Struggle. Prisoners of Darkness

Anderson Vladimir

The time for such conversations looked as good as any – exactly half past four in the afternoon the plagues went to lunch until five.

In fact, this man could be as many as one of the four, and that's the minimum.

Option number 1.

The simplest and most failed. He serves the Imperial Black Stone Defense Service (BSDS).

Option number 2.

He is amateurish, that is, he wants to turn someone over to the plagues for possible help or reward (few people knew, but such plagues, after receiving information, were usually shot together with the accused; exceptions were in cases when they were used several times, but then killed anyway – well, who can sympathize with a traitor?).

Option number 3.

He was sent by someone like Gora from the mine to check on training or something.

Option number 4.

He really is who he says he is.

The first thing Gabriel taught his disciple when contact arose was to never "play his part" at once, that is, to check and make up his mind before performing the true task.

"It's better to miss some information than to bog down half the network on nothing," Gabriel used to say. That's what Tikhomirov did.

"In my opinion," Ivan replied. – you've come to the wrong place."

"How could it be wrong? Hey, everybody's making a lot of noise. They say it's going to be hard…"

Gabriel was not out of his head with his admonitions: "Constantly. Constantly try to determine who you are talking to. Sometimes it doesn't even matter what side he's on, it's who he is. Maybe he's a weakling… What would it take to make a weakling change sides? And if he's strong in spirit, look at how firm he is in his own convictions. How much confidence he has. Where are his traits of limit… All this, of course, will have to be felt, sometimes there is no time to analyze."

From the first appearance the stranger was a very uncontrollable person and unaware of his own desires. But after the second phrase I could feel his trained ability to exert pressure by putting the interlocutor in front of an immediate choice.

The only thing that Tikhomirov could unmistakably do now was to evade answering by understating his own importance: "I told you. I can't do anything. I don't know anyone at the mine… I know the chums and I certainly don't want to bother them. Ask someone else.

"Who else? I have an urgent matter."

"Well, you've got an emergency, and I've got a floor to mop. There's a lot of work to do. God willing." "In short, yes or no?"

BCC. He's from there and that's for sure. For one thing, he's completely unconcerned at this moment in time, as if it's a game and not a matter of life and death. He's under the nose of the plagues, who will tear him apart if anything happens, and he feels relaxed and at ease. The main thing is relaxed, as if he knows that no one will come out of the corner now, he will not be killed or something worse, as if he is doing what he is officially authorized to do. Ivan should be mopping the floor at his job, and he should be talking about rebellion.

Tikhomirov now even sensed the pallid dim odor that emanated from him, and decided at last to completely rid his enemy of suspicion: "No, I have already said. You want to be shot, you can be, but without me."

The stranger grinned and, spitting to the side, strode away.

In the middle of the day Gavriil Zheleznov received a letter from Khmelnitsky through the outside channel, namely through Bolshakov. He was not asked leading questions, as Tikhomirov had been, but the parcel was slipped to him at once. The Maquis had their own well-informed people in the mine itself, and who could be trusted was known to them in advance.

Gora printed the envelope without notes on the front side and saw the document, which was not clean (the Maquis used to dirty such things on purpose to confuse the chums; this time it was covered with brown earth and a little sawdust, just a little, and an expert examination would show that the document was written in the area of the town of Krasny Luch, in fact they carried earth from different places with them, it was just a little bit – even if it was small, but still a deception of the enemy).

"Secret. From the Maquis.

Your letter has reached me. I will not hide, its content interested me very much and even excited me. Therefore, I think you will understand my request to you to provide concrete evidence.

I hope to have your support."

Mountain's combination and was to provide no evidence for his version. "Let them be scared to death out there. – he thought. – Usually in such situations facts come to light that in their own right mean nothing, but in the aggregate take on a clear and tangible form."

In his reply Gabriel referred to the difficulty of obtaining "additional" confirmations, and his refusal to provide the ones he already had was motivated by the possibility of exposing his own people. Of course, all this is nonsense: there are no facts, and there are only three "his people", and they are not deep in the system at all.

At 16:48 Tikhomirov, while continuing to scrub the floor, again noticed a stranger approaching him. This time he couldn't help but look him in the eyes.

Ivan's eyes flickered to one prominent outward feature: arrogance. Such brazen and arrogant arrogance. It glowed with an incomprehensible gray self-love.

Of the other features of the facial structure, its absolutely triangular shape stood out.

Ivan decided that this time he would be killed, and as he continued his duty, he remembered Gabriel: "Many. A great many times it will seem to you that this is the end. That it's over. You're just going to be killed, and that's the end of it. Remember like your comrades. Remember how they work underground, how they live here, how they suffer here.