The sand of time. Volume 2. "The Book of Flame" Chapter 1

 Moscow. Fall. Cold. It rains constantly, drops are small and cold. Everything is gray and dirty: houses, cars, and people. They are in a hurry, running along these gray streets with gray faces and empty eyes. Only he stands on the sidewalk and realizes how stupid, senseless everything around him. What is the point of their rush? After all, they do not even have time to see life! Their lives pass in an endless stream of gray everyday life, similar to one another and already washed out in their minds in one endlessly dull gray day like this one.

Damp and cold made their way under the clothes - the teenager put his hands in his pockets and, throwing the hood of his jacket over his wet hair, walked along the wet sidewalk.

Why is he haunted by this feeling that this is not his life, not his time, not his place, not his city? Why? Maybe it all started from the moment when he realized that everyone around him was distant from him? When he didn't become like all of them. Kai glanced at the people running past.

He's different. And if you are different, then you are an outcast. People don't need you. You are internally rejected by everyone you know and love! But why? Why do people close to you stop loving you just because you do not want to be the way they want you to be?

His family: dad, mom, his two elder brothers, and a sister. Why did the people closest to him, the dearest to him in the world, move away from him? What did he do wrong? He simply began to live, speak, and think as he saw fit. And they wanted him to match the image they had created. They came up with a life for him to live.

Gradually, they began to realize that the image they had created did not correspond to reality. At first, it was not very noticeable and they even pretended that nothing was happening, that it just seemed to them. But then they couldn't help but notice that everything was wrong. He was not what they wanted him to be. And nothing could change him, neither talking about what he should become, nor trying to force him to submit to their will!

When you are little, you depend on your family you cannot fight back and therefore you endure everything they do to you.

He was constantly put under "house arrest", but this arrest took place in the library, and it was happiness for him, and not a punishment, as they wanted. He opened the book and was transported to other worlds that opened to him from the pages. He found freedom in books. He traveled for hours in other worlds, acquired knowledge and experience given in books, and learned the surrounding space.

They hired teachers so that he had no time to think about rebelling against them. But he loved to learn and gladly drew knowledge from those who gave him this knowledge.

They never let him go to school, believing that the world behind the wall would ruin him.

But he had long ago penetrated that other world. They did not notice it, they missed it. They thought that a little boy riding his bike through the fields around their house, surrounded by a huge fence, would not be able to know that there was another life. But he found out.

Prokhor! They met then at the pond: little Kai with a mute question in his eyes turned to the sky and such an overly serious teenager who saw the boy's eyes and felt his loneliness. He was lonely too. But from that day on, they divided their loneliness into two.

They did not talk about the pain that was already in their souls. Rich, from a good family, Kai, but with such huge and sad green eyes, and Prokhor, a teenager from an ordinary family, where there was no father, only an eternally working mother, whom he always saw tired.

Prokhor also asked himself a question:

"Why? Why does his mother hate him so much? Why then did she give birth to him, if his whole existence was now so hateful to her? What for? Why tell him that she works three jobs to feed him and put him on his feet. After all, if you love someone, you do it for him. And if you don't love? Then you do it anyway and you hate that person even more."

After all, it was he who was to blame for such her life. It was his fault that his father left when he had been still little. He just left to live with another family. But Prokhor felt that it was because of him, and she knew it, and hatred for him had already arisen in her soul. And now his mother had a broken life - this was how she had spoken of herself to everyone who felt sorry for her. But what was he to blame? It turned out in everything. It was he who broke her life with his birth.

"How strange," thought Prokhor, "a new life is being born, but it turns out that everyone has already hated it. You live with a person who is dearest to you, the closest on the whole earth, but gradually you begin to feel that this one hates you. Your whole existence is unbearable to this person! "

The small apartment in which he lived with his mother did not make it possible to exclude communication, and therefore Prokhor more and more often began to disappear on the street. This angered her even more. Now he was gradually turning into a difficult teenager who got involved with a bad company, and that finally ruined her life. It was a vicious circle. There was no way out of it. It was only necessary to accept the reality of what had happened. And Prokhor accepted. He loved his mother, the one he created in his dreams, sweet, caring, loving him. He loved her with all his heart. And in real life, he calmly listened to the next reproaches and painful words addressed to him and left where he was not alone.

Then by the pond, seeing a boy with eyes full of pain, he read in them a question that had tormented his soul too:

"Why don't they just love me, just because I exist?"

Prokhor did not talk to him about this. He could not answer this question. But from that day on, two souls found each other and the pain shared with the other was no longer so strong. They stopped looking for an answer to their question. They just began to live and enjoy life!

Prokhor opened another world for Kai. The world outside the wall of his house. It turned out to be cruel and adult. And in order to survive in it, he had to grow up quickly and fight for a place in this world.

This did not frighten him. Prokhor's company, to which the boy brought him, was one of the same teenagers who were also simply not loved just because they were born and lived. And it hardened their hearts.

Kai was under the protection of Prokhor. He was much younger than them, although in conversation and prudence they thought he was older. At first, they hated him for having everything in this life, and then they accepted him, realizing that he did not need all this. That, having everything in life, the most important thing was taken from him - this was his freedom. For them, freedom was the most important thing, and therefore they accepted Kai, and no one else dared to throw an insulting word against him.

***

Once, returning to the place of their "deployment", an abandoned basement, where their small teenage gang equipped themselves a temporary shelter, a group of guys, much older than them, from another gang came out to meet them.

Prokhor hid Kai behind himself, telling him to flee from here when the fight started. The forces were unequal. Prokhor's gang numbered ten people - another one was twice as many. And they were well prepared. In their hands, there were sticks, metal rods, bottles, and knives.

A fight broke out.

It was then that Kai first used his martial art in a real fight. Then, for the first time, he felt the warm blood of his enemy on his hands. He managed to snatch the stick out of the hands of the attacker, and he fought with it, using all kinds of martial arts techniques that his teachers had taught him.

Prokhor and his guys froze in amazement when, with another precise movement, he knocked the bottle out of the opponent's hands and knocked him out with a stick to the solar plexus. But he was still too young, and therefore he also got bit a lot.

He tasted his blood in his mouth. This taste - the taste of metal - how often he would feel it later in his life.

The fight ended, or rather, the attackers did not expect such fierce resistance and therefore began to retreat, picking up their guys and dissolving into the darkness of the alleys.

Having kicked the last two teenagers lying on the asphalt, Prokhor gave the command to leave.

Kai held on with the last bit of strength. The whole body ached from the blows received, the right hand became numb from such an overload. He spat blood from his broken lips and wiped the dripping one from his nose with his sleeve. Prokhor walked beside him, casting attentive glances over his shoulder at him.

Already going down to the basement, he staggered and felt that the floor was leaving from under his feet. Prokhor grabbed him, carried him in his arms to an old iron bed in the corner, covered with a torn bedspread. One of the guys brought a roll of toilet paper and, tearing off a larger piece, gave it to his hand to put it on his nose, which was bleeding. Prokhor brought a towel soaked in water and wiped his face. The guys picked ice from the freezer and, putting it in a bag, gave it to Prokhor, who put ice on his nose.

Kai felt that everyone was looking at him strangely, he understood that his behavior in a fight, his mastery of fighting technique made such an impression on them. From that moment on, their attitude towards him changed radically. Now they treated him with a kind of awe. On the one hand, in their attitude, there was an almost parental concern, because he was younger than them, and on the other hand, respect as he was a cooler kid than they.

"Does it hurt?" Prokhor asked carefully, bending over him.

"It's okay," he smiled, although it was given to him with difficulty.

"You fight in such a way! This is the first time I've seen this! Like in the movies!" Prokhor spoke, not hiding his admiration, "Where did you learn this?"

"Father's friend is Japanese, he lives in our house. I have been training since childhood," then he became sad, "and my father also hires such teachers especially for me. You remember I've told you that I have to become a military man. That is why they teach me this."

Prokhor remembered their conversation, when Kai briefly had told what his family expected from him, and that he did not want this, and for this, he was rejected. Then Prokhor did not ask him about the details, feeling that this was a very painful topic for him and it was difficult for him to talk about it. Prokhor understood why he had such sad eyes and why he was with them, and not with his family. And now, having once again heard this from him, and most importantly, seeing him in a fight, Prokhor realized how serious it was in his life.

"I haven't asked you, but I want to understand," Prokhor looked into the eyes of his friend, "it is important for me to understand this for myself, because you are here, among us, and you are my friend, so I want to understand you. You've said that your family wants you to become a military man, and as I can see, their intentions are serious. Tell me why don't you want it?"

"I don't want to kill!" he answered very clearly.

Now Prokhor saw in the eyes of this boy an adult life position, which could not be changed by anything or anyone.

"But they will not leave you alone?"

"Yes, I know. I will grow up and then I will be able to decide for myself how to live and what to do!"

"You have made a decision, I will be with you, we will think of something. When you grow up, you will join my gang. Do you want to be with me?"

"Yes. I have no one else but you."

Kai's eyes glowed with sincerity.

Prokhor put his hand on Kai's one and shook it.

"You are not alone. We will always be together now."

Then he fell asleep, the load and nervous stress from the first real fight in his life made itself felt. Prokhor, covering him with his jacket and making sure that he was sleeping soundly asleep, went to the guys who were preparing a festive dinner in their makeshift kitchen.

The so-called kitchen was located here, in another branch of the basement. There was an old gas stove with a gas cylinder, a shabby washstand hung on the wall. Here the guys brought the furniture they found in the trash heap, but the main value was a huge long table at which almost everyone was placed. Benches, chairs, and stools were around the table. Everything that was found in a more or less good condition was brought here to their "home". In the center of the table, there was an old armchair, this was Prokhor's seat. Nobody even thought of sitting there. Prokhor, although he did not possess the eastern fighting technique, but hit hard and concretely. And he was feared and respected. He was their leader, who managed to unite them and lead them.

To the right of Prokhor's chair, there was a chair that no one was occupying either - this was Kai's place. Even the first time when Prokhor brought him to their gang. He put this chair next to him and asked if anyone had any questions on his wish to see Kai next to him. No one had any questions.

Prokhor guarded his little friend, although he never made him exceptions or indulgences in anything. He felt responsible for him, as for a younger brother, so he always kept him by his side if they went to fight or to rob. Among the members of his gang, he quickly figured out those who were dissatisfied with such a decision and explained to them once and for all that his decision had to be respected.

Now in this kitchen, his guys were preparing dinner. After all, they had won! Nobody even expected this. Seeing these adult boys in front of them, and even prepared for battle, they realized that they would fight to the last, but they had no chance. And here was Kai. Who would have thought! Now, opening the stew, stirring buckwheat, and slicing bread, they heatedly discussed how he behaved in a fight. Some even tried to imitate his fighting moves, but this only made the others laugh.

Prokhor was pleased with the realization of what his friend turned out to be. But even if Kai today, as Prokhor told him, ran away when the battle began, it would not matter for Prokhor. Their friendship would not have broken up. It was strange, but Prokhor understood that Kai would never run away. Why did he understand this? There was something in him that attracted Prokhor - this inner strength. It was an incredible inner strength of mind. Therefore, Prokhor was with him. He never made mistakes in people, even if he was still a little boy, but with huge sad eyes.

They took out vodka from the refrigerator. They have long behaved like adults, although they were still children. Prokhor drank with everyone. They put hot food.

While eating such delicious buckwheat porridge with stewed meat, Prokhor thought about Kai's words: "I don't want to kill." But he had crossed this line long ago, and he did not care. Although no, then when he realized that the man who had been struggling in his arms had quieted down - he became afraid. It was very scary. It was a couple of years ago. Then he just began to gather around him those who were rejected by this world. They decided to rob the warehouse. According to their calculations, there should have been no one there. But a drunken man was sleeping inside. It was either a watchman or a bum who got inside. It didn't matter. He saw them and began to shout. Rather, he just screamed when Prokhor's knife entered his stomach. Prokhor struck several times. The body went limp, short death cramps - and everything was over. Prokhor felt warm blood on his hands. He dried his hands. He looked at the pale faces of the guys standing around him. From that moment on, he became their true leader. It was like a rite of passage - a sacrifice. Now no one dared even think badly of him or contradict him. Those who saw it with their own eyes told the boys who were newly arriving at them about Prokhor, who even without flinching had ripped open the man's stomach.

"I wonder how Kai will react to this when he finds out that I've killed a man?"

But that was not the point. He would kill if the situation called for it. It didn't bother him. This was life. And he accepted it for what it was. He needed to tell Kai about it somehow. After all, he was his friend, and there should be no secrets between them.

***

In today's fight, Kai suffered the most. The rest escaped with bruises and minor injuries. And not surprising - after all, he was in the thick of the battle.

An hour later he left the bedroom.

His body was recovering quickly. And now this hour of sleep restored his strength. Although everything hurt, he felt good overall.

Everyone was delighted with him. They began to shake hands and pat on the shoulder. They immediately pounced on with questions and requests to teach them how to fight in the same way.

Prokhor banged on the table, everyone was quiet. He motioned for him to sit next to, in his place. Everyone parted in front of him, letting him pass to the chair. One of the guys quickly ran away and brought him food.

"How are you?" Prokhor looked at him carefully, trying to make sure of his health.

"It's okay."

"Exactly? You got the most."

"I am not only taught the art of combat. There are also techniques for protection and recovery. It is important to know and be able to apply. Therefore, everything is really normal."

"Well, you're cool! You've passed the rite of passage into our gang - you've shown yourself in the real case. Now you will always be with me - you will be my deputy."

Prokhor held out his hand to him. They shook hands. This was the recognition of Kai by Prokhor in front of everyone. Now Prokhor had officially put him in second place after himself in their gang. And everyone understood this.

After that, the guys could not resist and inundated him with questions about how he fought like that. He ate and answered. Prokhor, being already full and lounging in his "royal" chair, looked at all this.

"What time do you need to get home today?" Prokhor's eyes sparkled slyly.

"Today I can do it late. My parents left for the reception at the Kremlin, they will return very late, and those who are in the house will not betray what time I have arrived."

"It's good that there is time," Prokhor sly smiled, "guys, bring a clean glass and pour vodka."

Prokhor put a glass of vodka in front of Kai.

"It's time for you to become an adult. And then you fight better than us, and you haven't even tried vodka. Is it so?" Prokhor looked into the eyes of his friend.

"No. Have not tried it."

"Then drink."

Kai looked at Prokhor. He trusted him. This was his friend. If Prokhor said, then he must drink vodka.

He drank. His breath caught. But then a strange warmth poured over his body. The pain from the blows gradually melted into this warmth. He no longer felt pain, he felt good, it was good and easy. And the soul was easy. Everything that had tormented and tortured him from the inside went away and remained somewhere far away.

Prokhor watched him, saw, and understood what the boy was feeling. He bent down to Kai and, so that no one could hear, asked:

"Doesn't it hurt now?" he understood that everything hurt him after today's fight. He admired how courageously his friend endured pain and did not complain. This glass of vodka was now the only thing that Prokhor could do for him to numb the pain, even if for a few hours.

"No," Kai replied in surprise, "I'm fine now."

The guys shouted at him to have another drink. But Prokhor covered the glass with his hand and said that it was enough for the first time.

He spent that evening in a state of strange euphoria. Late at night, when the alcohol had practically disappeared, Prokhor took several guys with him and went to see him off.

Since that time, Prokhor no longer allowed Kai to drink vodka. Only on New Year's, which they celebrated later than the holiday itself, Prokhor poured and allowed him to drink a glass of champagne. After this glass, everyone "lost" him. He woke up in the morning, when, finally, Prokhor managed to wake him up to send him home.

So he grew up. Then there were many more fights and not entirely correct affairs, to which he went with Prokhor. Although Prokhor did not take him for serious cases. He didn't want to involve the boy, and he was worried about Kai.

***

Being a teenager, he came into their flat. That basement had long been abandoned by them. And that house was also demolished. Now their gang was based in the flat. It was a huge communal apartment in the center of old Moscow in one of the lanes behind the Arbat. This pre-revolutionary house was dark and gloomy. There was a dark entrance, narrow stairs, and a strange apartment with a long corridor and rooms. There were several adjoining rooms in which they mostly hung out. These adjoining rooms belonged to a relative of one of the guys in their gang. The relative herself lived in another room, or rather, drank and slept there later in a permanent unconsciousness. Other tenants of the rooms were registered here, but did not live; where they were no one knew, and did not delve into the details. Only at the end of the corridor, in the room, lived a strange old man, practically out of his mind, who could walk along the corridor as a shadow, but spent most of the time, shutting himself up.

When he was here, Kai was always amazed at new faces and strange personalities that one could encounter in the hallway of this apartment and then never see them again. Who were they, where were they from and why were they here? Probably no one would have answered this question to him.

Their rooms were comfortable. There was also a table in the center, but now it was more decent than the one in the basement. There were also chairs around the table. The invariable royal chair of Prokhor was in the center and a little simpler - Kai's one - to the right of Prokhor.

During this time Prokhor turned into a stocky, broad-shouldered youth with straight, short-cropped brown hair, regular features with the first signs of a mustache and beard, which he began to shave off, and penetrating tiger eyes. Yes, if not for these predator's eyes, he could be called a very nice young man. But this strange look with yellow sparks frightened those looking at him and made his face cruel. There were tightly compressed lips, on which a smile rarely showed, and the unyielding character of the undisputed leader. They were afraid of him. They respected, but more were afraid.

During this brief period of his adolescence-to-youth transition, he had two more occasions when he had killed. And this left an imprint on him: although he was young, his soul had long ago become stale, and this was imprinted on his appearance.

One evening, still in their basement, Prokhor called Kai into his so-called office, into a recess in the wall, closed by a curtain, where there was a small table, a couple of chairs, and an armchair for Prokhor. Here he usually planned secret operations, not for everyone, and dealt with each member of his gang separately, if the situation required.

Kai sat across from him at the table and waited for what he would say.

"You know, I've killed a man," Prokhor said simply, peering into his face, looking for condemnation or self-loathing in him after what he had said.

Kai was silent for a long time. Then he got up, walked over to Prokhor, who was sitting in an armchair and hugged him by the shoulders.

"I'm so sorry that you have such a life where you have to do it. You are so good, so kind. I'll always be with you," said he and returned to his chair.

That moment Prokhor was shocked to the core. He expected anything his friend would say upon learning about it. But this still boy just hugged him by the shoulders and absorbed his pain into himself. But even Prokhor did not allow himself to think about it. He did not allow himself to admit that after that his soul was languishing with the pain of what he had done. He was moved by the fact that now he was understood and accepted as he was.

After that, Prokhor told his friend everything, and Kai also told him everything about his life there, behind the wall in his house.

His life was still the same, but with an even greater tightening of control over himself. After his parents began to find him regularly with a broken face and torn clothes, they began to put him under house arrest more often. But this only added to his knowledge, since he did not waste time. He studied. And at the same time, his desire to find freedom from them grew every day.

Now, being a teenager and entering their apartment, Kai could already afford not to come home for the night. He could stay here overnight or hang out here for several days. Returning home, he listened distantly to lectures about his behavior. But now it didn't bother him, he didn't care what they said to him. This was followed by another punishment in the form of arrest for several days. Sometimes he sat out these days at home if his studies required it, and sometimes he ran away - and no one and nothing could stop him.

Realizing that their son had contacted a bad company, his parents decided to send him to Rostov to a distant relative for the whole summer. Deciding that this isolated area away from people, and most importantly, from his dubious friends, would benefit him.

It was isolation, but not for him.

Being met from the train, he was taken by car for a long time through the Rostov steppes. Kai looked out of the window with delight, he had never seen such a huge space. And then a fabulous picture opened up in front of him - it was a herd of horses rushing across the steppe. The teen's eyes lit up.

"I want to fly with them over this steppe!" he decided firmly, seeing the galloping horses.

My strange friend. Volume 1. "The Book of Flame" Chapter 1

 

The garrison was quiet. Relative calm on the fronts brought regularity to the life of the military.

Kai spent the second day in Bartholomew's tent.

He was reclining on a soldier's bunk with a pillow under his back. He was wearing a protective military uniform, casually buttoned up with several bottom buttons. In the open neckline, one could see an undershirt and cross glittering on a chain. Camouflage trousers were tucked into rough army boots. Kai put one foot on the bed to make it easier to play the guitar.

They drank, taking advantage of the moment of calm the second day. It was rare. They were lucky.

Kai ran his fingers over the strings once again. The guys at the table looked in his direction.

"Come on, give us ours," - said Pepper. "What are you pulling?"

In the tent, in addition to Kai's acquaintances, there were many officers - those who were admitted here from other units.

The news that Kai was also with Bartholomew made everyone happy: he always told the news about which they had not even heard, and it was interesting to talk with Kai, so everyone almost came to Bartholomew with gifts, so that only he would let in and allow staying.

It was the second day of such gatherings. Some people came, others left.

Now, towards the morning, there were fewer people in the tent. Someone was lying on the beds, someone was sitting at the table, on which there was still seas of ​​snacks and drinks. Empty bottles rolled underfoot, which the most conscientious ones picked up and took to the trash.

In general, the picture did not correspond to army discipline. All were not dressed according to the regulations: tunics unbuttoned, many were simply in T-shirts. They smoked here. The canopy of the tent was folded back to let in the morning freshness and to get rid of some smoke.

Kai took a drag and put out his cigarette. Once again he ran his hand over the strings. The lad remembered that he had not played the guitar for a long time. He half-closed his eyes and slightly bowed his head to the strings, because of which a rebel lock fell on his handsome face; in a low, incredibly beautiful voice, he sang:

"The order came - and on an alarm, we get up.

Taking the machine gun, we sit down silently on the plane.

In the dawn hour, when the earth is still sleeping,

We were brought to Afghanistan by the will of the order.

Afghanistan is a beautiful wild mountainous land,

The order is simple: go ahead and die.

But how is it possible, spring has been in the yard for a long time,

And the heart is full of sadness and bitterness.

Afghanistan - a machine gun rumbles somewhere

Afghanistan ... A platoon of boys died yesterday.

Their commander fell to the ground with lead in his chest,

"Russia, Mother" - he whispered before his death."

His voice trembled slightly. He fell silent, having stopped playing. There was silence. Everyone was also silent; those who first heard him singing were amazed by such a voice.

"Should I pour you a drink?" Bartholomew realized that Kai remembered something of his own, was thinking. And he had something to remember: so many years in the war.

"Pepper, pass him a glass. Should I give you a snack?"

Kai drank the already warm vodka in one gulp.

"No," he said, then bent over the guitar, as if squeezing it, then leaned back on the pillow. He also continued with half-closed eyes:

"It's a Beautiful wild mountainous land

The order is simple: go ahead and die.

But how is it possible, spring has been in the yard for a long time,

And the heart is full of sadness and bitterness.

My friend fell, his beautiful face covered in blood

He was dying away from mother earth.

The last time looking into foreign skies ..."

"Great! It gives the creeps!" - Pepper was always unrestrained and expressed his emotions violently.

"Why are you singing this? Do you like tearing your soul out with memories?" Frol stared at Kai, who was still reclining on the bed.

"I do not care. There are no memories! For a long time already there is nothing."

"Do you like to play the hero? You are cool, of course, we are no match for you, and you don't even have memories! Willpower is great! And we have, we are no match for you, oh great Kai, our superhero!" finally losing his temper, shouted Frol, enraged with the words of Kai, again finding a reason to grapple.

Kai jumped out of bed, tossing the guitar away. Frol got up from the table with a crash, threw up his hand sharply, hitting Kai in the solar plexus. The blow was weak: Frol was drunk and poorly coordinated his movements. Kai grabbed the table but immediately regained consciousness, catching his breath.

Between them, instantly assessing the situation, Bartholomew arose.

"Stand down, officers!" Bartholomew said in a commanding voice. "What are you doing? Have you drunk completely?" he looked at Frol, seething with anger.

"Why are you doing that, Frol? I’m sorry if you really think I’m no match for you. You are my friend!" there was no offense in Kai's voice for the blow. He wanted, really wanted, that peace reigned between them. What a pity that Frol constantly finds fault with something.

In order not to annoy Frol with his presence, Kai went to the exit from the tent.

"Wait, where are you going?" asked Bartholomew.

"To my place."

"Torpedo, cut off the exit, return this superhero to his place," ordered Bartholomew.

The huge torpedo completely blocked the exit from their tent with its mighty figure. The military jersey did not hide his powerful biceps, which were now swollen with exertion.

Pepper stood behind Kai's back, he was slightly lower than Torpedo, but also resembled a closet. There were two hefty paratroopers and between them Kai, who looked like a short, thin teenager.

He definitely didn't want to fight them, although he could put them on the shoulder blades in a split second. Now he wanted to leave: he was touched by Frol's words and his behavior. It was always unpleasant for him to realize that everyone considered him different, special. But what was he to blame? He just did his job - he fought and that was it.

Taking advantage of Kai's momentary confusion, Torpedo and Pepper pounced on him and, practically on their hands, returned him to his place.

"Sit here," said, smiling, Torpedo, "no fucking thing to suffer! Frol drank too much, with whom it does not happen."

Kai, realizing that it was foolish to resist, remained sitting on the bed.

Silence hung in the tent, no one else interfered with this showdown.

Major Batulin appeared at the entrance.

"Well, what's going on here? Have you got drunk and put up a fight?" Major managed to catch the end of the showdown between Kai and Frol.

All who were in the tent jumped up to attention.

"At ease," the major looked around the audience. "Well, what a state, officers. Just a rabble," he sighed. "Bartholomew, Kai, urgently to the headquarters, everyone has already gathered there, there is a task. Put yourself in order. I'm waiting in the car."

"What has happened? Why did he come at an unearthly hour?" said Torpedo, watching as Kai and Bartholomew put their uniforms in order.

"We’ll find out now," said Bartholomew, leaving the tent.

When they entered the headquarters, everyone had already gathered there. In addition to the colonel and his assistants, there was a company intelligence captain Denis Vladimirovich Davydov, nicknamed Gusar, with two officers, and battalion commander Petrenko Sidor Ivanovich, nicknamed Sidr, with his men.

"Have a seat, officers," the colonel gestured everyone to sit down at the table.

"Somehow the main characters don't look fresh?" he reproachfully looked at Kai and Bartholomew.

He heard that Bartholomew's tent had been reveling for the second day, and now he saw from their faces and appearance that the guys had a good rest.

Kai, out of habit, reached into his pocket for cigarettes.

"I forbid smoking," the colonel said sternly.

"Do you have soda or beer for the guys, otherwise it's a pity to look at them," the always cheerful Cider joked.

The Colonel turned a deaf ear to the joke and got to the point of collecting them. It turned out that a gang of Mujahideen descended into the valley and began to nightmare a peaceful village. The task of Bartholomew's group was: by coordinating actions with reconnaissance and infantry in the person of the battalion commander Petrenko, push back the jihadis from the villages in the valley and drive them into the mountains. The gang is large, but, sensing the hunt, it will go to the mountains. There was no order to destroy them, only to scare them, let them get out.

The plan is simple, reconnaissance will give accurate data on which village they are in, the battalion commander arranges a noisy attack, and Kai and Bartholomew with their guys take three armored personnel carriers and drive the retreating to the mountains.

It was necessary to act immediately. The APCs should be at the checkpoint by ten in the morning. In the morning, the spirits do not wait for an attack, they are relaxed, and so they should not miss the time for a surprise.

Kai managed to drop in to change his clothes. He put on a bulletproof vest, a helmet, weighed himself with a weapon and wrapped an Arab scarf on top, knowing how dusty it would be on the road and in the valley. If you breathe through a scarf, much less sand will get inside.

Oh, this sand! How he hated it! It was everywhere, and in addition to it, there was also the scorching sun!

An APC drove to take him. Bartholomew and Frol were in one APC, Torpedo and Ivan were in another, and Kai and Pepper were in the third. Kai assumed control. Pepper kept in touch by radio and coordinated his movements.

They were already close to the point of arrival. Suddenly, in front of them, they saw an armored Mercedes and a jeep, the way of which was blocked on both sides by the cars of the militants and the fighting people.

"Kai, how do you hear?" the radio hissed. It was Bartholomew.

"I hear you!"

"Ahead Mujahideen are polishing off the Japs. We seem to be friends with the Japs now. Maybe to help the cross-eyed?"

"Let's help, otherwise they are trapped," Kai also realized that the armored vehicle belongs to the Japanese, by the flag.

Torpedo's armored personnel carrier, at full speed, crashed into the militants' car and pushed it into the abyss. Kai did the same with the second car. The armored personnel carrier of Bartholomew poured fire on the bandits fleeing into the mountains.

To make it easier to fire at the people running up the mountain, Kai and the guys got out of the armored personnel carriers and climbed onto the armor of the vehicles. They fired at the retreating jihadis in automatic bursts, they stood off, but heavy fire and the factor of surprise played a decisive role in the battle, the enemy retreated. Pepper and Torpedo “poured” them in long bursts, knowing that in the crowd the bullets would reach their target.

Kai shot aiming while keeping everything that happened under control. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the sight of the gun aimed at Frol.

He fired first, saw the jihadi fall from the stone on which it had been standing.

Soon the shots died down. Bartholomew finished off several writhing bodies on the slope with control. Judging by the scattered corpses, hardly anyone managed to escape.

Bartholomew turned to the Japanese, who were standing at the Mercedes, looking at their saviors. For them, everything that had happened was a complete surprise.

In good English, Bartholomew said:

"I'm glad we made it on time. I hope no one was seriously injured among you. You can go. Don't linger here."

Kai's armored personnel carrier stood practically in front of the doors of an armored Mercedes. Kai sat down on the armor, put down his machine gun, rummaging in his pockets for cigarettes.

One of the Japanese opened the back door of the Mercedes, the others bowed respectfully. A tall young man with a not entirely Japanese appearance got out of the car, but slightly more than a European's slanting eyes betrayed his belonging to this nation. He looked about thirty, maybe less. He was dressed like in a Japanese engraving: harem pants tucked into boots, a kimono, a silk belt, and swords at the waist. He was handsome with an enigmatic oriental beauty.

Glancing attentively at all those present, he turned to Bartholomew in almost pure English with words of gratitude.

After listening to him, Kai replied in perfect Japanese:

"You need to be more careful! You shouldn't ride here with such a few guards."

Everyone turned to Kai, who, having said this, finally found cigarettes and lit one.

The tall Japanese man stared at Kai without stopping, and then answered also in Japanese:

"You speak my language perfectly. I will take your advice into account. Thanks for the help. My name is Toyami Takeru." He bowed and gazed into Kai's eyes.

"Gray eyes, it is surprising for Japanese," Kai thought.

The radio next to him hissed.

"Guys, Cidr is driving them, where are you?" came from it.

Kai replied:

"We'll be there in twenty minutes!"

"Have you heard? Turmoil has already begun there! That’s all we need," he shouted to the guys.

Already getting into the car, he turned to Toyami and said in the same Japanese:

"It was nice to meet you, but I can't chat: we will have fun in another place."

His armored personnel carrier jerked off.

Toyami remained standing, watching the cars leaving in the distance along the road.

He was amazed. Hearing from a Russian - yes, he was definitely a Russian, such a perfect pronunciation! This young man amazed him. Such aristocratic features and such eyes - they were like precious emeralds, fascinated, flashing green lights.

"He is very young, much younger than me. I don't even know his name. "

As if reading his thoughts, Isoa, standing next to him, said:

"This is Kai."

"Oh, yes, many told some mythical stories about his military exploits," he thought. Though, now he was ready to believe in their plausibility, having seen how he famously shot the fleeing bandits. But he could not imagine that Kai looked like that and so young.

Toyami gave the order to go: it was really dangerous to stay here.

All the way, thoughts about this young man did not leave him.

"Yes exactly! I've heard so much about him, but I've never given it any importance. They say that Kai is excellent with a sword, he has no equal in this. And these stories are about his heroism! It seems he has been here for a long time. But why? What keeps him here? Does he like it all? How many questions at once I would like to ask him!"

Toyami smiled: "I would like to ask - looking into those green eyes ..."

He listened to himself: a strange feeling, he hadn’t felt it for a long time - a desire to see someone again.

He became indifferent to everyone. He learned and experienced a lot over the years, gradually losing interest in everything. Rather, he just lived: he did his job well, in his free time he met with friends and allowed himself to be entertained as he wanted.

Where does this desire come from now in him again?

Toyami turned to the window, looking out at the flickering dusty landscape.

"I'll see you again, Kai!"

My strange friend. Volume 1. "The Book of Flame" Prologue

           You will be a military man...

"You will be a military man," repeated a middle-aged man in a military uniform several times, looking sternly at the boy standing in front of him.

"But the military kill people! I don't want to kill anyone!" from the lips of a little boy such words sounded unexpectedly.

The man's face darkened.

"In our family, everyone is a military. It's honorable. Our family is proud of this. And you should be proud of it!" seeing that the boy wanted to object, the man added, "go, it has already been decided. You should be proud you will be a man of arms."

The intelligent eyes of the child looked into the eyes of the father. In the depths of his son's gaze, he read the word "No!" it began to anger him. The boy was still so small, but no longer obeyed his will. Where did it come from in him? Their family, all the men in it, were military men, and it was considered an honor. But now his son told him things that no one had ever dared to say. His son, his youngest son! Why is he like that?

"Go. And think carefully what you are saying," the man paused, and then uttered the words that sounded like a sentence, - you will be a military man!"

The boy did not argue anymore, he turned and, leaving, imperceptibly wiped the tears of resentment from his eyes. Leaving the house, he took the bike.

The bike ride distracted him from his sad thoughts. He imagined that this was not a bicycle, but a horse - real, big and he was riding it through the forest. He deliberately rode along a forest path, the unevenness of which and the protruding tree roots tossed the bike, and these exciting sensations, as it seemed to him, of riding a horse.

The forest ended, he rode through the field between the ears of ripening wheat. Ahead, swallows flew low over the road:

"It probably means rain," the boy thought.

He stopped by a small pond, partially overgrown with reeds and low bushes. The surface of the pond reflected the sky and rare clouds. It was a summer afternoon. The sun was at its zenith. Grasshoppers chirped in the grass. Huge dragonflies circled over its surface, looking for their prey.

The boy sat down at the edge of the pond, a bicycle lying nearby. He mentally imagined that this was his horse, which was now drinking water and eating grass next to him. These thoughts made him not so lonely - after all, his faithful friend was next to him.

His thoughts drifted back to the last conversation with his father. There were many such conversations. At first, everyone laughed at his objections, thinking that he was small and did not understand what he was saying, but then - he felt it internally - they began to perceive him differently.

Mom - he loves her so much. But why does he feel that she shuns him? He sees with what love she treats his two older brothers and his sister, what spiritual sincerity occurs between them when they communicate. And with him - after all, she also says gentle words to him, but only inside he feels cold...

When did everything change? From the moment when he shared with his people that he did not want to be a military man, like everyone else in his family.

No, he is deceiving himself; it started earlier - from the very moment of his conscious perception of himself and those around him. Even then, he felt the rejection of him. He always felt it. Probably, true feelings cannot be replaced with fake ones. He became an outcast, loner.

At first, he tried to fix it. He tried to be closer to them, although their conversations, discussions, and events in their lives, did not attract. It was not interesting and boring for him. But he pretended that he was interested, he tried to be with them.

In order to break down the rapidly growing wall of misunderstanding between him and his family, he began to share with them his experiences, thoughts, feelings, believing that his sincerity will tear down this wall.

But he was wrong! They did not understand him. They understood at all: neither his dreams, nor his experiences, nor his thoughts. His desire to be one with them turned into the exact opposite. He became an outcast. He became completely alien to them. It was painful for him to understand that he was different, that he thought, dreamt, and perceived the world differently. And this was unacceptable in their family.

In an instant, the wall that he tried to destroy turned into an impregnable barrier that he would never be able to destroy in his life...

His eyes became wet again with tears, everything inside was squeezed painfully.

"Mom, Dad, why? I love you so much!"

The boy cried, looking into the bottomless blue of the sky. His soul cried, never having found the warmth of family love, a lonely soul, suffering in misunderstanding, for which they did not love it...

Then he wiped away the tears with his hand. There was a new feeling inside him. He realized that nothing could be fixed, nothing could be changed. He must be strong. He would be strong!

"I swear I'll never cry again," the boy said, looking into the depths of the blue sky.

Footsteps were heard behind, the boy turned. On the path, a teenager, much older than him was standing.

"What are you doing here? This is my place - I fish here," said the teenager, holding fishing rods in one hand and a bucket in the other.

"It’s not written here that this is your place. I want and will be here," the boy snapped, getting up and preparing for a fight.

The teenager stared at the boy. The superiority in power was clearly not on the side of the boy, who was small and puny. There were only big, green eyes. But what a fearless - real boy!

"I have an extra fishing rod, we can go fishing together," said the teenager calmly, passing by the boy, "by the way, my name is Prokhor."

"Kai," the boy growled, still expecting an attack.

"Strange name."

"I hate it."

"Why?"

"Because everybody says when they hear it like you: "a strange name," the boy said angrily.

"Then I won’t say like that anymore," Prokhor said very seriously, "and will you stand there? Take the fishing rod!"

"I don't know how to fish."

Prokhor laughed.

"Is it true?" but, seeing the confused look of Kai with a fishing rod in his hand, he calmly said, "I will teach you!"

***

In the evening, when the caught fish splashed in the bucket, Kai said that it was time for him to return home. Prokhor nodded in understanding and held out his hand.

"Will you come tomorrow? I'll go fishing here again."

"I'll come!"

"So, now we will fish together ..."

Returning home by bike, Kai smiled happily, realizing that he was not alone in this world. He found the same as he - an outcast, a loner, someone who no one understood and did not accept.

On that day, they talked a lot, talked about their lives, and shared their thoughts and dreams with each other. On that day, each of them realized that he had found a friend, a friend for life...

Only one thing darkened that day - these were the words sounding in Kai's ears:

"You will be a military man!"

 

The sand of time. Volume 2. The Book of Flame

 

The sand of time. Volume 2. "The Book of Flame"

Prologue

A few years earlier ...

The plane was falling. He felt it with every cell of his body, as if he were one with this wounded machine, fighting in the air for its life. Such wounds inflicted on a huge beast flying through space were incompatible with life. Kai understood that. But he fought, fought to the last.

Fuel leaked from the holes, leaving the huge body drained of blood. The last growls, coughs, groans, and sobs came from a motor beating in death throes.

"Don't die, my friend in battle! You've saved me in this battle, save me now! Do not take with you to this endless blue sky! I want to live so much!"

Kai did the incredible - they were still flying. He kept the machine in the air with the last of his strength. Then he began to descend, realizing that there was no other way out. Beneath them, there was a desert. An endless eternal desert of sand. They couldn't cross it.

The machine was dying. It was dying in his arms. A few more moments - and he would hear the last death whine of the motor - then the end would come for both of them.

It was going down. Now the main thing was to have time to touch the ground, or rather the sand before the engines were turned off.

The earth was rapidly approaching. The machine groaned, vibrated in its death throes.

"Darling, be patient! A little more!"

A tail of smoke lay behind them. Flames flared up, licking the metal, and then extinguished, blown out by air currents.

The plane, like a shooting star, left a trail of smoke in the blue sky.

The surrounding space looked indifferently at the struggle for the lives of two - a huge plane and a man in it.

The plane touched the sand and came into contact with this surface at great speed. They were covered from above by the sand wave lifted by the plane. There was a rumble in his ears. Kai was thrown from side to side in the chair he was strapped to. The plane began to roll over. He heard the groans of twisted metal in his ears - the final scream of a dying machine. And then everything disappeared. Rather, it disappeared for him. He lost consciousness, lost touch with reality, time dissolved for him ...

The plane was moving forward by inertia for some time, but, getting deeper into the sand dunes, it stopped and froze. The tons of sand he had lifted into the air began to return back. This sand, it saved them, it extinguished the flame, strangled the fire, not allowing it to flare up with renewed vigor. There was no ammunition on the plane, they were all used up in the battle. The remaining fuel leaked out into the air. The dead bomber lay in the sand under the arch of the sky, indifferent to everything that was happening.

Silence reigned in the desert. Perfect silence, the silence of dead space.

***

Kai felt cold. There was an impenetrable void all around.

"That's all ... This is the end!"

No! Everything would not end so easily in his life!

He unbuckled the straps holding him in the chair and fell out of it, rolling to the door. The floor was now tilted at a steep angle as the plane was lying on its side.

For a long time, he tried to get out of this black vacuum around him. Bumping into objects with hands, he remembered what it was and where it was located, and so gradually he moved towards the exit.

He felt no pain, he felt fear. Fear of the darkness around and the fear of staying in it - in this darkness - forever. Therefore, he crawled, clung to objects, but did not stop, just to see at least a spark of light.

All the wiring was shorted from impact and damage, the backup bulbs did not light either. There was nothing at hand that could give even a spark of light, not even his lighter - he did not take it, he forgot it at the headquarters ...

The fear increased due to the silence around. Only his breathing and the rustle of his movement, and then silence. It enveloped from all sides.

"How strange ..." he managed to open the side door with almost no effort. The cold air hit his face. He stepped forward and fell to the sand, then slowly rolled onto his back.

Above him stretched a huge vault of the night sky. There were myriads of stars, the Milky Way, points of movement of satellites, and flashes of lights of flying aircraft. The southern sky - there is nothing more beautiful than it. He froze, mesmerized by this beauty.

He did not know how much time had passed. Now the time became unimportant for him. Time is important to those who live among people. People have invented time to subjugate the space around, but it has turned out the other way around. Space became a time, a short time of their life. Here, in a space without people, there was no time, there was nothing, only sand and a huge night sky going into infinity.

It's cold in the desert at night. This coldness had a healing effect on Kai. His body soaked up the cold, and the pain from the blows gradually faded away. Then he realized that he was starting to freeze. Then he crawled back into the dead car and closed the door. A gloomy vacuum of darkness thickened around him. But now it didn't scare him. Closing his eyes, he saw the stars in the night sky. He is not alone; he is only a grain of sand among a myriad of stars. A small star that fell from the sky into this desert ...

***

He woke up from the heat. He seemed to be inhaling hot sand. Kai crawled to the door and opened it. The bright light blinded, and the heat of the hot air swallowed him into its embrace. When his eyes got used to the light, he got out of the plane and looked around.

On the sand, half-buried, lay a huge military bomber. Small parts of it were scattered during its braking. But, surprisingly, the plane was practically not injured, although it could fly to pieces. Now the sand of the desert was gently covering its dead body with its soft veil. Not completely yet. But soon the desert would swallow it into arms and give it an eternity of oblivion in this sand.

And the desert would give him eternity.

How long would he live here? He knew that inside the plane there was a small supply of water and maybe something from a dry ration. Later, he would go looking for anything that would prolong his life.

And then, what would happen next ...

There was a desert around. He roughly knew the square of his fall. There was nothing and no one here. No one was ever here.

Should he collect everything and go ahead? This is what fools do. The desert in a couple of days would kill him with the heat of the day and the cold at night. There was a shadow from the plane here, where he could wait out the heat and the plane itself, where he could flee from the night cold.

"Thank you!" Kai put his hand on the metal of the side, "You've died, you can no longer be saved. Your injuries are fatal. No one can bring you back to life. So sleep here, my friend, who has fought to the last for my life. And now I will stay with you. I will be here by your side, I will guard your peace, your sleep until I fall asleep myself. And then only the sky will know where our lives have disappeared ... "

But now he was still alive. And life was wonderful. How beautiful the desert is! This is majestic infinity. It is a sea of ​​sand with soft waves extending beyond the horizon. It is the blue of the endless sky. It was such a bright sunny day.

Kai sat on the sand in the shadow of the plane, leaning his back against its side, and recalled his such short life ...

Platform Begovaya. Book I. Chapter 10

            The apartment of Havre, the son of Sarychev, was located approximately ninety kilometers from Oxford or an hour’s drive by car. But it suited him. He was tired of living in the suburbs of Oxford. And now, when his main training was over, and he could attend Oxford University, not every day, Havre preferred to rent an apartment in the elite area of London. London attracted him with its life, energy, people, and movement. Although conservative England was felt here in everything, it seemed, the city itself was living a different life as if having shaken off this touch of snobbery and age-old foundations, and cast prudence to the winds and plunged into the maelstrom of modern life. Havre also rushed into this whirlpool. Nothing held him and did not stop him. The parents, having sent him to England at school age, provided him with everything. Havre always had money, and in any quantity. Therefore, he did not see the point in denying himself anything. And why, we live in fact once.

And he tried everything. But he had a head on his shoulders. He categorically removed drugs from his life having tried them once. He saw those who got hooked on them. No, it was not his way. He loved to manage his life and did not want to depend on anyone or anything. He would never allow any junk to dictate to him how to live. Another thing was alcohol. With the help of it, he could relax well, but at the same time, it did not cause him any dependence. Well, he knew the measure. Youthful maximalism had passed a long time ago. There was a period when he tried many different kinds of alcoholic drinks from the endless sea. And he concluded that to vomit in the morning, and then lie all day with a headache, this was not his way. Now he drank, but he clearly analyzed what and how much. He already knew his dose and his measure and no longer ventured with too much drinking, considering it to be a stupid and childish act.

In addition to all of the above, in a comfortable and free life of Havre, there was sex. Yes, he had the opportunity to try everything in sex. He had no morals or limits. Well, they were. It was what he wanted and loved, and what he did not accept. He wanted and loved everything in sex. There were different perversions, group sex, hard sex, whips, masks, hanging. In his bed, there were gays and lesbians, as well as Mulattoes, Negros, Asians. He accepted everything in sex, but not in relation to himself. He was ready to look at all this, but he was engaged in this sex with certain limitations. In relation to himself, he does not accept all these bullyings with these whips and masks, he gladly participated in group sex, but only in the role of the top, and in no other way. Although his study friends, the same cheeky students, the children of rich parents, assured him that he would get a lot of unforgettable feelings by allowing himself to be fucked. But here a taboo worked in Havre. He simply could not humble himself. It was one thing to fuck a girl or a guy who was copulating with another partner in a gangbang, it was really awesome, but in no other way. Well, he could not allow anyone to shove a member in his ass and use his body for self-satisfaction. From this alone, all desire disappeared in Havre.

Therefore, he was always just on top, and this suited him perfectly. He received maximum pleasure from sex. And he also knew that he should not lose control of sex, otherwise he can be crushed by someone. Though he pretended to relax, he never trusted anyone.

That was how he lived, lived a full life, plunging into dissipation. He tried everything and had time to undergo treatment for all sorts of shameful diseases. Although he always used a condom, some frivolous infections stuck to him and he had to be treated for the consequences of this very free love.

***

That evening Havre decided to have fun with a threesome. Although no, he did not plan anything at first, but in the bar, where he was sitting and contemplating the audience dancing on the dance floor, a girl sat next to him. She was pretty, with crafty eyes and a good figure. Havre was in the mood for entertainment, and after a short talk, they went to him and on the way to his house, they met Serge, his friend at the institute. Serge was a Frenchman with Polish blood, tall, elegant and always ready for anything. And so it all happened.

All three were now lying in the bed of Havre. Serge fucked the Englishwoman, who was moaned from his thrusts in her, and Havre fucked Serge in his tight ass. It was exciting, the debauchery, which occurred in all its depravity, and from this, it was, even more, a feeling of sweetness from what was happening.

The Englishwoman groaned and went limp. Serge began to lean heavily on her, and Havre, feeling muscle spasms on his penis in his friend ass, came off from the look of these two and the sensation of sex in which he took part.

Then the nirvana came, in which the three of them, lying on the bed, smoked and looked at the ceiling above themselves. This sweet nirvana was interrupted by an insistent doorbell.

It was strange because it was late, and only those who knew the code could enter the entrance. From this Havre concluded that, probably, the neighbors from downstairs or adjacent apartments, once again hearing the too loud groans or creaks of his bed, came to hint to him about the silence and order in their decent house.

Havre got up reluctantly and, putting on trousers and a shirt, went to open the door.

Nikolai Evgenievich, a friend of his father, and three other men, whom he did not know, were standing on the threshold. Havre was confused, but he kept a calm look on his face and, greeting, invited them to enter.

“Are you alone?” asked Nikolai Evgenievich, hearing laughter and voices from the bedroom. “There is a serious conversation.”

Havre nodded in understanding and, taking the guests to the large living room, walked into the bedroom. There, in a voice that did not have objections, he asked the naked lovers lying on the bed to get dressed and leave. This statement was not particularly embarrassing. It could be seen, they were set to continue the evening. Continuing to talk noisily, they got dressed, seized a bottle of champagne and, going out into the hallway, where, not hesitating the men in the living room, took turns kissing Havre on the lips and left.

Havre also, without being embarrassed, came back to the living room with a calm face and lit a cigarette, turned to his father's friend, thereby showing that he was all attentive. The man paused, looking at the guy standing in front of him. He remembered him as a boy when he was running through his summer cottage in the Moscow region. Even then, little Gavrilka was always with broken knees, running everywhere, and constantly creating problems for all because of his living character. Now he was standing in front of a twenty-five young man, tall, with a good sports figure. It was obvious that he was well-groomed. His brown hair was now matted and not combed. They fell on his dark olive eyes. Even in the form in which they found Havre, he was handsome, masculine, strength, power, and character were felt in him. His face was not beautiful. It was correct, masculine, and with age he would become that same type of men, from the appearance of which women go crazy, feeling in them that male power and aura of power, which should be in a real male.

“A dead ringer for his father,” thought Nikolai Evgenievich, then he became sad and finally said what for he came here from Moscow late at night.

“Your father was murdered. Last week. He has already been buried. He was shot. Sit down ... I'll tell you more in detail now.”

Nikolai Evgenievich appreciated how Havre was carrying himself; he, of course, saw the pain in his eyes, but there was the same calm expression on his face.

“He carries himself well, almost perfect. He deserves his father. "

Nikolai Evgenievich poured him water from a carafe standing on the table, he drank thoughtfully and spoke in a voice that had no emotions.

“Tell me. I'm waiting.”

They had a long conversation. Nikolai Evgenievich presented Havre to the men who had flown in with him. One of them was a lawyer, his name was Edward, and the other two worked for the deceased Sarychev in his business. After that, he told what had happened in Moscow recently in the affairs of his father, about the capture of his mother as a hostage, and then the cold-blooded murder of Vladimir Leonidovich. And what thereby this thug who killed his father had achieved, and how things were now with their business.

After listening to the story, Havre was silent for a long time, there were still no emotions on his face, he kept them all deep inside himself.

“I immediately return to Russia. You had no right to hide my father's death from me. I should have been at his funeral.”

“Sorry. That was my decision. But I swore to your father ... that was a long time ago. So, I swore that if something happened to him, I would do everything to save your life. I swore that I would help and take care of you as my son,” Nikolai Evgenievich paused, then continued. “If you go there, they will kill you. They do not need the heir of Sarychev alive. While you are here, and as long as you do not interfere in all this, you will not be touched. They are not interested in you. But as soon as you return and declare your rights to your father’s business, they will simply shoot your head off. Believe me, it is no England there ... now it is hell, lawlessness there. Listen to me, no matter how hard it is. They spared your mother only because she, having received a share in the business of her late husband, is a guarantor that this business will not be sunk from above, since Sarychev was respected by everyone, and no one would leave a widow without money. So your mother, like you, is provided with the shares you have been allotted. For now, be content with this. Moreover, here, in Europe, your father had three branches of his bank. You will lead them and, being here, you will manage this business. Now you need to wait. There, in Russia, and there is a massacre. You do not know the main thing. Not only this thug but also “Czechs”, Chechens, attempted to do business with your father. But Nazar, the one who killed your father, took him faster, now the Chechens will go out on him. So let them kill each other. And you will work here and wait for the time to come. And when it comes, you will return, and I will help you to take back what rightfully belongs to you.”

Havre calmly listened to everything, then got up, walked over to the window, lit a cigarette, opened the small window. Then he turned his gaze to Nikolai Evgenievich.

“How much to wait?”

“Five years. Previously, it makes no sense to return. I think in five years they will kill each other themselves, and then the one who will survive will be finished off by authorities. That is the plan. Whom they will not finish off – those will be imprisoned ... Here is such a food chain. And if you are smart, you will not get into it but will wait until you watch all this.”

Havre was clever, he understood everything, and he hid deep inside a passionate desire to avenge his father. He just, pulling on his cigarette again, thoughtfully said, “Father asked to buy a horse at auction. Did he have time to see it?”

Havre remembered the whole story when, at the request of his father, he flew to Germany for the annual auction of Hanover sports horses in May in Verdun. He did not understand this passion of his father for horses, but as an exemplary son, he always carried out his will. And when he asked to go there with a famous horse specialist to buy him a horse, he, of course, went. Then Havre could not even imagine that horses, yes, horses, cost so much. That they were being auctioned off and buyers were also “fighting” for them, raising the price. He looked indifferently at everything that happened, wrinkling his nose from the smell of horse sweat, and patiently waited for this specialist to select a horse for his father. Then he paid for this horse and agreed to send it to Russia. The amount he paid for the animal, Havre did not even want to voice in his head, believing that buying a Ferrari would be the best investment of money. But, probably, the father had already fallen into senility, since he spent so much money on a horse. Havre did not discuss all this with his father. He just did everything and, with a sense of accomplishment, returned to England. The only thing that he remembered from all this was the strange nickname of the horse - Walchensee. This is the name of the lake in Bavaria, in the vicinity of Munich, in the middle of the Bavarian Alps. This lake is famous for the clear water of sky-blue color. Back then, Havre was surprised why the completely black horse was called as a blue lake, he even specified this from the consultant who was with him. The one with a businesslike look explained that the name of the horse was given after the first letters of the name of the father and mother of the foal. Perhaps it was the only name that they were able to pick up for a newborn foal using these letters.

“Your father saw a horse ... he really liked it. He often went to it, fed with carrots, crackers...”

“Why did he need this horse? He doesn't even ride a horse. Rather, he rode in his youth, and then never sat in the saddle,”- Havre recalled his father’s figure that had become stout with age.

“For the soul…”

Havre heard this phrase from his father. He did not understand how a horse at the price of a Ferrari could be for the soul. And in general, he did not understand the fanaticism of such love for horses. He referred it again to senile marasmus, which began with his father. Thinking about it, he was glad that at least at the end of his life his father had bought something for his soul.

“What now is with the horse?”

“When the Chechens began to shake your father down, affairs looked on an ugly look. In general, the main Chechen, Shamil, took this horse for himself.”

Havre was not particularly upset, it wasn’t a big loss. It was strange that the Chechens coveted the animal at all. Although it wasn’t strange, children of the mountains, they always had horses for the soul too.

He was silent for a long time, digesting everything in himself that he had heard, then, without turning around and looking into the darkness outside the window, asked, “What, you say, is the name of the one who killed my father?”

“Nazar.”

“Nazar...”

Havre reiterated this name, knowing that the time would come and he would find him to avenge his father.

That night, having talked about the general situation in Sarychev’s business, they decided to stop until the morning. For the next few days, they had to meet more than once, so that the heir to Sarychev would take over and accept his father’s affairs.

When the unexpected guests left, Havre returned to the living room and, going to the window, was looking at the night for a long time.

He knew that a carefree life had ended forever for him. Now he had stepped over the line. It was in the past when he was a young man with rich parents who allowed his son everything. And now there was the present and the future, where he became matured during this night and realizing what death and another life were, and that now he had received everything that his father had been creating over the years of his life. And he would not fail his father, he would multiply what he did, and then would return what was rightfully his.

He was his father's son. No, he was not a stupid spoiled boy. Just all this time, he studied life but never lost his head or self-control because of all the temptations surrounding him.

Now it was his time. He, Sarychev Gavriil Vladimirovich, would become whom his father wanted to see.

“Dad, I'll take revenge for you.”

***

Nazar woke up from the delicious smell of edibles that penetrated the room. In the stomach rumbled, and in the mouth accumulated saliva. He got out of bed and quickly dressed, went into the kitchen. There, cooking was in full swing. Judging by the products on the table, the boy, apparently, had already managed to rush to the store. Nazar was surprised. He had never slept so well, and here he did not even hear anything.

Alyosha did not expect to see him in the kitchen, turning around, he almost dropped the wooden spatula from his hands.

“Hello, what, scared?”

“No ... I probably woke you up?” The guy, apparently, coped with himself and again switched to a hissing griddle.

“Yes, I usually do not sleep for so long,” Nazar glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall, where the hands were approaching ten o'clock.

“Now everything is ready,” Alyosha said busily, taking the plates out of the drainer and placing them on the table.

Nazar, once again looking at all this, went to the bathroom. He felt being got enough sleep and rested. It was not only physically, but also internally as if the long-twisted constant-voltage spring was now released, and he became just a man like everyone else. In the morning he liked the delicious smell of the breakfast being prepared, this kitchenette, in which sun rays penetrated through the tulle and cast glare on the ground floor linoleum, and this Lyosha in sweatpants and T-shirt, so deftly wielding at the stove.

By the arrival of Nazar from the bathroom, on the table, there were two plates, on which scrambled eggs with slices of sausage and cheese laid. Everything was sprinkled with freshly chopped dill on the top. In a large bowl, there was a chopped salad of tomatoes and cucumbers with greens, seasoned with oil. Gently sliced bread lay in a wicker basket. The kettle was already boiling on the stove.

Alyosha waited for Nazar to sit down first at the table, and then, sitting down opposite him, he began to eat the food from his plate with pleasure.

Nazar also ate quickly and greedily. It could be seen, the body was restored after yesterday's shake.

When the tea boiled, Lyosha poured it into cups and put the sliced sausage and butter on the table.

Looking at Nazar, he asked uncertainly, “Should I make a sandwich with butter and sausage for you? I love in such a way.”

“Do it! I love that too.”

Lyosha smiled and deftly spread butter on a slice of white bread, then put the sausage on top and handed it to Nazar.

Nazar ate, surprised that everything was so tasty, or he was so hungry, or here in this house, the food was perceived somehow in a special and different way.

Finally, having satiated, Nazar sank back from the table, leaning his healthy shoulder against the wall, and watched Lyoshka cleaning and washing everything skillfully and quickly.

“Bring paper and a pen. I will write a note for Yefim.”

Alyosha quickly brought paper and a pen and continued to clean up the kitchen, and Nazar began to write.

When cleanliness and order were imposed, Alexey remembered and turned to Nazar.

“Come on, I'll tend to your shoulder.”

Nazar just nodded. Alyosha understood the order and, bringing a first-aid kit, looked at Nazar, who, getting up, took off his yesterday dark gray sweater.

Alyosha gently unwound the bandage from his shoulder. The seam on the shoulder withered. Lyosha knew that it was necessary to wash away the dried blood and process everything with a disinfecting solution. So he did to Bystryi with its cut on the flank, he concluded that the man wounds were treated the same way.

He, standing behind Nazar, began to gently wash the dried blood with moistened gauze.

Nazar had already written a message for Yefim. Overall, it was brief. Yefim should ask Alexey his home phone number, and then dial it, but not from his home, but from any phone that no one could listen to. Now they could not relax, while the situation was not in their favor and in general it was still incomprehensible.

So, thinking about it, Nazar was sitting on a stool and felt how carefully, even gently, Lyosha’s fingers touched his shoulder. He felt his presence behind him so close that the warmth of Alyosha’s body was sensed by his bare skin. Sometimes he stretched his hand for another gauze napkin, and touched bare torso too tightly, too perceptibly. And Nazar felt that every such touch responded to him precisely by the very desire that should not be, but it was.

Nazar bowed his head lower; he did not want Alexey to notice how it became swelling in his pants. That was how he sat, struggling with the desire to jump up and stop this incomprehensible madness, which increasingly covered him. And at the same time, he did not want it to stop. He had not felt in himself for a long time such a desire, which for some reason, contrary to everything, arose in him. But it was not only a physical desire, no, but it was also something more. It was as if he dissolved in intimacy with the guy, feeling his warmth, his breathing, his touch, all this responded in his soul with a strange feeling unknown to him until now...

Alyosha was concentrating on the sewn scar on Nazar’s shoulder. He tried to think only about what he was doing, but he did not do so well. Even as soon as Nazar took off his sweater, and Lyosha saw his body, he exhaled admiringly and then tried to breathe more quietly, coping with his heartbeat. Probably, yesterday, against the background of stress, everything that was happening was perceived differently. But today, when he saw this relief of muscles, these hands with protruding biceps, not large, but sufficient to give the whole body of Nazar masculinity and strength, and this back, and such a smooth skin, even the ugly scar he worked on did not spoil him - everything gave Nazar exactly the courage that a real guy should have. Lyosha thought that perhaps he was just jealous of him because he himself had thin arms and a puny body of a teenager. And probably, looking with admiration at the naked torso of Nazar, he dreamt of the same body. Probably, yes, but not only this so excited him inside. That was just what? He did not know. But for some reason, he liked to touch his skin, and when he reached for a gauze napkin, he specifically pressed his body so tightly against his bare back, and it was nice. Lyosha held back his intermittent breathing, feeling his heart pounding and his cheeks redden, and behind them his ears. And he felt hot.

Lyosha did not understand why all this was happening. And he did not know what to do with it. He also could not understand if he wanted to finish with the treatment of this wound or vice versa, he was so afraid that now he would finish processing it, and this strange condition that he felt inside and strange that he felt in the air is some kind of magic, a fairy tale that had originated, could all be destroyed in a split second.

Nazar stood abruptly.

“Thank you, then I'll do everything myself.”

Lyosha froze, hearing his icy tone. Then the door slammed in the bathroom, and the water in the shower rustled.

Alexey, uncomprehendingly, sat down on a stool. Yes, that fairy tale that was now around him, suddenly broke about this cold of words. He began to clean up the table, not realizing what it was.

***

Shutting into the bathroom and turning on the water, Nazar was jerking off. No matter how shameful it was for him, but he could not bear such tension in himself. He jerked off, and he was disgusted by himself. The last time he did these things, probably only in the army, about five years ago. Then he did not have this need. There were always those who satisfied him. He believed that jerking was a teenage need, and at his age it was humiliating. And now he was doing it, knowing that if he had lingered at least for a second there, he would not have kept himself, would have turned to him, to his hands, the warmth of his body, his eyes.

Nazar recalled his sky-blue eyes, and those lips, as if contoured, were so seductive...

He closed his eyes, remembering how he was holding him then in the tack room, penetrating with a kiss into his mouth, feeling his trembling, warmth, and breathing...

And he ejaculated into the hand, dropping to the floor of the bath, stunned by such an orgasm and desolation after it.

Recovering and washing with cold water, he realized what had just happened...

“Nothing happened. The girl needs to be found, and everything will be restored. After Natashka and I broke up, all sorts of the nonsense climb into my head. And this puny tadpole with his own eyes turned up at the wrong time. If there was a wench nearby, everything would be fine."

Realizing this, Nazar came out of the bathroom.

“Are you still here? Quickly go to Yefim. There the address is written.”

Alexey just nodded and, hastily dressed, ran out of the flat.

***

District Yasenevo was unfamiliar to Alexey. He had never been here, but, as his grandmother said, your tongue would get you anywhere. Therefore, having the exact address, he found the necessary bus, on which he reached the necessary stop, and there, again asking around the passersby, found the house he needed. After his district with low houses, greenery, small cozy courtyards, this new district with huge houses of seventeen floors, empty courtyards, and rare trees seemed to Alyosha a distant Martian landscape so strikingly different in contrast to the earth.

He entered the porch successfully, just as a girl with a pram was leaving it. He, holding the door, went inside. There he pressed the button of the thirteenth floor and shivered, he did not like elevators, feeling locked up and limited in freedom. Having waited, when the elevator, as ill luck would have it, slowly rising to the necessary floor, would open the doors, Aleksey quickly slipped out of it and rang the right apartment.

Now he was to meet with Yefim, with a man with whom he would have preferred never to see in his life. But Nazar asked. Nazar needed help, so how he could think about himself. Alyosha grouped and began to expect a meeting with the inevitable.

The door opened, on Yefim’s unshaven face, nothing was reflected, and he looked at Lyosha indifferently and waited.

“I am from Nazar,” Alyosha whispered on the exhale, still feeling that he was afraid of this meeting, even his voice was gone. And then he felt that a rough spurt pulled him into the apartment, and the door slammed behind him.

“Come in, slippers are over there,” he heard his husky voice.

Alex quickly took off his jacket, threw off his shoes and found slippers in the darkness of the corridor. Yefim was waiting for him in the kitchen. It was a standard small kitchen, where the powerful figure of Yefim reduced the size of this room even more. Lyosha slipped on a stool and handed a note from Nazar. He himself did not even read it, although it was not glued. He simply knew that it was not good to read other people's letters.

Yefim took a piece of paper. It was written there: “Call me from an unrevealed number to Lyosha’s phone”.

The fact that something happened, Yefim immediately guessed.

“Tell me,” he slowly lowered himself on a stool in front of Alexey and nailed him to the wall with his gaze.

Lyosha swallowed saliva and began to say:

“Yesterday, late in the evening, he rang ... Nazar rang the doorbell. I opened. His shoulder was injured. I sewed, well, like Bystryi, it also tore the skin, and I pulled it off with threads. And Nazar is the same, and in the morning he told to give a note to you. I arrived.”

“Is he hurt seriously?”

“I don’t know, but today I have processed the stitch, there was dried blood there, but it does not seem to fester...”

“Dictate your number.”

Alyosha, confused, dictated his home phone number. Yefim did not write, just with a stone face looked at him.

“Where are you going now?”

“To the hospital ... to the grandmother. She is there. She was recently laid down, she felt bad ... I will visit her, and then to the stable.”

“Today, do not go to city. Got it?”

Yefim saw that having come to him, this guy was already completely cold, and it was not surprising because the clothes were all old and out of season. But the frost on the street was not sickly.

“Nazar also forbade going to the city today. Therefore, I will help Petrovich and go home immediately.”

“Keep quiet about all this. Got it?” Yefim did not change the voice intonation, but Lyosha was frightened by his words, he just nodded and froze. “And if someone asks, you haven’t seen anything and you don’t know,” Lyosha swallowed saliva again and nodded, “and in the evening do not come back late. Got it? Well, why do you sit?  Go.”

Hearing the command, he got up and, quickly dressed, slipped out of the apartment with relief.

Yefim was already clearly aware that their affairs were bad, and everything was very serious. He went up to the stairs on the floor above and called the apartment. There lived a pensioner, whom he regularly helped to carry bags. She lived alone, her grandchildren came to her rarely, so Yefim calmly rang the doorbell, and she recognized him and let him in when she heard that Yefim had a broken phone and he needed to call the master.

With Nazar, they spoke not for long. Nazar spoke briefly about the events of the evening, then they began to sort out the options, who it could be. After discussing the plan, they came to the conclusion that Nazar should lay low, because nothing was clear, and the extra movement usually led to no good. But Yefim would begin to actively collect the guys and work through all the options. When something became known, he would call Nazar himself. That's what they decided.

Yefim came back to his apartment, thanking the compassionate neighbor for helping to call the master, and sitting down in the kitchen, he thought about it, analyzing the situation and realizing that it all came from taking over Sarychev's business. So, they needed to look for those who also wanted to seize this business, but only Nazar turned out to be faster, stole the business from under the nose, and those simply decided to kill him. Everything was simple and clear.