Piranha - 12

And I went my way

and Death is his...

Robert Burns

Chapter 1

These two are charming

The car was Japanese, right-hand drive - which means it was perfectly suited for these places, which had been under British rule for a couple of hundred years. That’s why the street traffic here, as you might guess, is on the left, which remains the case even after gaining independence. Unusual, of course - but, firstly, it was not Mazur who was driving, and secondly, this was not the first time he found himself in places where cars drove on the wrong side. Like Lavrik, who was quite dexterous in driving in the British style.

The asphalt ended a long time ago, the road went further up the mountain, the Japanese two-door box rattled and creaked due to its advanced age, but in general it pulled well, the climb was not that steep.

Lavrik was silent, putting his elbow out the open window and whistling something cheerful, thoroughly Western, completely consistent with the accepted role - two white guys with impeccable Australian passports, not on the international wanted list, not burdened with a criminal past, not rich, but trustworthy and law-abiding, and this sometimes it replaces any capital... If you don’t look at them carefully, using the considerable capabilities of some serious intelligence service, they are unremarkable guys, of which there are quite a few being wiped out all over the world.

Mazur briefly thought that it was time for him to feel something like kindred feelings for distant Australia, where he had never been in his life. It's about time, considering that he appeared more than once in various exotic places in the guise of an Australian citizen - and as such he could tell a lot about the country of the kangaroo. With such knowledge of the matter that even native Australians could swear on the Bible that they were dealing with a fellow countryman.

Well, what do you want me to do? People like them don't have much choice in a situation like this. You should assign your homeland either from the category of some exotic countries like Iceland (the risk of running into a corrosive fellow countryman is completely minimal), or from remote and quite extensive ones...

Exotic greenery was rampant all around - the sight was so boring that Mazur did not even pay attention to the surrounding landscape, except to pull away in time when a protruding branch tried to hit him in the face. Why they were trudging into the mountains, he had no idea. He had no idea at all what kind of devil he was here for - about six hundred miles from that island, where they did a very good job and even got away completely unnoticed, which does not happen to everyone. On an almost identical island, a former British colony, now an independent and sovereign state.

All this, of course, was a complete surprise. He expected to fly home from Havana - but instead he suddenly found himself in a sovereign republic: without his guys, only in the company of Lavrik. Having received only minimal instructions - without a single word about goals and objectives. The situation is not the most pleasant, but such is the service. The easiest way to treat such things philosophically...

One thing is clear: here, you can lay your head, there is work to be done. After all, the kindness and goodwill of the command did not extend so much that he was sent with a fake passport to simply lie on the beach and wander around the bars of an exotic island after a successfully completed task? In their system, such philanthropy is categorically not in use, and there is nothing to dream about...

Lavrik, having looked for a suitable place, drove off the road right under the spreading crown of some impressive tree, turned off the engine and got out with such a look that it was immediately clear: they had reached the desired goal. Mazur followed without much haste.

To the right was a green jungle, from which came the chirping of birds - exotic, of course, having nothing in common with the prosaic chirping of sparrows.

Alexander Bushkov

Piranha. Naughty ghosts

And I went my way

and Death is his...

Robert Burns

These two are charming

The car was Japanese, right-hand drive - which means it was perfectly suited for these places, which had been under British rule for a couple of hundred years. That’s why the street traffic here, as you might guess, is on the left, which remains the case even after gaining independence. Unusual, of course - but, firstly, it was not Mazur who was driving, and secondly, this was not the first time he found himself in places where cars drove on the wrong side. Like Lavrik, who was quite dexterous in driving in the British style.

The asphalt ended a long time ago, the road went further up the mountain, the Japanese two-door box rattled and creaked due to its advanced age, but in general it pulled well, the climb was not that steep.

Lavrik was silent, putting his elbow out the open window and whistling something cheerful, thoroughly Western, completely consistent with the accepted role - two white guys with impeccable Australian passports, not on the international wanted list, not burdened with a criminal past, not rich, but trustworthy and law-abiding, and this sometimes it replaces any capital... If you don’t look at them carefully, using the considerable capabilities of some serious intelligence service, they are unremarkable guys, of whom there are many being wiped out all over the world.

Mazur briefly thought that it was time for him to feel something like kindred feelings for distant Australia, where he had never been in his life. It's about time, considering that he appeared more than once in various exotic places in the guise of an Australian citizen - and as such he could tell a lot about the country of the kangaroo. With such knowledge of the matter that even native Australians could swear on the Bible that they were dealing with a fellow countryman.

Well, what do you want me to do? People like them don't have much choice in a situation like this. You should assign your homeland either from the category of some exotic countries like Iceland (the risk of running into a corrosive fellow countryman is completely minimal), or from remote and quite extensive ones...

Exotic greenery was rampant all around - the sight was so boring that Mazur did not pay any attention to the surrounding landscape, except to pull away in time when a protruding branch tried to hit him in the face. Why they were trudging into the mountains, he had no idea. He had no idea at all what kind of devil he was here for - about six hundred miles from that island, where they did a very good job and even got away completely unnoticed, which does not happen to everyone. On an almost identical island, a former British colony, now an independent and sovereign state.

All this, of course, was a complete surprise. He expected to fly home from Havana - but instead he suddenly found himself in a sovereign republic: without his guys, only in the company of Lavrik. Having received only minimal instructions - without a single word about goals and objectives. The situation is not the most pleasant, but such is the service. The easiest way to treat such things philosophically...

One thing is clear: here, you can lay your head, there is work to be done. After all, the kindness and goodwill of the command did not extend so much that he was sent with a fake passport to simply lie on the beach and wander around the bars of an exotic island after a successfully completed task? In their system, such philanthropy is categorically not in use, and there is nothing to dream about...

Lavrik, having looked for a suitable place, drove off the road right under the spreading crown of some impressive tree, turned off the engine and got out with such a look that it was immediately clear: they had reached the desired goal. Mazur followed without much haste.

To the right was a green jungle, from which came the chirping of birds - exotic, of course, having nothing in common with the prosaic chirping of sparrows. On the left, the road was fenced off with a concrete wall approximately waist-high, and from there, from a steep cliff, a magnificent view of the valley opened up.

Lavrik looked around. Nearby, a young couple in white shorts and bright T-shirts stood near the parapet - judging by the first impression, carefree white people who had just arrived, who had not had time to properly tan. Instead of admiring the view, they selflessly merged in a long kiss and were indifferent to their surroundings. But Lavrik conscientiously walked along the gray concrete wall for another two hundred meters and found a place where that couple could never have overheard the conversation without the use of technical means - and as far as can be judged by their scanty light clothing, they simply cannot have said means with them there's nowhere to hide...

Having finally chosen a place, Lavrik leaned his elbows on the concrete and, with a relaxed, lazy look, began to stare down. Mazur stomped around expectantly.

“Get settled,” Lavrik said without turning his head. - We're here for a long time.

Then Mazur took the same pose. He put a cigarette in his mouth and waited patiently.

Take a closer look,” said Lavrik.

Towards the valley,” Lavrik pointed with his chin.

Mazur took a good look at it. It was a vast, long valley, on three sides it was surrounded in a semi-circle by mountains covered with lush, curly greenery, and on the fourth there was a blue sea. In general, nothing special. The landscape resembles Yalta.

“And take a closer look at the buildings,” Lavrik said thoughtfully.

Mazur took an equally conscientious look at the buildings. There were a lot of them there. Along the shore, behind a wide strip of golden sand, stood a line of white multi-storey hotels, of fairly modern construction, surrounded by adjacent glass terraces, some other modern extensions and other bourgeois architectural excesses like domes of soft blue glass.

In the valley, between the hotels and the mountains, there were at least three dozen more houses scattered here and there - only these were smaller and lower, the tallest was three floors, it seems. Eight high-rise buildings and a bunch of cottages, some in the form of medieval castles, others looking more modern. But they all had one thing in common: it didn’t look like a poor area at all, quite the opposite. Well-groomed flower beds, neat groves, rows of lanterns, immaculate asphalt paths, here and there you can see multi-colored cars, again not of the poor kind...

This is Paradise Valley,” Lavrik said leisurely. - The main source of income for the local economy...

“I remember,” Mazur said. - The rest of the economy is represented by a couple of canneries and other small things like that. Indeed, the basis of prosperity... Beautiful. As far as I remember, inns are designed for tight wallets?

Mainly.

Interesting, thought Mazur. This place - and indeed Paradise Valley - is the least likely place to work. Not a single military installation. There are no military facilities here at all - except perhaps a barracks for hundreds of national guardsmen and a hangar for their equipment: two dozen jeeps, four trucks and four wheeled armored cars, almost reminiscent of the Second World War. In military terms, it is the most complete wretchedness. To seriously offend such a country is downright humiliating for a true professional, like stealing mugs in a pub...

Alexander Bushkov

Piranha. Naughty ghosts

And I went my way

and Death is his...

Robert Burns

These two are charming

The car was Japanese, right-hand drive - which means it was perfectly suited for these places, which had been under British rule for a couple of hundred years. That’s why the street traffic here, as you might guess, is on the left, which remains the case even after gaining independence. Unusual, of course - but, firstly, it was not Mazur who was driving, and secondly, this was not the first time he found himself in places where cars drove on the wrong side. Like Lavrik, who was quite dexterous in driving in the British style.

The asphalt ended a long time ago, the road went further up the mountain, the Japanese two-door box rattled and creaked due to its advanced age, but in general it pulled well, the climb was not that steep.

Lavrik was silent, putting his elbow out the open window and whistling something cheerful, thoroughly Western, completely consistent with the accepted role - two white guys with impeccable Australian passports, not on the international wanted list, not burdened with a criminal past, not rich, but trustworthy and law-abiding, and this sometimes replaces any capital... If you don’t look closely at them thoughtfully, using the considerable capabilities of some serious intelligence service - unremarkable guys, of whom there are many who are being wiped out all over the world.

Mazur briefly thought that it was time for him to feel something like kindred feelings for distant Australia, where he had never been in his life. It's about time, considering that he appeared more than once in various exotic places in the guise of an Australian citizen - and as such he could tell a lot about the country of the kangaroo. With such knowledge of the matter that even native Australians could swear on the Bible that they were dealing with a fellow countryman.

Well, what do you want me to do? People like them don't have much choice in a situation like this. You should assign your homeland either from the category of some exotic countries like Iceland (the risk of running into a corrosive fellow countryman is completely minimal), or from remote and quite extensive ones...

Exotic greenery was rampant all around - the sight was so boring that Mazur did not pay any attention to the surrounding landscape, except to pull away in time when a protruding branch tried to hit him in the face. Why they were trudging into the mountains, he had no idea. He had no idea at all what kind of devil he was here for - about six hundred miles from that island, where they did a very good job and even got away completely unnoticed, which does not happen to everyone. On an almost identical island, a former British colony, now an independent and sovereign state.

All this, of course, was a complete surprise. He expected to fly home from Havana - but instead he suddenly found himself in a sovereign republic: without his guys, only in the company of Lavrik. Having received only minimal instructions - without a single word about goals and objectives. The situation is not the most pleasant, but such is the service. The easiest way to treat such things philosophically...

One thing is clear: here, you can lay your head, there is work to be done. After all, the kindness and goodwill of the command did not extend so much that he was sent with a fake passport to simply lie on the beach and wander around the bars of an exotic island after a successfully completed task? In their system, such philanthropy is categorically not in use, and there is nothing to dream about...

Lavrik, having looked for a suitable place, drove off the road right under the spreading crown of some impressive tree, turned off the engine and got out with such a look that it was immediately clear: they had reached the desired goal. Mazur followed without much haste.

To the right was a green jungle, from which came the chirping of birds - exotic, of course, having nothing in common with the prosaic chirping of sparrows. On the left, the road was fenced off with a concrete wall approximately waist-high, and from there, from a steep cliff, a magnificent view of the valley opened up.

Lavrik looked around. Nearby, a young couple in white shorts and bright T-shirts stood near the parapet - judging by the first impression, carefree white people who had just arrived, who had not had time to properly tan. Instead of admiring the view, they selflessly merged in a long kiss and were indifferent to their surroundings. But Lavrik conscientiously walked along the gray concrete wall for another two hundred meters and found a place where that couple could never have overheard the conversation without the use of technical means - and as far as one can judge from their scanty light clothes, they simply cannot have the said means with them there's nowhere to hide...

Having finally chosen a place, Lavrik leaned his elbows on the concrete and, with a relaxed, lazy look, began to stare down. Mazur stomped around expectantly.

“Get settled,” Lavrik said without turning his head. - We're here for a long time.

Then Mazur took the same pose. He put a cigarette in his mouth and waited patiently.

“Take a closer look,” said Lavrik.

- For what?

“Towards the valley,” Lavrik pointed with his chin.

Mazur took a good look at it. It was a vast, long valley, on three sides it was surrounded in a semi-circle by mountains covered with lush, curly greenery, and on the fourth there was a blue sea. In general, nothing special. The landscape resembles Yalta.

“And take a closer look at the buildings,” Lavrik said thoughtfully.

Mazur took an equally conscientious look at the buildings. There were a lot of them there. Along the shore, behind a wide strip of golden sand, stood a line of white multi-storey hotels, of fairly modern construction, surrounded by adjacent glass terraces, some other modern extensions and other bourgeois architectural excesses like domes of soft blue glass.

In the valley, between the hotels and the mountains, there were at least three dozen more houses scattered here and there - only these were smaller and lower, the tallest was three floors, it seems. Eight high-rise buildings and a bunch of cottages, some in the form of medieval castles, others looking more modern. But they all had one thing in common: it didn’t look like a poor area at all, quite the opposite. Well-groomed flower beds, neat groves, rows of lanterns, immaculate asphalt paths, here and there you can see multi-colored cars, again not of the poor kind...

“This is Paradise Valley,” Lavrik said leisurely. – The main source of income for the local economy...

“I remember,” said Mazur. – The entire other economy is represented by a couple of canneries and other small things like that. Indeed, the basis of prosperity... Beautiful. As far as I remember, inns are designed for tight wallets?

A coup is brewing in the southern sovereign republic. Kirill Mazur and his partner Lavrik were given a clear task - to prevent a coup. This has been decided at the highest level, since the President of the southern republic, Aristide, is certainly a progressive element, and the world community should immediately rebuff the machinations of capital and world imperialism.

However, Mazur faces a difficult task. The opposition hired Michael Shore, the same Mad Mike. Mister Smerch. Mazur was still walking around in a pioneer tie when Michael Shor staged his first coups. He has never lost in a quarter of a century...

Alexander Bushkov

Piranha. Naughty ghosts

And I went my way

and Death is his...

Chapter 1

These two are charming

The car was Japanese, right-hand drive - which means it was perfectly suited for these places, which had been under British rule for a couple of hundred years. That’s why the street traffic here, as you might guess, is on the left, which remains the case even after gaining independence. Unusual, of course - but, firstly, it was not Mazur who was driving, and secondly, this was not the first time he found himself in places where cars drove on the wrong side. Like Lavrik, who was quite dexterous in driving in the British style.

The asphalt ended a long time ago, the road went further up the mountain, the Japanese two-door box rattled and creaked due to its advanced age, but in general it pulled well, the climb was not that steep.

Lavrik was silent, putting his elbow out the open window and whistling something cheerful, thoroughly Western, completely consistent with the accepted role - two white guys with impeccable Australian passports, not on the international wanted list, not burdened with a criminal past, not rich, but trustworthy and law-abiding, and this sometimes replaces any capital... If you don’t look closely at them thoughtfully, using the considerable capabilities of some serious intelligence service - unremarkable guys, of whom there are many who are being wiped out all over the world.

Mazur briefly thought that it was time for him to feel something like kindred feelings for distant Australia, where he had never been in his life. It's about time, considering that he appeared more than once in various exotic places in the guise of an Australian citizen - and as such he could tell a lot about the country of the kangaroo. With such knowledge of the matter that even native Australians could swear on the Bible that they were dealing with a fellow countryman.

Well, what do you want me to do? People like them don't have much choice in a situation like this. You should assign your homeland either from the category of some exotic countries like Iceland (the risk of running into a corrosive fellow countryman is completely minimal), or from remote and quite extensive ones...

Exotic greenery was rampant all around - the sight was so boring that Mazur did not pay any attention to the surrounding landscape, except to pull away in time when a protruding branch tried to hit him in the face. Why they were trudging into the mountains, he had no idea. He had no idea at all what kind of devil he was here for - about six hundred miles from that island, where they did a very good job and even got away completely unnoticed, which does not happen to everyone. On an almost identical island, a former British colony, now an independent and sovereign state.

All this, of course, was a complete surprise. He expected to fly home from Havana - but instead he suddenly found himself in a sovereign republic: without his guys, only in the company of Lavrik. Having received only minimal instructions - without a single word about goals and objectives. The situation is not the most pleasant, but such is the service. The easiest way to treat such things philosophically...

One thing is clear: here, you can lay your head, there is work to be done. After all, the kindness and goodwill of the command did not extend so much that he was sent with a fake passport to simply lie on the beach and wander around the bars of an exotic island after a successfully completed task? In their system, such philanthropy is categorically not in use, and there is nothing to dream about...

Lavrik, having looked for a suitable place, drove off the road right under the spreading crown of some impressive tree, turned off the engine and got out with such a look that it was immediately clear: they had reached the desired goal. Mazur followed without much haste.

To the right was a green jungle, from which came the chirping of birds - exotic, of course, having nothing in common with the prosaic chirping of sparrows. On the left, the road was fenced off with a concrete wall approximately waist-high, and from there, from a steep cliff, a magnificent view of the valley opened up.

Lavrik looked around. Nearby, a young couple in white shorts and bright T-shirts stood near the parapet - judging by the first impression, carefree white people who had just arrived, who had not had time to properly tan. Instead of admiring the view, they selflessly merged in a long kiss and were indifferent to their surroundings. But Lavrik conscientiously walked along the gray concrete wall for another two hundred meters and found a place where that couple could never have overheard the conversation without the use of technical means - and as far as one can judge from their scanty light clothes, they simply cannot have the said means with them there's nowhere to hide...

This book is part of a series of books: