From Behind An Iron Curtain

[clrkaitken]

Prologue

Moscow, Russia

Vladimir Ushakov weaved his way through the traffic, the siren wailing through the still night air.

As he continued to drive, the radio crackled.

“Vladi, you need to hurry. We can’t hold off any longer.”

Vladimir flicked his cigarette out the window as he careened around the corner, snatching the radio from his holder.

“I’m three clicks out. What is the situation, Sergei?”

On the other end of the radio, Sergei Kuzmin, lieutenant of the Moscow Police, and his team were in position, situated outside the compound of Aleksandr Zakharov. All the teams were already in position, awaiting the order of Sergeant Ushakov to carry out the raid that would once and for all bring this sordid tale to a close.

“We’ve secured a perimeter around the Zakharov compound. Mister Ilin’s intelligence has been correct thus far, and we have gained control over the key access points of the compound. Nobody is getting in or out unless we say so. But there are complications.”

Vladimir weaved his way past the car that had partway entered the intersection, blaring the horn and shouting at the startled motorist. He turned his attention back to the radio.

“What sort of complications?”

“We’ve managed to make visual confirmation that Andrei Zakharov is in the compound. The Aksenov brothers, too, as well as numerous low-level Zakharov affiliates. But we have yet to confirm that Aleksandr Zakharov is present.”

From the back seat of the patrol car, Konstantin Suvorov leaned forward with great interest. He had been the focal point of a key endeavor of Aleksandr Zakharov, and had suffered through tremendous hardships in the past few years by his hands. He desperately wished to put this ordeal behind him, and get on with his life. Sergeant Ushakov had promised him that that would happen once this raid was successfully carried out.

Vladimir continued to maneuver through the streets, one hand on the wheel, the other on the radio, barking orders to his second-in-command.

“Keep looking. Ilin has too much to lose to have given us faulty information. Everything he has told us so far has been correct, and he assured us that Aleksandr Zakharov would be here tonight. He’s somewhere in there. We’re almost there. Tell your men to hold their position, and be ready to breach the compound on my arrival.”

“We? Who else is with you?”

“Suvorov. He arrived as I left the station.”

Lieutenant Kuzmin swore on the other end of the radio.

“Sarge, you can’t bring him here.”

“Sergei, it couldn’t be helped. We’ll keep him safe.”

“Vladimir, you don’t understand. He cannot be here. They have her.”

Konstantin’s ears perked up at that statement. He furrowed his brow, and leaned forward to listen to the radio, as the Zakharov compound came into sight.

“What do you mean, Sergei? Who?”

“Ilin just sent us word from inside. I don’t know how, but they found her. Sarge, they have Miss Dmitriev.”

Konstantin’s shoulders fell, and he slumped back into the seat. Vladimir screeched the cab to a stop, and turned back to face him.

“Mister Suvorov, do not worry. We will bring this bastard down, and we will get Miss Dmitriev out safely. For your own safety, I advise you to stay inside the car.”

He exited the car, continuing to bark orders into his radio.

“Sergei, I’m here. Ensure Miss Dmitriev is not in a vulnerable position, and then give the order. We’re going in.”

Vladimir ran off around the other side of the building, as Konstantin buried his head in his hands. He felt the weight of the responsibility for having brought her into this dangerous situation hang heavy on his conscience. He struggled to fight back tears, and quietly, he whispered her name to himself.

"… Marina.”

[max1994]

good start keep it up

[iamavillan10]

Very good start.

[clrkaitken]

Volume One: For The People

Chapter One: Six Years Ago

Plovdiv, Bulgaria

Piotr Grigorenko had never run this fast in his life.

At fifty-two years of age, every single muscle in his body ached as he continued to sprint through the streets of Plovdiv.

It was late, the moon intermittently providing a glimmering of light as it peeked in and out from behind the clouds. The streets were lit, but remained dark enough that Piotr could not see more than a couple of yards in front of him.

But he had spent his entire life in this city, and knew the roads like the back of his hand. He hoped his extensive knowledge of the city would provide him a small advantage.

Behind him, the two men continued to give chase.

Considerably younger, the two men had begun making up ground since Piotr had fled from their watch. The chase was starting to wear on them, their breaths becoming more laboured, gasping for more and more oxygen with each breath.

Piotr wasn’t faring much better, and he would have to find sanctuary soon, or he would surely be caught.

Suddenly, he darted to the left down a narrow, darkened alley. The alley was a shortcut between the street he had been on and the one north of it, but was pitch black and provided numerous chances for Piotr to escape.

For a second, he ducked into the doorstop, peering back to see if his deception had worked. He saw the silhouette of his two pursuers pass by the alley, before he heard one of them break the still silence of the night by uttering a curse loudly.

This was his chance.

The momentary slip had allowed Piotr the opportunity to catch his breath. As the two would-be captors doubled back to where they had lost him, Piotr sprinted down the alley onto the other street. Safety was only a short distance away.

He burst from the alley and crossed the street.

He glanced to his left just in time to see the headlights of the car bearing down on him

*

[clrkaitken]

Moscow

Aleksandr Zakharov sat in his study, transfixed by the scene on his television.

The Russia national football team had just begun an important friendly exhibition, and Zakharov sat silently watching the match unfold. His focus was barely broken by the knock on his door, followed by the sound of the heels clicking across the hardwood floors.

She was the only person who had the authority to interrupt Aleksandr while watching the game on this night.

She quietly sat down in the chair next to him, accepting the cigarette he offered in his hand.

“Is it done?” he asked her, never taking his eyes of the television.

The woman lit her cigarette, handing the large manila folder she had been carrying to Aleksandr.

“Yes. I’ve received word from Bulgaria. The takeover has been finalized. Although I’m afraid it has been a little more hostile than we would have preferred.”

Aleksandr curled the corner of his mouth into a small smirk.

“The cost of doing business” he remarked. “And what about the next step? Have we found someone willing to do this for us?”

“Actually, that’s why I am here. I’ve thought perhaps we should alter out strategy.”

Aleksandr let out a small sigh of disgust, as a Russian free kick sailed harmlessly past the crossbar. He shifted in his seat and turned to face her.

“Go on.”

“We’ve been trying to find somebody with a certain level of experience in this field. But maybe that’s the wrong approach. Anyone with experience in the current system is going to be ingrained in the normal way of doing things. But, if we bring in somebody with the potential to succeed, but with limited exposure to the system as it stands, it should be much easier to shape him to see our way of thinking. Besides, somebody with no experience and the ambition to succeed may be more inclined to progress through our tests of his skill.”

“Interesting. Did you have anyone in mind?”

The woman turned and pulled a small envelope from her purse, and handed it to Aleksandr. The envelope contained a small piece of paper with eight names written on it. Aleksandr perused the list, and his eyes perked at the sight of a name partway down the list.

“Him. I know who he is. He will be perfect for our task. I want you and Stanislav to locate him and make him an offer.”

The woman stood, flattening the wrinkle in her skirt, and put out her cigarette in the ashtray on the table.

“But of course, Mister Zakharov. I will call Mister Ilin immediately.”

She turned to leave, and Aleksandr turned his attention back to the television.

“Katarina?” he called out.

Katarina stopped as she made her way to the door, turning to face her boss.

“Yes, Aleksandr?”

“Tell him his father would be proud of him for doing this.”

Katarina nodded silently, and continued to leave the room, as Aleksandr returned his attention to the television. She closed the door behind her, as he began to applaud Russia’s first goal of the match

*

[BobBev]

Very intruiging start - looking forward to see how this pans out.

[gaz_man]

You've definitely grabbed the attention with that opening. Will be interesting to see where you can go with this.

[clrkaitken]

Thanks for the support. An unexpected break there, due to a weekend away from the laptop. But we're back at it, and I'll be trying to keep to a somewhat regular posting schedule.

*

Plovdiv

Piotr Grigorenko lay prone on the street.

His leg was badly broken, and it was causing him immense pain. He sharply gasped for air, thanks to his physical exertion and the likely broken ribs he had suffered. Blood trickled from the gash on his forehead.

All he could hear over the sound of his own groans of pain, was the sound of footsteps fast approaching from the alley, and the engine of the car that had hit him suddenly turning off.

The door to the car opened, and the driver stepped out. The night sky made it difficult for Piotr to see him, but as he stepped into the light, a look of rage came across his face.

He spat in the direction of the man. “You sonofabitch!”, he screamed, struggling to try and place more distance between himself and his assailant.

The two men arrived from the alley, struggling to catch their breath. The man silently glared at them, before turning his attention back to Piotr.

“Mister Grigorenko, we gave you every chance to do what was right here. We explained our cause, and we thought you would have been excited to be a part of it. I am sorry that it has come to this, but you have left us no choice. We have taken control of your company, and your services are no longer required.”

Piotr’s face went red with rage. He was in excruciating pain, but he didn’t care. This man had just taken everything away from him, and all he wanted to do was tear this man limb from limb.

“You mark my words, Andrei. You and your brother are deluded if you think this ridiculous plan of yours will succeed. It’s insanity. You’re going to fail, and you’re going to rot in Siberia, you little bastard!”

Andrei Zakharov smirked, and stepped towards Piotr as he struggled to regain his footing. He stepped to the side of the wild flailing punch Piotr had thrown at him, and placed his boot on the broken leg and began to apply pressure. Piotr howled in pain and fell back to the ground, tears of pain trickling down his face. Andrei pulled the gun from his side, and pointed it at him as his body trembled in pain and fear.

“You silly man. You can’t even begin to fathom what we are going to accomplish. It’s a shame you won’t be around to see it.”

He pulled the hammer back on the gun, and pointed it at Piotr’s chest.

“For the people, Piotr.”

*

[TomHAVFC]

Awesome start here. I'll be coming back to this with keen interest.

[clrkaitken]

Tom, great to have you aboard. I only hope I can live up to your kind words.

*

Chapter Two – The Interview

Kostroma, Russia

Konstantin Suvorov sat and waited nervously.

Across the room, the receptionist continued to work away, the only sound in the small waiting room the soft clicking of the keyboard as she typed. Konstantin let out a small nervous cough, momentarily breaking her concentration. She looked up from her work, but for a second, then continued to look down.

Konstantin shifted in his seat. He had only been waiting for twenty minutes, but it had seemed to be an interminably long period of time.

The receptionist’s phone rang, breaking the silence.

She quickly picked up the receiver, and after a small dialogue with the person at the other end, she looked up from her work at Konstantin.

“Mister Suvorov? Mister Morozov will see you now.”

Konstantin rose from his seat, thanking the woman. He adjusted his suit jacket, and walked towards the door of Yuriy Morozov, Chairman of Spartak Kostroma Football Club.

The office was small, and unassuming, as you might expect from the headquarters of a team mired in the third division of the Russian football ladder. Yuriy Morozov ran a tight ship, and his office was immaculate, highlighted by the large window overlooking the pitch, and the team’s logo prominently displayed on the rug in front of his desk.

Yuriy met Konstantin in the middle of the room, greeting him with a firm handshake.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Konstantin. Please sit. Would you care for a drink?”

Konstantin took a seat in the chair adjacent to his desk.

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

As Yuriy returned to his seat, Konstantin felt the nervous pangs in his stomach return. He’d interviewed for the vacant position as the new manager of Spartak Kostroma a few weeks earlier, and while he had felt he had performed admirably, he had not heard back until yesterday, when the chairman had asked him to come back and meet with him.

“I’ll be brief, Konstantin. I was very impressed by you during our discussion a few weeks back. I think that you have a real future in this business, and the Board and I had a very difficult time making this decision.”

“But I’m afraid we will not be offering you the position of manager at our club. I’m very sorry, Konstantin.”

Konstantin’s shoulders fell as he slumped into the back of his chair. It had been his dream for some time to take a management role, and after numerous interviews, this was the closest he had ever come to securing the position.

”Don’t get too downhearted, young man,” the chairman continued. “You’ve made quite an impression on the Board. But they were concerned by your lack of experience. We have had positive results the past few years, and are striving to push back into the First Division. The Board were concerned your inexperience would make this a difficult proposition.”

Yuriy leaned forward, leaning his elbows on his desk, as he spoke in a more private voice.

“Look, Yuriy. I knew your father. He was a great man, and did many wonderful things for the labour unions. He was a true man of the people. If it were up to me, your potential and the Suvorov name would have been enough to ensure you were hired for this position. But things are different now. Names like Spartak and Dinamo don’t carry the same allegiances they once did; they’re just another name. It’s a different world now, and I have a responsibility to answer to the Board. And the Board felt it wasn’t yet your time.”

Yuriy rose, and met Konstantin on the other side of the desk. He gave him a firm pat on the shoulder, and walked him to the door.

“Keep your chin up, young man. One day, I know I’ll regret the decision we made today. Your time will come.”

*

[max1994]

great Start Keep it up.

[clrkaitken]

Konsantin Suvorov walked out of the offices of Spartak Kostroma Football Club, dispirited and dejected.

He’d just been passed over for the position of manager of Spartak, once again turned aside because he was simply too inexperienced to take such a position.

At 32, there was still plenty of time to set out on this career path. But interview after interview had begun to wear him down, and the Russian football season was just about to begin. For a prospective manager, this was the lean season. Open positions were few and far between.

Konstantin fought the urge to replay the interview in his mind. He would have driven himself mad trying to figure out how he could have answered the questions differently, to have changed the perception of the Board, and to have convinced them to give him the opportunity to prove himself.

He decided it was best to find the nearest bar, and have a solitary drink instead.

As he rounded the corner, he continued to be lost in his thoughts. He barely avoided running smack into the woman walking the other way. The two bumped shoulders, and Konstantin immediately turned to apologize.

The woman apologized in turn, and continued on her way, her long brunette hair flowing to the side. The only sound the clicking of her heels on the concrete sidewalk.

Konstantin turned back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. As he did, he felt the small business card that was now in his coat.

He pulled the card from his pocket, pausing on the street to examine it. The card was largely blank, except for a small message scribbled in the corner.

“Petrov Hotel, 15:30.”

Konstantin looked back in the direction the woman had been walking. There was no sign of her. Puzzled, he turned the card over to see if there was any other identification. The other side was also largely blank, except for the name displayed in bold-face in the centre of the card.

Katarina Savan

*

[clrkaitken]

The hotel bar was fairly empty, an elderly gentleman drinking alone at the end of the bar the only other patron at this time. Konstantin entered the bar and saw the woman who had placed the card in his pocket at the opposite end of the bar. Her long brunette hair hung loosely past her shoulders. A single cigarette burned in the ashtray on the bar in front of her, and she nonchalantly stirred the drink placed in front of her.

Konstantin had no idea who she was. He had never seen her before in his life, until this afternoon. But she clearly knew who she was, as she turned to look behind her to see him approaching. She held a finger up to the bartender, as Konstantin leaned on the bar next to her.

“I hope you don’t make your way as a pickpocket. You’re supposed to take something from me, not the other way around.”

She smiled, and took a sip from her drink.

“Believe me, Konstantin. I have no interest in taking from you. Quite the opposite. I’m here to make you an offer.”

“How do you know my name? And for that matter, who are you?”

She turned to face him, offering her hand.

“Please excuse my forwardness. My name is Katarina Savan. I am a representative of an organization that has just taken control of a majority interest in a small football club. We know who you are because we have scouted you. We wish to offer you a position as manager.”

Konstantin was dumbfounded. Here he had spent the better part of two years trying to procure such a job, and now this woman had seemingly dropped from the sky, offering his dream job.

“Why me?

“Mister Suvorov, we believe that you possess the proper mix of ambition and knowledge to eventually become one of the most iconic people in the history of Soviet football. We want to offer you the chance to hone those skills, at the same time, leading our club to success.”

“Russia is awakening as a football giant, Konstantin. The oligarchs have made countless investments in the improvement in the quality of football being played in our country. But they have forgotten their history. The power of Russian football has always laid in the hands of the sports societies, like CSKA and Dinamo. We represent the interests of the society whose power will never subside. Oligarchs have built their empires off of the oil reserves. We are proud supporters of the Spartak society, and the people are a never-ending reserve of great power.”

Konstantin stood at the bar; a puzzled expression came across his face.

“I don’t understand. You want me to manage at Spartak Moscow or something?”

“Well, not exactly. Konstantin, we believe you have tremendous potential, and with some hands-on experience, you would succeed at Spartak where others have failed. But I think even you would agree you are in no position to step in to such a prestigious club with no previous experience. We want to offer you a chance to take a managerial position that will allow you to hone your craft.”

“Well, with what club?”

“The club is called Spartak-S ’94. It is based in Plovdiv, Bulgaria.”

*

[minisav]

Looking forward to more of this as well

I'm looking to do a story based on a challenge so I'll be keeping tabs on this