Chapter Forty-Seven: Contact

Leonid Sidorov was just about to speak when Andrei raised the barrel of his gun to his head; the cold, black muzzle was the most convincing argument in the world. Andrei whistled softly.

“A bet is a bet.”

“I’ll do it myself.” Leonid Sidorov reached out with composure, and the instant he accepted the gun, he tried to aim it at Andrei. But Andrei wasn’t stupid—he reversed the situation with a sharp elbow, regaining control.

Snowflakes drifted in again with the opening of the bar’s door, a gust of icy wind brushing everyone inside. The newcomer was unfazed. He surveyed the bar before closing the door behind him.

“Looks like I missed a good show, but at least I caught the finale.” With his black hair and dark eyes, the Asian man was a striking figure—though it was the Remington M870 slung across his back that truly held everyone's attention.

Andrei smiled slightly. “Once I settle my wager with him, I wouldn’t mind another round of Russian Roulette.”

Leonid Sidorov shouted, “He’s insane! Save me, please!”

For a petty thug, dignity was worthless when weighed against death.

The newcomer, Ji Ning, frowned and addressed Andrei in halting Russian, “Put down your gun. His blood won’t bring you any glory.”

Andrei glanced at Ji Ning and laughed again. “True enough. But I can’t shake the feeling that someone should be lying here today. Why not you in his place?”

Ji Ning walked calmly up to Andrei, not sparing Leonid Sidorov—still under the gun—a glance, but he spoke to him all the same.

“I’ll take over the rest of the wager. You can leave now.”

Without a second thought, Leonid Sidorov ducked his head and fled the bar, vanishing into the snow-blanketed street.

Ji Ning pressed his earpiece, “Target has left the bar. Mission complete.”

Then he extended his hand to Andrei. “Thank you for your cooperation. The Seekers of the Forgotten will not forget the Russian division’s help.”

“It was Miss Catherine’s request, after all. Happy to oblige.” Andrei waved it off, then began directing the men and women disguised as patrons. “Task’s done. Anyone who wants a drink can return to base later.”

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and, almost as an afterthought, stuffed the stack of rubles from the counter into his coat. Ji Ning pretended not to notice; money was nothing but a number to him. Andrei caught the look and smiled. “If there’s a next time, I’ll be happy to serve again.”

Only then did Ji Ning ask curiously, “Why did you fire five shots at yourself?” Andrei laughed, removed the magazine—it was empty—and flashed a golden bullet hidden in his left sleeve. After gifting the gun to Ji Ning, he left the bar whistling.

Ji Ning slapped the revolver on the counter. The bartender, face pale and trembling, stammered, “W-what can I get you?”

Ji Ning shook his head, placed a stack of cash beside the gun, then tapped first the firearm, then the money. “Choose one.”

It was an obvious choice.

After pocketing the cash, the bartender watched as Ji Ning pointed to the bar’s door, then to his shotgun. The bartender nodded quickly, “Nothing happened in the bar tonight.”

Ji Ning snapped his fingers. “Black Russian.”

Qin Mo asked curiously, “Catherine, what’s that?”

Catherine replied evenly, “A cocktail.”

Ji Ning ignored the conversation in his earpiece. He downed the Black Russian in one gulp—the taste spicy yet sweet, the vodka’s harshness smoothed by coffee’s fragrance and warmth. Satisfied, he tossed a bill on the bar as a tip and left.

Moscow, Izmailov Beta Hotel.

“The target has returned to his apartment,” Catherine reported, then turned from her computer to her teammates.

Zhao Tianxing was slouched on the sofa watching MMA on TV, two hulking fighters trading every move to defeat each other.

Qin Mo quietly checked the equipment for tomorrow’s mission. Afra, with a book in her lap, nibbled on cake. Ji Ning lounged on the bed, yawning lazily.

Catherine shook her head and rapped the table. “Time to assign tomorrow’s tasks.”

Everyone but Ji Ning took a seat. Ji Ning remained sprawled on the bed, rubbing his face against the soft covers, complaining, “Honestly, today’s mission has worn me out.”

Catherine stared at his infuriating face, thinking to herself—good thing they were meeting in Ji Ning’s room. If he dared act like this in hers, she’d make sure he’d never get out of bed again.

Qin Mo marched over and kicked Ji Ning. “Get up! All you did was talk today—how could you be so tired? Everyone’s waiting. Move!”

Ji Ning sat at the table with a look of grievance. Qin Mo ignored him, her posture upright and proud, a contrast to his slouch.

“As planned, Ji Ning will approach the target tomorrow. The objective is to gain his trust.”

“Fine, fine. But why not send Senior instead? He looks more the part—like a real fugitive. I don’t have that aura.”

Zhao Tianxing chuckled. “The goal is trust, and you’re more adaptable on the fly.”

Afra nodded. “You’re not much in a fight, but you talk a good game. You look like you were born to be undercover.”

Ji Ning clicked his tongue, thinking to himself how much that sounded like an insult.

Catherine activated the holoprojection. Leonid Sidorov’s dossier appeared before them.

“Based on our week of observation, Leonid Sidorov visits this nursing home daily. Ji Ning, you’ll wait for him on this street tomorrow. He’ll likely approach you. Mention that you won yesterday’s game and are now flush with cash, then hint you want to try your luck. He should lead you to the Hunter’s Black Room casino. Once you lose your money, suggest joining them.”

“Nursing home?” Qin Mo was puzzled.

Zhao Tianxing replied, “He may be a villain, but even gangsters have families.”

Qin Mo nodded, asking no more. No matter how much Leonid Sidorov loved his family, his crimes made him a fitting pawn in their plan.

They wouldn’t hurt his family, but as for him—he wasn’t new to the Hunter’s Black Room. Too much innocent blood stained his hands. When the mission was done, and the Hunter’s Black Room settled accounts, it would simply be justice.

In the far north of Moscow, even accidents seemed frozen stiff beneath the endless snow. The plan moved forward on rails, unwavering.

“Grandfather, I’ve come to see you.” Leonid Sidorov looked at his grandfather, dozing in his wheelchair. He didn’t wake him; it had been a long time since he’d seen his grandfather so peaceful.

Leonid sat nearby, thinking about the woman he’d met the other day. After a short while, the old man stirred awake, as if sensing something. He glanced at his grandson with the distant gaze one saves for strangers.

The old man stared blankly out the window. Leonid noticed a trickle of saliva at the corner of his mouth and gently wiped it away. Despite his care, the old man suddenly shouted, “The Panfilov soldiers have fallen! Hitler’s tanks are only twenty kilometers away! For Zoya’s sake!”

The aged veteran erupted with a sudden, incongruous fury, glaring at invisible enemies like a wounded lion. He had survived the meat grinder of the Moscow and Stalingrad defenses, but in his mind, he’d never left the battlefield. That war lasted 199 days, with daily casualties surpassing ten thousand—over four hundred men falling every hour. Endless nightmares consumed him, erasing reality.

Leonid Sidorov was unsurprised. He donned his coat and left, abandoning his grandfather to wrestle with the past alone. He knew he could do nothing for him.

Seventy-five years had passed since the Great Patriotic War. Generations had grown up since then. The world’s political map had changed; the Soviet Union, which had claimed epic, crushing victory over Nazism and saved the world, was gone.

Snow still fell quietly from the sky. The night was shrouded in white, save for the distant echo of church bells across the land. Leonid Sidorov disliked snow, despite living in a land of ice and snow; some things cannot be loved, no matter how familiar.

He pulled his coat closer. His well-worn boots crunched softly over the packed snow, the sound swallowed by the silent night. He’d walked this street for years, from youth to middle age. He stopped, recognizing a familiar figure up ahead. Hurrying to catch up, he called out:

“Hello, I’m Leonid Sidorov. Thank you for your help yesterday.” He greeted Ji Ning warmly, probing for any aftermath from yesterday’s events. “Did you end up playing Russian Roulette with that madman?”

Ji Ning shot him a wary glance and replied coldly, “There was no new game. I just bet the gun would jam. Lady Luck happened to be with me.”

Leonid fell in step behind Ji Ning. Patience was one of his few virtues; it had kept him alive all these years.

“Sir, in Russia, we always repay our debts.”

Ji Ning cut him off, “I’m looking for some fun. Don’t bother me.”

Delighted, Leonid stepped in front of him. “Who knows the city better than a local? If you want a good time, I’ll show you the best places—women, money, powder, whatever you desire.”

In lands of endless snow, the corners untouched by snowflakes are often darker than those where it never snows at all.