Chapter 2149 - 870: Victor: My Words Matter!_4

Sergei stopped.

Grisha stopped as well.

"Grisha," Sergei spoke, "do you hate me?"

Grisha looked at his back. "I don't."

Sergei nodded. "Good."

He kept walking forward. He walked to that row of stone houses, to the easternmost one, and stopped in front of Anna.

Anna lifted her head and looked at him. That face, just like hers, large, blurred, as if everything she saw was behind a layer of fog.

"Anna."

Anna's tears fell. "You—"

"My name is Sergei. I'm your father."

Anna stood up. The chocolate in her hand fell to the ground; the golden wrapper burst open, chocolate smeared everywhere.

"Why didn't you come to see me?"

Sergei didn't answer.

"When my mom died, where were you?"

Sergei didn't answer.

"I'm fourteen. You haven't come once."

Sergei reached out, wanting to touch her face. Anna stepped back.

"Don't touch me."

Sergei's hand froze in midair.

Grisha stood in the distance, watching them. His eyes were wet. The wind blew over, very cold, carrying the smell of snow. He turned around and walked toward the edge of the village.

Behind him, Anna's voice carried over.

"Dad."

Grisha didn't look back.

He kept walking. He left the village and stepped onto the dirt road leading to Grozny. On both sides were bare mountains, with patches of unmelted snow on the slopes. In the distance, several black SUVs were coming from the north, blue lights flashing on their roofs.

The FSB people had arrived.

Grisha stood in the middle of the road, waiting for those cars to come up. They stopped in front of him, the doors opened, and a middle-aged man in a black overcoat got out.

"Grisha Voronov?"

Grisha nodded.

"Come with us."

Grisha got into the car. The door closed, the engine started. The car turned around and drove north. He looked back at the village that was shrinking in the distance. On the south side, the easternmost stone house still had its door open. Two figures stood in the doorway, one tall, one short, very close together.

He turned his head back and looked at the road ahead. The road was long, ashen, stretching all the way to the horizon.

That night, Moscow, Lubyanka Square, FSB Headquarters.

Korosov sat in his office watching the CNN live broadcast. On the screen, a blonde female reporter stood in a mountain village somewhere in Chechnya. Behind her were several rows of stone houses; the easternmost one had its door open, and a thin, tall old man was standing at the threshold.

"Former KGB senior officer Sergei Ivanov, alias 'Principal', is suspected of involvement in multiple cases of international Arms smuggling, drug trafficking, and terrorist attacks. He is currently hiding in Shangji Village in Chechnya. With him is his fourteen-year-old daughter, Anna Ivanova. The Russian Federal Security Service has so far taken no action."

Korosov switched off the television.

Dmitry stood in front of him, face pale. "General, the Mexican—"

"I know." Korosov cut him off. "The Mexican want to muddy the waters. Make the whole world see that the FSB can't catch a former KGB Colonel on its own doorstep."

He stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the lights over Lubyanka Square glowed dim yellow, shining on the bronze hunting dog in the fountain.

"Do it. Tonight. Take Sergei away. Leave Anna there."

Dmitry froze. "General, leaving Anna—"

"Leaving Anna is for the Mexican to see. Aren't they trying to save someone? She'll be right there. Let them save her themselves."

He turned around. "Tell the Chechnya special-operations team the action has to be fast and clean. Bring Sergei back Living. Don't lay a finger on Anna."

Dmitry nodded and turned to run out.

Korosov stood at the window, watching the lights in the square come on one by one. He remembered 1991, Sergei standing in the corridor of Lubyanka, putting his work ID on the desk and walking away. Even then he knew this man would come back. Not of his own will, but brought back by others.

Tonight, he was coming back.

Night, Chechnya, Shangji Village.

Anna sat on the doorstep, looking at the stars in the sky.

The stars in Chechnya were very bright, brighter than in Grozny, brighter than in Moscow, brighter than anywhere she had ever seen in photographs.

Sergei sat beside her, holding the melted piece of chocolate in his hand. The wrapper was already crumpled, the chocolate smeared over the paper, its original shape gone.

"When you were little, you liked chocolate," he said.

Anna said nothing.

"Every time your mom wrote, she said you loved chocolate. I had people bring it from Moscow, sent it by the box. Your mom said you couldn't finish it and shared it with the village kids."

Anna lowered her head. "Those chocolates… you sent them?"

Sergei nodded.

Anna started crying again. "I thought… Mom bought them."

Sergei said nothing.

From far away came the sound of car engines. Closer and closer, several vehicles. Their headlights swung in the darkness, bleaching the dirt road at the village entrance white.

Sergei stood up.

Anna stood up too. "Dad—"

"Don't be afraid." Sergei looked at her. Those eyes, identical to hers, shimmered in the glare of the headlights. "Whatever happens, don't be afraid. Remember, your dad is not a good man. But your dad has never harmed you."

The cars stopped at the door. The doors opened, and several men in black combat gear got out, faces streaked with camouflage paint, guns in their hands.

The one in front walked up to Sergei. "Sergei Ivanovich?"

Sergei nodded.

"Come with us."

Sergei turned and looked at Anna. He reached out and stroked her hair. His hand was trembling.

"Anna, your dad's leaving."

Anna's tears fell. "You—when are you coming back?"

Sergei didn't answer.

He turned away and got into the car with the others. The door closed, the engine started. The car turned around and drove north.

Anna stood in the doorway, watching the taillights of the car grow smaller and smaller until they disappeared into the dark. She stood there for a long time. The wind blew down from the north, very cold, carrying the smell of snow.

She lowered her head and looked at the melted chocolate on the doorstep. The golden wrapper had come undone, chocolate smeared all over the ground, like a puddle of melted blood.

She crouched down and picked up the chocolate. The wrapper was crumpled, the chocolate soft, but she still held it tight.

In the distance, in the direction of Grozny, a few lights were flashing.