Chapter Text
It was dull throbbing in Russell’s head that told him something was off about that morning. The regular backpain that accompanied with sleeping on a bedroll didn’t concern him. What concerned him was the slight hint of darkness that loomed heavily through the clerestory windows. He had woken up two hours earlier than usual.
The floors were wet with condensation from the cool morning. Someone had forgotten to close a window and Russell paid the price with wet socks. The dampness reached all the way to the bathroom door.
The bathroom had been designed to be a public space, just like the rest of the building. It had all been repurposed for the CIA. There was a women’s bathroom nearby, but it was filled with storage crates and bags; a makeshift storage space. It wasn’t on anyone’s mind, so Park and all other previous women residents used the men’s. It was of little concern.
There were blue dividing walls to make three separate stalls. The last of them was out of use, judging by the state of the toilet. The lid was missing and the top part that would usually house the flush buttons was nowhere to be seen. The bathroom was kept clean by shared courteousness or the desire to avoid being the subject of finger-pointing. Supplies such as extra bottles of hand-soap or rolls of toilet paper were kept in the cardboard boxes they had been shipped in; no one had been hired to do such jobs as stocking and unpacking, so the simple role of replacing the amenities was bestowed upon the user. As soon as supplies thinned, a request would find its way to Sims who would order another cache. The new supplies would take their place in boxes under the sinks.
The toothpaste they used tasted like paracetamol and orange rind. It was a German brand and most likely the bargain stuff. Russell looked down at the sink as he brushed and closed his eyes as he spat out the foamy liquid from his mouth. Berlin water tasted sourer than the American tap but fresher than Haskins. Park only used bottled, but Russell scoffed at the waste of money. He presumed it to be an MI6 thing. He didn’t need a refined drinking experience in order to clean or hydrate.
Russell dressed in his sleeping room. As far as he could tell, it had been some sort of office space before its repurposing. A rectangular area in the middle of the wooden floor was discoloured, leading to the obvious assumption that a desk had stood there. A rusty desk fan sat on the floor in the corner with its cable unplugged. It was a well ventilated room. Too well ventilated. It was the coldest room in the building, and Russell had to double layer in order to stay warm. The idea of using a fan in Germany’s springtime was ludicrous. If only they had fans back in ‘Nam…
All of them slept on bedrolls except for Sims. The lucky fellow had reserved the sofa. Russell didn’t care for the sofa. Old, dusty couches irked him anyway. The bedroll served its purpose and provided more than enough comfort. All his things were in suitcases, scattered across the floor. Plastic bags littered the area, filled with laundry and garbage. He would need to do another clean when he had the chance. Maybe take the laundry down to the laundromat.
He entered the main body of the safehouse which was an open area lined with miscellaneous desks and tables. They kept the kettle on a wooden footstool beside an inconveniently placed outlet. It only held a litre of water and often would only get filled with one hundred mils’ in order to speed up the boiling process. Russell picked it up by the handle to feel a small amount of water slosh around. It was enough for his coffee. He flicked it on.
The instant coffee, like most other supplies, came in bulk in cardboard boxes. The label-less metal tins looked as though they came from the front lines of World War two. The coffee was tangy and bitter, and often didn’t dissolve properly no matter how hard you stirred it. Russell spooned in a generous amount of the grounds and went to the refrigerator to fetch a carton of milk. It was long life of course, but milk was a luxury so he didn’t complain.
After coffee was made and consumed, Russell took a deep breath. There wasn’t a lot to get through that day. He was supposed to correspond with an agent in Hamburg and arrange for a meeting in Hanover. The meeting wouldn’t involve him but he was in charge of communication and general overseeing of the operation. That would begin after a short briefing with the rest of the group once they’d gotten up. That wouldn’t be for another hour or so.
The building didn’t stir. No creaks or movements within the walls. All people were still, apart from him. It felt unnatural, as if the building were emptier than usual. Russell was not a fan of ambling about and wished the day would start already. Maybe if he could convince the crew of an early start… a wishful thought. He of all people knew that sleep was precious, he shouldn’t have gotten up earlier than scheduled. But still, it was peculiar silence. He felt almost compelled to check on them for his own peace of mind.
He placed the empty coffee mug on the ‘reception desk.’ It was the desk reserved for paperwork and telecommunication that Sims manned for most of the day. As he lingered by it, a document caught Russell’s eye. It seemed important based upon the small size of the print and the tight formatting of the lines but upon a closer look, Russell could not read a thing as it was all in a foreign language. Russell could speak German and Russian fluently and could read both languages fairly well but this language was not either. It used the Latin alphabet meaning that it was probably Indo-European, and featured occasional diacritics. It didn’t seem like Italian or French or any languages Russell was slightly familiar with. Portuguese maybe? Dutch? Polish? He decided to put it out of mind as Sims probably had it under control and knew what he was doing.
Echoey footsteps reached Russell’s right ear and he instinctually turned to face the sound. The heavy collisions of boot with ground came closer and the person making the sounds lumbered through the doorway with a visible exhaustion. The broad-shouldered man grunted in greeting at the sight of Russell and stalked towards the kettle with prey-like intent.
“Morning.” Russell mumbled and let his eyes follow Lazar across the room. Lazar passed Russell on his journey and stopped briefly to hold an object out. Without thought, Russell lifted a hand to accept the gift but recoiled in second-thought. The item dropped to the floor. Lazar, seemingly unbothered by the transaction, moved on to the kettle.
“What is it?” Russell demanded out of confusion and exhaustion and looked down to analyse it. Upon examination, they looked like Bell’s g-
“Bell’s gloves.” Lazar’s emotionless response came on time as he tested the kettle for any water. At the find of its emptiness, Lazar face morphed into brief irritation. In the blink of an eye, the expression disappeared and was replaced by indifference. Russell’s tired eyes blinked once and twice, one at Lazar and one at the gloves on the ground. The both of them seemed to be suffering from morning delirium.
Russell asked “Why?” in a way that was less a question and more an articulation of exasperation which did not prompt a response from Lazar who was already plodding towards the dark room where the nearest sink was, grasping the metal container in broad hands. “Where’s Bell?” he called again, as the unsettling feeling from earlier arose like bile in the throat.
“Where do you think?” Lazar responded as though the answer was obvious. Russell took this to mean Bell’s ‘room’ which was really just a four by four meter janitor’s closet. It was a cramped space with enough room for a bedroll and a couple square meters of walking space. The upside was that there were plenty of shelves for storage. The downsides included many things, including incredible stuffiness, dust, spiders and accompanying webs, claustrophobia… Bell didn’t seem to care. He accepted the space of privacy with appreciation and silent acceptance. Russell would have too if he were forced to sleep in a closet but it was Bell who got the unlucky draw. The closet door, unfortunately for Bell, opened inwards. Russell was sure Bell’s feet were black and blue from the beatings that had received from careless visitors. Not Russell though. He had opened the door with diligence every single time and Bell always gave out words of gratitude despite it being a basic human gesture of not wanting to hurt someone else.
On that perturbing morning, the door didn’t hit anything as Russell opened it inch by inch. Squinting through the dark in the partially open doorway, he couldn’t make a distinction between the dark shapes. If there was a person in there it was hard to tell it apart from the blanket they may be under. A moment passed, and the room gave no evidence for human occupancy. Not the sound of snoring or breathing, nor the sound of protestation at being awoken. Russell stepped in with caution, avoiding all hints of objects on the floor until he reached the lump where the bedroll was. As he reached a hand over to prod at the blanket, he was suddenly disturbed by his position of power. He had managed to get this close to person who was defenceless. It would be easy to take his hands and block the windpipe of the sleeping figure. It would be easy to pretend as though he had found the man like that. Troubled by this revelation, Russell retracted his hand. Now he was simply lurking about in the dark, which was equally suspicious so he whispered “Bell.” to resolve the situation. The dry sound of his voice was absorbed by the walls, having no effect on the world. No response gave his vocalization purpose, it was as if he had never said it. After saying the man’s name again with a slightly louder volume and hearing nothing back, he decided the man was in deep sleep, unconscious, or not there.
Before he could regret it, he placed a palm on the lump. The blanket compressed until it was flat against the floor. Russell looked around as if there could be someone hiding in the tiny space. No, Bell was not in his room.
Once the light was turned on, it became obvious that Bell had left the room on his own accord. He had taken his shoes with him and there was no sign of a scuffle. There weren’t many places Bell could be within the safehouse so it was possible he had left for an early stroll. It was out of character but not out of the question that Bell wanted fresh morning air. But without his gloves?
Going back to pick the green gloves off the floor, he found Lazar shovelling coffee powder into a mug. He looked up at Russell with a tired look and the two did not exchange greeting for a second time as Adler picked up the garments.
“Are you telling me you actually went to check up on him?” Lazar questioned without a hint of actual curiosity in his voice but slight amusement. Russell ran his fingers over the soft, polyester material. They were well loved but kept in good condition. Devoid of any warmth. Bell must have dropped them on his way out.
“I did.” Russell barked, ignoring the mockery in Lazar’s tone. “He wasn’t there.”
“Really? Do you think he ran off?” Lazar was trying to get under his skin, and it wasn’t working. Russell sighed and placed the gloves on Sims’ desk, leaning on the edge of the surface. Lazar reached into his pocket to pull out a granola bar. He ripped open the packet and took a massive bite.
“Why did you have the gloves?” Russell asked, looking at his watch which told him that he was an hour away from getting started with the day’s business.
With a mouthful of granola, Lazar put the back of his hand up to his mouth to prevent a crumb from falling. “Found them on the floor,” he mumbled through the food. After swallowing the mouthful he gestured to the hallway leading to the bathroom.
“And why did you give them to me?”
Lazar shrugged and took another bite of the granola bar. “Aren’t you in charge of lost property or something?”
Russell gritted his teeth and shook his head. “What gave you that idea?” he muttered mostly to himself and looked back at the gloves. He was done with humouring Lazar for that morning. He always got like that when he was hungry and the best way to deal with it was to let him say what he wanted without getting frustrated. In a quick flurry of emotion that Russell could not decipher, he swiftly pocketed the gloves. Unsure of the reason he had decided to that, he cast the thoughts away before Lazar noticed his action.
The kettle’s switch flicked down, signifying its completion. Lazar poured himself a serving, placed the kettle down and took the mug with him to the fridge. Russell picked up his own mug and poured another cup of hot water.
“Bring back the milk, will you?” He yelled across the room.
“Sure thing.” The deep response came back. Russell marvelled at the warmth of the safehouse’s environment. He could compare this moment to every other moment in his military career and none would compare in terms of comfort. But sometimes comfort is as cruel as a gun. Normalcy didn’t last forever and ripping oneself away from comfort hurt worse than living in constant terror.
“Sleep well?” Lazar asked while pouring sugar into the dark drink. Russell contemplated ignoring the attempt at small talk and picked up the document he had looked at priorly, holding it up to his face to pretend to study it. The words looked no less alien to him, and somehow more intriguing. They held unknown meaning that invoked a strange desire within Russell to understand it. After a moment, he decided against being cold and made a non-committal ‘hm’ sound that he hoped conveyed enough emotion to placate Lazar.
“What’s that?” Lazar relented, gesturing to the paper he held. “Important stuff?”
Russell shook his head and let the paper fall back down to the desk. “Sims’ stuff.”
“Might be important.” Lazar grunted. “What does it say?” Russell picked it back up and passed it over to the broad man. After a short examination and a confused look, Lazar nodded in understanding and passed it back to him. “It’s definitely important.” Russell shook his head once more.
“Not our business.”
The coffees were finished by the time Park entered the room, breathing warm life into the air. There was no denying her elegance, but she was far from frail. She was the one to avoid pissing off in the morning. Lazar and Russell greeted her with respectful phrases and she responded with a polite “good morning.”
“The water’s already boiled.” Lazar commented, looking away from his newspaper to meet her eye. Park gave him a bright smile. Russell didn’t want to butt in to tell her that it probably had cooled already. He wasn’t a buzzkill, even though he seemed like it. The guy clearly had an aim to impress and Russell wasn’t going to stand in the way of his little project.
“Thanks, Lazar.” She poured water into a mug and plopped in a tea bag. She drank black tea most of the time. That was when she wasn’t drinking Earl Gray or English Breakfast. Russell didn’t know much about tea apart from a stereotypical notion that it was ‘more refined’ or ‘fancier’ than coffee. All tea drinkers seemed to exude that kind of energy, as if they were superior in their choice of beverage. Quite frankly, tea did not give Russell a sufficient amount of caffeine to suit him.
“So we’re waiting on Sims and Bell.” Lazar commented and Park hummed in agreeance.
She nodded her head towards Russell and stated, “Someone was yelling and woke me up.” Russell scoffed at the accusation and glared back at her.
“You can lose half an hour of sleep. Don’t you think?” He retorted. She sipped her tea and graced him with silence. She had given up. No one was in a mood to fight. There was a dull pounding in the back of Russell’s mind that almost felt as though it was shared among the three of them. A melancholy fatigue that could have stemmed from the first mistake of waking up early. Maybe if he had decided to stay in bed for that extra hour or two then things would have felt smoother. The gross atmosphere would not have existed. Bell would have been in his room as usual.
The front door rattled and broke the eery break in conversation. Heads turned to the source of the sound and the door swung open, bringing in cold wind. Sims in a hoodie entered the room, jingling car keys.
“You’re up early.” Sims remarked before his whole body was even halfway through the door. Park put a hand on her hip and said nothing while Lazar stared at the man with disinterest. “Went to get coffee. Felt like drinking something decent.” Sims offered as an explanation, knowing fully that his assertion was not convincing in the slightest. With that, he closed the door, crossed the room and disappeared down the hallway. Lazar turned back to his paper. Russell and Park’s eyes connected in a silent understanding, forgetting their previous quarrel. She looked concerned, and it reassured Russell that he was not the only one who was feeling the morning’s strange atmosphere.
“Are we going to question him?” Russell suggested to Park more so than Lazar. Park looked conflicted for a moment, before shaking her head gently.
“Don’t think so.”
Russell didn’t like this answer. Bell and Sims both left the building, and Sims arrived alone with the car. As soon as he saw Sims, he had expected Bell to be trailing behind him. The young guy couldn’t drive, so he either hitched rides or walked. What were the chances that both of them went into town on separate occasions? That early in the morning?
But he didn’t protest against Park’s words. He did trust her after all, and she seemed have a sense for these things. If Bell showed up anytime soon then Russell was willing to throw all suspicion away.
But Bell didn’t show, even when it was time to start business. Even when Sims had come out of his room to chat with Park. Russell’s hand flexed and unflexed in anticipation of something. When it was two minutes past the agreed ‘start time,’ he waited for someone to make a comment but he rationalized that two minutes wasn’t a significant amount of time to panic. Ten minutes past, and Russell noticed Park twitch. He also noticed Sims, a usually punctual man, remain calm and unworried.
Twenty minutes past, and he had to say something. The others were beginning to look antsy but refrained from saying anything. Russell needed to step in.
“Okay.” He said to attract attention. “Where the fuck is Bell?” He took note of the reactions of his colleagues. Lazar did not react at all to his question but that was not an unusual occurrence. Park looked around as though she would find him hiding under a desk or on a chair. She cast her eyes to the hallway leading to his room, and seemed to come to the conclusion that he was still asleep. Sims scratched his nose and looked away.
“He’s not in his room?” Sims asked Russell, who shook his head.
“Nope, not since I last checked.”
“I can go have a look.” Sims promptly responded and moved to slip past Russell, but Russell placed a hand on his chest, keeping him in place. Lazar’s head snapped up to watch the interaction with snake-like concentration. Park stood back with an expression that said ‘watch yourself,’ but Russell knew what he was doing. Sims’ face flicked from shock to irritation.
“What are you doing, man?” Sims growled.
“Listen here, man.” Russell spat. “You and Bell both left the building before any of us were awake. You came back. Bell didn’t.”
Sims rolled his eyes. “If you’d just let me check the room-“
“Don’t be smart with me. I checked his room an hour ago. We’ve been standing beside the front door for the last hour. How the fuck would he get there?”
Park looked as though she had forgotten her previous caution and had formed a new interest in the development of the conversation. Her eyes were trained on Sims under a furrowed brow while Lazar scrutinized Russell.
Sims sighed. “I don’t know where Bell is, if that’s what you’re implying. I went to buy coffee. I came back.” He shrugged and stepped away from Russell’s grasp. Suddenly, Park stepped forward with a revelation.
“It’s the second of April,” she stated. All heads turned to her and she continued, “Good Friday.”
“So?” Sims asked and raised his arms in an exaggerated shrug.
“Public holiday. Business are closed.” Russell said in realization, then scrunched his face up. “Where the fuck did you buy coffee?”
Sims’ face looked outraged and he stepped backwards, away from the group. “I’m not taking this shit. Don’t we have things to do?” But even Lazar looked doubtful. Park crossed her arms.
With carefully chosen words, she spoke with the threatening tone of an experienced agent, “I think it would be in your best interest to tell us.” It was obvious that Sims took these words to heart and planned his words with diligence.
With a feigned cough and an angry look directed at Russell, he spoke. “He’s gone. Fled.”
Russell’s head immediately flicked to Park and Lazar who were equally in awe. He raised a closed fisted and slammed it onto the table’s surface. Pacing across the floor, his threw his arms up and groaned. The throbbing was back at the back of his head. Nagging. Biting. Bell was gone, and Sims had helped him.
“What the fuck.” He shouted to the empty half of the room and turned to assert his glare upon Sims who looked grim. Lazar had hand over his eyes and was shaking his head repeatedly. Park was deep in thought, staring at a space on the ground. None of them looked as though they were going to contribute to the conversation. “You helped him?” He questioned Sims, taking a step forward.
Sims stood his ground, becoming more hostile in expression and posture. “The poor fucker was terrified. Yeah I fuckin’ helped him. Thank god I did, he might be able to actually live a fucking life!” He clenched his fists and seemed at the verge of a breakdown. Russell was struck at the amount of emotion was stirred within the man in front of him. “Did you even pay attention? You never fucking pay attention. Well, to catch you up…” Sims’ angry tone turned matter of fact. “Bell was miserable here and he’s gone to find somewhere that doesn’t depress him.” He turned away to sit at a desk to cool off.
Russell placed a hand to his head which was burning with an acute headache. “So, where is he then? Where’s he going, huh?” The room was cursed with silence. A sizzling aftermath of a terrible storm lingered, but Russell had no intent to bask in the drizzle. “Where is he, Sims?”
Sims did not look up. He seemed strangely content. Russell did not understand why he was not talking back. Looking to Lazar and Park, he understood. The two were now showing melancholy faces. They looked solemnly down at the ground. Lazar fiddled with his hands. Russell understood what they were gripped with: guilt. He was too surprised to be outraged.
“Guys.” He tested the water. He wanted to hear someone say something. He needed to understand the others’ place in the conflict. Lazar looked up with pitying eyes.
“We’re not going after him, Adler,” he said, and Park nodded. Sims looked up with grateful eyes.
“Let him go, Adler.” Sims said. Pleaded.