata replied. “He wanted to update me on events in Yamanatau and run some new information past me before he passed it on to DFAR.”
“Oh? Anything juicy?”
Zlata felt Flynn would just be suspicious if she didn't tell him. “Yes; the KGB has activated a new agent provoactur. Apparently, they call him Ivan the Terrible.”
Flynn looked serious for a moment, then broke out in laughter. “Ivan the Terrible? What a stupid name!”
“If you say so.” he felt Flynn wasn’t taking it seriously.
“Anything else?”
“Nothing important,” she replied; She didn't feel she had to talk about Klepin.
“Just remembering old times.”