Two years ago
"Young man!" a girl called out from a car parked at the university entrance.
I looked back.
A very pretty face. High breasts. A beautiful, chiseled figure. Strict, but immediately obvious, some kind of designer clothes, only emphasizing her attractiveness. An expensive foreign car. If I knew anything about them, I probably would have admired it even more, but as it was, I simply glanced at the car.
"Clearly not my cup of tea," I realized, turning away to continue walking. Girls like that, in cars like that, would only be in a bad movie if I were interested in a guy like me. Sure, I'm not ugly, but I'm not exactly handsome either. My face is, as they say, unremarkable, nothing special, nothing to even notice. My straw-colored, always-tousled hair. It's impossible to comb, no matter how hard I try, unless I keep it very short, but I don't like that. Plus, there are faded jeans, an old dark jacket, a T-shirt that's also not particularly new, but not worn out, and regular cheap sneakers. All these clothes were bought secondhand for a pretty reasonable price. And where should an orphaned student, recently released from an orphanage, who for some reason wasn't even assigned to a dorm, dress?
"I'll figure it out," I frowned, remembering the commandant's sly eyes. It wasn't clear yet where to dig, but she didn't even know I'd dig deeper.
And as a result, I'm forced to spend all the money I earned from various odd jobs and part-time jobs on paying for a small room in the same dorm where they hadn't given me a practically identical room before, and on food.
So, without much thought, I moved on. There was one job that was offered to me. I didn't have time to look at various beauties right now.
- Young man, just wait!
Now the heavens were definitely about to open up, or whatever happens in these situations. I realized they were talking to me, and this beauty in her high heels was hurrying toward me.
"Are you talking to me?" I looked at her in surprise.
The girl only nodded in response.
To slow her down, I walked toward her myself. The last thing I needed was for her to break her legs on those stilts, and besides, she was a pleasure to look at. Forgive me, but I have a taste for aesthetics, and I enjoy admiring beauty. Besides, I wondered what she could possibly want from me. I hadn't seen her in our department, so there was no way we could have crossed paths at the university.
"Is this really that bad movie I was thinking about?" I chuckled to myself, looking at the girl.
But it was this comparison that made me wary.
Up close, the girl turned out to be even more attractive.
"Good afternoon," she greeted. "I'm here on Viktor Petrovich's recommendation."
"Our mathematician," I thought. "I shouldn't have been in the spotlight anywhere, so why all the interest? Especially from such a beauty?"
I'm solidly in the middle of the pack, maybe even a little lower. It's unclear.
"Yes, I'm listening to you," I looked at her.
The girl looked around.
"Isn't there anywhere around here where we could talk?" She waved her hand around herself. "Or, if you prefer, we can talk in the car," and pointed to her car.
It's strange. We think about it. The car is empty. The only people paying attention to us are my classmates, both boys and girls, which should be a little flattering, but it's not, I don't like it, and a couple of people on the other side of the street. One is openly staring at a girl and periodically glances in my direction with envious eyes. But the other one, for some reason, is keeping an eye on me specifically. This is even stranger.
"Who are you anyway?" I ask her.
- Oh, sorry, I forgot. My name is Lera. And yours is Stepan, am I right?
"Yes, nice to meet you." And then something occurred to me, and I'd like to test my conclusions. "You know, Lera, if you don't mind... There's a nice café not far from here, on the student campus." I waved in the direction of the turn and added, "It's not my particularly discerning taste, of course. But the girls in our group like the ice cream there. I'd be happy to treat you." And I glanced at the other two out of the corner of my eye.
As I thought, the one who controlled me stayed, and the second one moved in the direction of the cafe.
"I don't even know," Lera was confused, but after thinking for a bit, she said cheerfully: "Although, actually, I agree, I haven't been on a date in ages!"
"Hm," I looked at her, "are we talking about the same girl now?"
The question stumped her. The last sentence seemed unnecessary. Her last sentence.
"Well…" she drawled, "it just happened that way."
"I understand," I nodded seriously, and noticing that both of our detectives had now moved away from us, quite a distance at that, I suggested, "But if you don't want to go, we can drive over. I'm not sure your shoes are comfortable for walking." I nodded toward her shoes.
"Did you notice?" she asked, surprised.
"It's hard not to notice," I grinned, but didn't explain why.
I certainly wasn't talking about her sky-high heels, but about something a little higher and more attractive, at least for me.
She glanced involuntarily in the direction where the two spies should be. So, I've found out everything I need to know.
"So, are we driving or walking?" I asked.
"It's probably better to go by car," the girl answered, not very confidently.
And as soon as she said this, both guys stopped at once. And began watching us again.
"She has a microphone on her." There was no doubt about it now.
And who, I wonder, is this? Petrovich warned me that sooner or later they'd get to me, but he didn't know who would be first, so he suggested checking everyone. However, he hadn't worked in his office for a long time and so it's unlikely he'd be able to distinguish between his own and others. They had received too many different trainings and worked in too many different conditions. But he gave me a good grounding. And he hammered it into me so hard that I couldn't get it out, no matter how hard I tried.
So, if they contacted me through a mathematician, there's a chance it's our organs, not theirs. That guy is also an old-school type, I immediately drew him (old-school is visible from afar) and therefore tried to keep a low profile, but apparently I still screwed up somewhere.
I looked at Lera, who seemed lost in thought. Should I keep playing or talk and not torment them? Now I was truly interested in what they wanted.
"Lera. Don't worry. Let's talk in the car, and I'll treat you to ice cream another time, if you want it."
"I agree," she nodded quickly.
And we headed to her car. She got behind the wheel, and I sat next to her.
"I'm listening to you," I said.
Lera looked at me and suddenly asked:
- How long ago did you figure it out?
I looked at her. Should I answer or not? If I did, would I tell the whole truth? I nodded toward the two men who were now about two hundred meters away from us:
– These gentlemen can hear our conversation too well, being there.
- So the cafe was just a test?
Did I hear some disappointment in her voice?
"Not really," I smiled. "The ice cream there really is delicious, and I was hoping you'd like it."
"Then I don't mind," Lera said sharply and, starting the car, drove out onto the road.
In a couple of minutes we were there.
"Turn away, please," she asked.
I turned my head slightly, but my peripheral vision is very well developed, so I clearly saw Lera remove a special bra with a hidden listening system built into it. Petrovich told me about something similar. It's a more reliable system than various movie tricks with microphones in the ear and the like. In addition to the microphone itself, it has at least a modulator built in, which dampens its signal and prevents it from being detected by other devices. But because of this, it takes up a bit more space. The only reliable option, as far as I can tell, is to have microphones implanted in teeth or in the skull bones, which then picks up the signal directly from the eardrum. But this requires a certain amount of preparation and time. And for a simple conversation, it's unlikely that anyone would bother so much. However, why not use older, but no less reliable methods?
"I'm ready," she said after a couple of minutes.
Turning around, I saw that Lera was now not even wearing a jacket; she was left in a rather thick blouse.
Noticing my involuntary glance at the back seat, the girl explained:
- It will be easier for me this way.
Oddly enough, it was a bit easier for me too.
"Shall we go?" she asked.
"Of course," I agreed, and we went outside.
She took a comfortable corner table in the back of the café, while I went for ice cream. I had to go back and ask her what she preferred, though. There were several types. Oddly enough, she ordered a regular ice cream with blueberry jam. I made do with what I had left of my daily expenses: a cup of green tea.
Lera was indeed sitting there, enjoying the peace and quiet. She devoured a scoop of ice cream with relish and looked sadly at the empty bowl. Then she turned her gaze to me. Well, I'll have to reach into the emergency supplies. If you've asked a girl out on a "date," even if it's unplanned and a bit chaotic, then be kind enough to at least live up to this meager request. Petrovich taught me that, too. He, our strange guard, had a unique perspective on life. So I got up and went to order her another scoop.
"So what brings you to me?" I asked Lera when I realized she didn't want any more of this snowy treat. Especially since her friends were visible outside the window.
But she said something slightly different in response, or rather asked:
– Why didn't you order some ice cream for yourself?
To answer "I don't like it" would have been untrue, and I didn't really want to complain, so I said something neutral:
- Another time.
I don't know what the girl heard in my answer, but for some reason she nodded to something of her own. Then she switched to business:
"Viktor Petrovich recommended you as a unique specialist in numerical analysis. He says you can detect consistency in a completely unstructured group of data."
"And when, I wonder, did he notice?" I muttered.
The girl was silent for a moment, but then she finally told the story:
"He's been keeping an eye on you for a while now, over six months now. Ever since you introduced his subject. And from his observations, you're constantly making mistakes and underestimating your own grades, just to get the necessary passing score on tests. We've even designed a few tests specifically for you to test his theory."
Hmm, I knew there was something wrong with those four tests I'd taken over the last two weeks. But I couldn't quite grasp the rationale behind their content. I thought our mathematician was testing out some new program on us. But it turns out they were booby trap tests. And I, like a complete idiot, fell for them. It turns out Petrovich's lectures and slaps weren't enough for me to fall for them so ineptly. He knew they weren't easy!
- And who are you?
"But I can only tell you this if you agree to cooperate with us," the girl replied.
I expected something like this, only on a completely different level, but here they were interested in my somewhat different abilities. Apparently, they don't know about my second nature yet. Good. But in the field the girl mentioned, I'm quite ready to work. I've always liked mathematics. And I didn't see anything wrong with it.
"And what do you want me to do?" I repeated the same question I'd asked the girl for the umpteenth time.
"We need a computer," Lera answered simply.
This definition didn't make sense to me. Realizing this, she explained:
– A person who is capable of identifying any pattern from an unstructured data set in the shortest possible time, if this is, of course, possible in principle.
"What a strange job. Who would need it?"
"For us," the girl answered calmly and pointed to the window.
Just then, a car with the Russian coat of arms on the side drove by. I watched it go and then glanced at the attractive spy. Apparently, movies don't lie and they recruit exactly that kind of person.
- And what is your rank?
"Major," the girl answered just as calmly.
I almost choked.
- How old are you?
For some reason, this is what bothered me most at the moment. Wasn't she joking about being a hundred years old? But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't see a single wrinkle on her face. There's no way she could be in her thirties or even forties, absolutely not.
Lera grinned.
"It's tactless to ask a girl such a question." But, looking at me, she said: "I'm only a couple of years older than you."
"How so?" I looked at her in surprise.
"Everyone has their own secrets," she replied.
And I really liked the dimples on her cheeks when she smiled.
That's probably how recruitment works. I don't know. Petrovich never told me about it. But that's how I ended up as a staff member at a secret institute located in the middle of a picturesque forest, not even on any map.
Two months ago
"Lera," I turned to my supervisor, who, by a lucky chance, had also become my girlfriend and was now lying next to me in bed, "what was that latest data? It seemed oddly similar to what I was processing a couple of days ago. There are just a few additional factors that were previously unknown."
I was hired into the department for creating mathematical situational models. My colleagues and I were tasked with translating real life into numbers and mathematical formulas, where my abilities were highly valued. Not many people could identify patterns and then describe them numerically. And only a handful could do it faster than even various supercomputers.
But lately, I've been plagued again by some very persistent and ominous premonitions. There's so much that's unclear. A sudden change in management. A change in supervisory personnel. New guards on duty. A tightening of the security regime. They've even blocked access to the World Wide Web, although previously they'd managed with a filter that only allowed in external data. A couple of newspaper articles were particularly unsettling.
I'd gotten pretty good at comparing external facts with what I was doing myself. And too many of my own developments were starting to show through in what I was seeing. I needed information. And I could only get it from one person.
I didn't want to use her in that capacity, of course, but I simply had no other sources of information right now. So, running my hand down her back, I clarified:
– Or did I make some mistake in the forecast?
"No," the girl shook her head, looking out the window of our apartment.
Or rather, it was a service apartment; they gave it to me. Lera moved in a little later.
The girl was silent for a moment, and then quietly answered:
– It looks like we made a mistake when we started working according to this scheme.
"But I didn't recommend it for development," I was surprised.
My opinions and predictions, especially such pessimistic ones, were usually heeded. And then, suddenly, such a bummer! The probability of a successful outcome was rapidly approaching zero. And they went ahead with it anyway? This doesn't bode well.
"Yes, I know," she said quietly, then turned abruptly to me. "Styopa, we need to talk." She looked me straight in the eyes. "Would you like to go for a walk?"
Something in her voice made me tense.
"I was about to suggest it myself," I replied, smiling, "especially since the weather is so beautiful. And besides, it's a day off. It's pure joy. And no one needs to run anywhere. So let's go. Let's take a walk in the park."
We got out of bed. I liked admiring the way the girl dressed. Especially in the mornings. I don't know, maybe it was a quirk, but it was at moments like these that I somehow found her especially beautiful and feminine. Although she herself didn't particularly like it when I "spyed" on her, as she called it. But actually, she liked it when I looked at her, she just didn't want it to be in the morning. I could admire this naked goddess anytime, and even clothed, she evoked exactly the same feelings in me.
But now Lera was clearly in a hurry, because she got ready in literally a matter of minutes.
"That's it, I'm ready," she said.
The girl stood by the exit, wearing a tight-fitting suit and a light sports jacket—the same outfit she wore every morning for her run. She sometimes tried to coax me into this, in her opinion, healthy activity. I was dressed as usual: jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweater. We left the small four-apartment building where we'd lived for the past year.
"Let's go there," Lera pointed to a small path.
"With you, I'll go to the ends of the earth," I smiled.
The girl looked at me sadly in response.
As I approached a small clearing in the forest, I noticed three guards monitoring our movements. Two more were watching us from the dense undergrowth slightly to the right of where the path began.
"This is something new," I thought, "I've never seen such a tight cap before."
And this convinced me even more that I wasn't mistaken and that something bad was coming. And Lera seemed a bit too tense. I sensed it yesterday when she returned home. I was hoping it would pass by morning, but instead, it only got worse.
"I'm being transferred," she said suddenly, when we'd already walked a fair distance. She didn't stop, though, and tried to speak only in noisy areas, not while walking. We paused briefly at a small artificial waterfall.
"We won't be able to see each other?" I asked, much more seriously than I had spoken before.
"Even more. And they've decided to move you to another place," she replied sadly. After a brief silence, she admitted, "At first you were just a job, but then I felt good with you."
Somehow, I immediately had doubts about her interest in me, but now at least I understand why. They were trying to tie me down. That's basically what I thought. And to be honest, I didn't mind. I've never met a girl like Lera.
"But my wishes have little to do with it," she continued, "and even less so with yours."
I particularly didn't like that last sentence. And she looked at me with a sad, confused expression. I'd never noticed that about her before.
"As I understand it, that's not all?" I asked.
"Yes," the girl nodded. "Your entire group is being transferred to the control of another agency, and they... They're like wolfhounds... You'll be working under constant pressure. When your father and I assembled your group, we didn't want this fate for you. But now there's no one to cover for you."
And for the first time I saw a girl burst into tears, tears running down her cheeks.
"I was told yesterday that my father had died." She looked me straight in the eyes. "He drove while extremely intoxicated. Do you understand? A man who had never had a drink in his entire life got behind the wheel in such a state!"
She was crying quietly, her shoulders shaking. And I hugged her. Now her strange behavior since last night made sense. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out: her father was eliminated, and not very cleanly. What a botch of a cover story and version!
"Is your transfer related to this?" I asked quietly.
"Most likely, yes," she answered.
"Are you in any danger?" That was what interested me most right now.
"No," she replied. "But your team has caught the eye of those from whom my father always tried to protect you."
– Were the increased security measures at the base somehow connected with these events?
The girl looked at me in surprise:
"Yes, there have been several attempts to kidnap our leading specialists or put pressure on their families, who remain outside the perimeter." She paused. "It seems that information about you and your work was leaked to someone else. I'm quite certain that several of your projects weren't carried out by us."
"Yes, I know," I nodded: I remembered the articles in the newspaper.
This surprised her no less.
"Dad wasn't wrong about you," she admitted through tears. "Without you, this project, while interesting, isn't as useful."
"I don't know," I shrugged, "but the leak is clearly among those with access to the information. And as far as I understand, there aren't many of those."
I looked towards the forest. There was some kind of ominous movement there.
"And one more thing..." The girl fell silent and turned around at the sound, but it seemed there was no one there. "If you find out something happened to me, try to run away. I know, no matter how much of a slob you pretend to be, you're really something else. I never mentioned that in any of my reports." And she looked me in the eye again.
It's difficult, or rather, practically impossible, to hide something from the girl you live and sleep with.
"Thank you," I said quietly, continuing to monitor the two observers who were slowly creeping toward us from the undergrowth. "Are you aware that we're being watched?" I asked Lera even more quietly.
– There should only be two guards.
"There are a few more of them. Let's get out of here." I grabbed the girl's arm and headed back with her. I didn't want to cross paths with those who were in the forest. But...
"It's too late," I realized.
The beaters cut us off from the town side as well.
"We're in trouble. Where's the nearest area monitored by security cameras?"
"There," Lera quickly got her bearings.
"It doesn't fit," I muttered.
That's exactly the direction they blocked off. That means they knew about the perimeter control system.
– Contact the facility's head of security quickly.
Lera pulled out her phone.
"The connection has been cut off," she said, looking at the screen.
That's bad, it means the attackers weren't afraid to show their faces. Strange. It turns out they were acting on their own. And if I'm right, that's even worse.
"Where is your car?" I asked the girl.
- In the garage.
If the people who want to intercept us aren't idiots, then they've blocked that direction too, and if I don't see anyone in that direction now, that doesn't mean there's no one there.
"That won't work," I answer.
– I have the keys to the official car, but it's at the main entrance.
- Let's go there.
"If they take control of this area," I assess the situation, "it will be the last thing they do; it's too unprofitable. There are many witnesses, and there are security cameras everywhere."
For us, this is one of the best options.
I pulled Lera into the forest, and we rolled into a ravine.
"Now, beauty, show me how fast you run. There's practically no time."
I saw that the girl didn't understand everything, but she wasn't asking questions yet.
We jumped up and ran along the bottom of the ravine, which ran exactly in the direction we needed. But before we reached its edge, I glanced briefly in the direction of the town and realized our situation was much worse.
- Who, you say, should have been entrusted with us?
"I don't know," Lera answered, "but these are some people from the capital."
That's what I thought. They were too brazen and overconfident. And as a result, they were already operating in the institute, disregarding the locals, escorting scientists out. But they haven't closed off the parking lot yet. Although that should have been the first thing they did.
Nodding toward the girl's company car, I trotted to the corner of the building and hid in a small dead end. I needed to catch anyone who saw her starting the car. And there would definitely be some.
And then they appeared. Three bruisers in camouflage. One waved his hand at the other two in the direction of the parked cars and then walked toward the corner where I was hiding. He did it skillfully, cutting me off from Lera. So these unknown individuals were monitoring the CCTV system.
"Hey, you, mathematician, or whoever you are. I know you're hiding here! Get out!" He walked to the edge of the building, pointing his gun at him.
I walked out slowly. Firstly, it was a dead end, with no quick escape, and secondly, I wanted to talk. I needed any information I could get.
"Well, that's good," the masked stranger said contentedly, then glanced at his sleeve clipboard and reported to someone, "Target detected. Have them transfer the money." He then began to level his weapon.
It's clear we won't be able to talk. And he's already said enough.
Step, step away, dodge. Crouch.
My ability is to see not only sequences and sequences, but also the end result. No one knew this except Petrovich. I don't need to study or memorize sequences; I always know what consequences any given action will have and what I'll get as a result.
A blow. The body falls down. Raise the weapon. Not a bad pistol. I haven't worked with one like this. But it doesn't matter; I don't care what kind of weapon ends up in my hand. I am the weapon.
Grab a spare magazine. No time to rummage around. I grab only my wallet and ID, which I'll look at later. Everything in my pocket.
No need to roll. You can't shoot at other enemies. It will make noise.
I creep forward. I go as the old man taught me.
I see two people standing and looking at something at their feet.
For some reason my heart goes cold.
Two steps to the side. I don't care that I'm appearing in the field of view of one of the cameras. I need to see what lies before them.
Lera. And a neat little red hole in her head.
Why didn't I hear the shot?
I look at the weapon clutched in one of their hands. A pistol with a silencer. At this distance, the sound was unnoticeable. Now everything is clear.
* * *
Finally, I have enough data to get a coherent chain of events.
Nobody needs us. Our unit has already outlived its usefulness. After all, we immediately see through all the deliberately planned traps that, seemingly by chance, were destined to ruin this or that mission.
And recent events indicate that someone is using our models to carry out their plans. Someone who has dug in so high that they were able to eliminate an FSB general.
No one tried to kidnap our specialists or transfer them to another agency. It's just another hoax. We're being eliminated as unnecessary witnesses. Too much information has passed through our hands in the past. This means that none of our people will be allowed to leave. Someone has started a very serious game, and we're just pawns that are now getting in the way.
I slowly raise my weapon.
Boom. Boom. My hand twitched slightly. But I was prepared for that. There was no rumble. My gun also had a silencer.
I'm moving forward.
I don't know. Whether I loved Lera or not, I know for sure that I felt very good with her. That's why I had no regrets whatsoever about what I did. They started this war themselves.
"Forgive me, Petrovich, but I couldn't keep the promise I made to you," I thought, looking at the girl's lying body.
I squat down and close Lera's open blue eyes.
"Honey, I hope you'll be better off there than here."
I pick up the weapon dropped by the second fighter (or killer?). I tuck the pistol into my belt. I gather up all the clips I have. I check my pockets. I take all the cash; I'll need it. They both have IDs.
"Lieutenant of the Anti-Crisis Department," I read in the first one.
The positions and ranks on both IDs are identical. The facsimile belongs to the Federal Security Service.
I hear screams. Apparently, the people at the CCTV station finally reported what happened in the parking lot. I'm going to have a lot of guests now.
I retreat to the most convenient position. I take a few steps back and crouch behind the car, disappearing from the camera's field of view, which is clearly watching me. Moving along its blind spot, I reach the corner of the building where my first attacker lies. I stand around the corner.
Judging by the steps, there are seven people running.
I'm changing the magazine; the old one doesn't have four cartridges.
It's good that they'll immediately try to take control of my intended location. And it's off to the side. It's not an ideal trap, of course; I'll be slightly off to the side, but it's much better than a head-on fight.
I'll skip the first three and wait. I can't attack earlier.
The next ones go more carefully, but they also pass by my hiding place in a small niche in the wall.
The coordinator gives the command to encircle the target.
This can't be allowed to happen. Otherwise, they'll be in an advantageous position and won't be blocking each other's fire. So, they need to move forward.
A small half-step forward. Half of my body appeared from behind the ledge. I aim my weapon at my targets. There are no people here. Only enemies. Just as Petrovich taught me.
"I don't kill people, I kill enemies. They have no families, no mothers, no wives, no children. They are nothing. They are enemies."
Consciousness cuts off all unnecessary things. Only goals remain.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Another half step forward, as visibility is poor and the wall hides the rest.
Boom. Boom.
And one more step.
Boom. Boom.
Change the magazine. That's clearly not all. Listen. The ones from the forest should be arriving, and the observer in the building. That makes six or seven more. Plus the lead one's holed up somewhere.
There's no point in staying here, but it's also dangerous to venture beyond this small area. The cameras are still there.
So, what's behind the fence behind me?
Hmm. Interesting. You can walk along it almost to the forest.
I quickly jump over him.
I walk quietly. I've never explored this part of the park; there was no need.
There are cameras, but there are significantly fewer of them and you can easily slip between them without being spotted.
I approach a large pit. A familiar sweet smell. I peer inside. All my colleagues from my department are lying here now. So, I was right in my conclusions.
I'm moving on, I can't stop.
There's a rustling sound to my right. I drop to the ground.
There are two people walking. Both are wearing camouflage. They are dragging some kind of body.
I peer closer. Our director's secretary. A nice, smiling girl. Was there. They're clearing it out completely.
I fire two shots. I approach the bodies. I grab some more cash and some pistol magazines. Although they also have some variation of the AKM. But it won't be very convenient for me to run around with it. The good news is that they're all armed identically. The caliber of the weapons matches. So I have a couple more magazines. I also checked my personal belongings. I'll have to go very far. There's a place like this. Nothing holds me here anymore; the only person I cared about is gone.
I dissolve into the forest thicket. Everything is just as Petrovich taught me long ago. It's as if he foresaw this turn of events.
Office of the Head of the Anti-Crisis Department
A month and a half ago
"Who will tell me what happened at the Polyana facility?" the balding, overweight general, the head of the department, raged.
"Unknown," the major overseeing the operation reported. "Twelve soldiers were killed. There are several CCTV footages. But they don't indicate who disrupted the operation. The unknown individual was captured only a few times, and only from behind. There is circumstantial evidence pointing to a local mathematician and computer scientist. The body of his handler was found at the scene of the shootout, but the subject himself was nowhere to be found, either on the institute grounds or outside. Neither alive nor dead. The monitoring group's report indicates that he and the officer supervising him left his home and headed into a forested park area. But no one saw him again.
- Where is the dossier on this calculator?
"Here," the major handed the general a small folder.
Opening it, he saw the calm face of a seventeen-year-old boy, who was then recruited to work at the institute.
"Zhivuchiy Stepan Petrovich. His name, surname, and patronymic were given at Orphanage No. 1 in N-sk. The surname was given because the boy was found in January at six months old on the road leading to the city. There was extreme cold, and the boy practically froze to death, but somehow pulled through. That's why they gave him the surname Zhivuchiy. His parents are unknown. His age is estimated. His exact date of birth is unknown. Recorded as August 30, 1990. Not very sociable, but not withdrawn either. Calm. Judicious. Analytical mind. Recruited in his first year of university. Unique mathematical abilities. Accepted into the mathematical modeling group at the Polyana facility."
"Is that all?" the general looked at his subordinate.
"It's hard to dig up much more about a man with no past. There are a few photos from his orphanage and nothing else."
"But where did he get such skills? He must have received training somewhere, right? Or are you telling me, some smart guy could take on twelve trained fighters?"
"Calm down," came a voice from a chair by the wall, and a middle-aged man stood up. He approached the general's desk, looked at his fat face, and, wincing slightly, placed a copy of the personnel file he'd been looking through before him. "Look at this photo." He pulled up one of the photographs, showing a short boy and an elderly man. "Does this remind you of anyone?"
"General Purgatory?" the fat man looked at the man.
He chuckled.
- Who do you think is standing next to him?
The fat general's eyes clouded over.
"Get all the documents on him," he nodded at the photograph.
The general really didn't want to run into the successor or protégé of the former head of the special development department. He understood perfectly well what this could mean for him.
And then his gaze stopped.
"I know where this one will go…" he pointed at the boy.
Three years ago. A month before Petrovich's death.
"Styopka, remember," the old man said to me, "I know that sooner or later someone will figure out who you really are. And then you're screwed. They'll try to either subjugate you or get rid of you. Believe me. People like you don't live on their own."
"And what are you suggesting?" I chuckled. "Drown myself right away?"
"No, of course not," the grandfather replied, "but you have to be prepared for it. And then, believe the old fox, you won't be able to escape so easily. I don't know how they operate now," he waved his hand vaguely to the side, "but before, you could only hide in a grave. It's a fairy tale that there are those who manage to hide from our or other intelligence agencies. It's their job to seek, find, and know. If they don't bother you, that doesn't mean they don't know about you and your existence. And they'll leave you alone only for as long as they're not interested in you or don't need you.
- And what then?
"There are two options," Petrovich said. "The first is to keep a low profile right away. Try to stick to the golden mean. Be no better and no worse than others. Usually, no one remembers the C students, because no one is interested in them. And you should stick to that line of conduct."
"I understand," I nodded.
"Okay, then," he continued. "If sooner or later the first option fails or malfunctions for some reason, and that's quite possible with you, then there's another way out. Remember that." And the old man dictated coordinates to a location somewhere in Siberia. "I once oversaw this project. Just before my retirement." For the first time, Petrovich openly admitted that he'd worked somewhere there. "That company was working on an interesting project. We even managed to complete it, though only at the test run level, and it seemed to work. But the project was ultimately shelved due to the lack of visible prospects for its further use, as was the facility itself. I confiscated the documents I could get my hands on. Not all of them, of course, but most of them. Now no one will ever understand what they were really doing there. So, if you're really in dire straits, you can use this option as your last chance."
I looked at him with interest.
- And what did you do there?
"We opened a portal to another world," Petrovich answered.
A month later the old man died.
I packed all my things and left the orphanage, even though I could have stayed there for another year. But there was nothing keeping me there anymore.
And now nothing held me back in this world.