State Of The Union

“Over to the car,” instructed Alexandra, waving her Walther in the direction of the Lada. “Hands on the hood. Let’s go. Legs spread apart-wide.”

Popov did as he was told, the blood running down his neck, staining the white collar of his expensive dress shirt. “I don’t know who you are-” he said as Alexandra tucked the Pit Bull underneath her jacket at the small of her back.

“Zamalcheetyeh!” Shut up!, she ordered as she used her free hand to pat Popov down for additional weapons. She found the stiletto and tucked it in one of her pockets. She also found his State Inspector credentials with the name Leuchin, as well as a wallet with a driver’s license under the name Popov.

“As the man you were talking to was calling you Popov,” said Alexandra as she removed his handkerchief from his front pocket, “I’m guessing this State Inspector identification is a fake, and looking closer at it, a rather bad one at that. Turn around.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you, you bitch!” spat Popov.

“You had your chance and you blew it, remember? Now, take your coat off.”

“Yob tvoyu mat!”

“Fuckmy mother?” asked Alexandra as she pointed her weapon at Popov’s kneecap and fired. “No, fuck yours.”

Popov fell to the ground screaming. “You bitch! You fucking bitch!”

“Per-ee-staan haameetca,” Quit your complaining, she said. “I only grazed your knee. Now get up and take off your jacket.”

Popov struggled upright and did as he was told.

“The suit coat as well. Good. Now throw them both off to the side.”

When Popov had done what Alexandra had asked, she balled up the handkerchief and threw it at him. After he had dabbed his ear and then tied it around his wounded knee to stem the bleeding, Alexandra waved her pistol in the direction of the cottage. “Inside,” she commanded. “Let’s go.”

Popov led the way while Alexandra followed several paces behind, her Walther pointed right at the base of the man’s spine.

They entered the small ramshackle dwelling via the kitchen door. Alexandra waved her pistol at a lone chair against the wall and said, “I want you to sit down over there and don’t move.”

As Popov sat down in the chair, he watched Alexandra cross to a large, cast iron stove. She deftly flicked open the grate with the toe of her boot. The fire inside had burned down to almost nothing but glowing embers. She threw in another piece of wood and kicked the grate shut. With her pistol still trained on Popov, she put one hand on the door jamb and looked into the dacha’s other room to check on her patient who had just started to come around.

Satisfied that he was okay for the moment, Alexandra returned her attention to Popov. “So,” she began, “you must be my repentant husband.”

Popov pretended that he didn’t know what she was talking about, but the look in his eyes was confirmation enough.

“That’s what you told the old lady who runs theriynak, isn’t it? We had a fight, I left Moscow to think about things for a while, but you couldn’t stand us being apart any longer and wanted to find me so you could make it up to me? She bought it at first, but after you left she began to worry. What if you were coming here to do me harm? Little did she know how right she was,” said Alexandra as she removed the Pit Bull from underneath her jacket, released the magazine, and ejected the chambered round.

“Armor piercing,” she remarked, as she picked up the lone bullet and rolled it between her fingers. “Who the hell are you, Mr. Milesch Popov?”

Popov just stared at her as she placed his pistol and its ammunition on the top of a faded hutch resting atop an old sideboard near the stove.How could a woman so beautiful be so vicious? he wondered.

Long slim legs, narrow waist, ample chest, full lips, green eyes, and shoulder-length blond hair indeed made Alexandra Ivanova beautiful, very beautiful, but that beauty had often times been as much a hindrance to her as it had been an asset. Because of those startling good looks she had had to work harder than most to earn the respect of her peers, both in the Russian Military and then later at the FSB. Too often, she was seen as just a pretty face. Her male superiors had always coveted her and she was constantly fending off their advances. More times than she cared to remember had she given herself to a man only to be betrayed in the end. They had no desire to relate to her as an equal, they only wanted to possess her as a thing, an object. She eventually decided that if given the chance, people will let you down every single time. There really was no one she could trust.

Though this attitude made for a very lonely personal life, she much preferred being in control and keeping people at a distance than opening herself up to the hurt that would certainly follow from allowing someone to get too close.