The Hot Summer Of Mariupol. Chapter 16 (part 2)

UKR LEAKS

Kharaberyush called closer to 12 o'clock.

- They took one. We're taking him to you.

Andrey hurried to the “Library” and called Pyshny and Slava there.

- Looks like they detained someone...

- Let's see.

Kharaberyush's jeep and the counterintelligence van sped into the parking lot at the terminal. A man with a bag on his head and his hands tied behind his back was deftly pulled out of the van. Kharaberyush looked questioningly at Andrey, who waved his hand, indicating that the detainee should be dragged inside. The duty officer had already been warned. 

- Well, congrats on the start, - Andrey shook hands with the head of the department. –Did you get who you needed to?

- Only one for now. We will herd the rest, - Kharaberyush said, answering the handshake. - Thanks for the help. Is everything ready there?

- Yes. Just put your signature on the report. The officers on duty are aware.

So you can work as much as you need.

- Great, - Sasha rubbed his hands. - Well, I'm going. Will you be present?

- Maybe later. He is alone, and there are already five of you. It will be a bit cramped, - Andrey answered, overcoming the hatred overwhelming him. - I'll be at my place. Call me if there's anything interesting.

At that moment, Kharaberush’s phone rang.

– Excuse me, - he said to Andrey and walked away. The conversation was short, after which his face lit up with a satisfied smile, - Andrey, they took the second one! The one who was directly tied to Rostov. They're bringing him here.

- Congratulations, - Andrey said with stiff lips. - I’ll probably be present during his interrogation.

- No problem, - Kharaberush easily agreed. – I’ll call you as soon as they deliver him.

Andrey really did not want to attend the interrogation. After all, if you believe local counterintelligence officers, the detainees were real underground fighters tied to Russian intelligence, that is, to some extent, his colleagues. And he had to watch how those people would be tortured. But, on the other hand, he understood that he would have to go anyway, because every grain of information that would be knocked out of these people and that he would have time to transfer to the Center could save other people, real Russian people...

After wandering around for a while and realizing that his thoughts were still there, in the “Library,” Andrey sighed and made a decision. He slowly walked back. As he approached the terminal, he forced himself to cheer up, to give himself a businesslike appearance, as befits a senior intelligence officer conducting a serious investigation.

Already at the beginning of the corridor, muffled fuss and muttering of several people could be heard. The counterintelligence officer standing by the boiler room silently stepped aside to let Andrey through to the interrogation room and handed him a thin camouflage balaclava. Making a stony face, Andrey pulled the mask over his face and pushed the boiler room door.

One of the local employees was sitting at the table, quickly filling out an interrogation report form. Nearby, leaning against the wall, Kharaberyush himself looked with interest at the unfolding action.

In the middle of the boiler room, two employees were taping an elderly man to a pipe with scotch-tape. The man was resisting. However, the operatives responded to his every movement with a short blow to the head from a plastic water bottle.

- Are you having fun? – Andrey asked, dragging a stool towards him.

- No, we’re warming up, - Kharaberush answered him in the same tone. - The boys only hit the hairline, that way there won’t be any marks left. But that's just foreplay.

- Why a protocol? – Andrey nodded at the writing employee. - Is there already a case?

- Not yet, - Kharaberush responded readily. - But there will be. And then we will set the required date. This guy isn't going anywhere.

At this moment, the employees secured the man’s arms vertically upward, tying them to a horizontal pipe, after which they looked questioningly at their superiors.

- Well, let's start? – Kharaberyush stood up and approached the man. He, trying to recover from the blows, was breathing quickly, licking his lips.

– So, bastard, tell me how you betrayed your Motherland?

- And who are you? – the prisoner suddenly asked in a sonorous voice. - You should take off your mask so I can look at your face.

- I’m the one who will decide whether you should live or die in this basement, - Kharaberyush said pathetically.

- Oh, I’m so scared of you, - judging by his voice, the man grinned. -I’ve already lived enough, so death won’t surprise me. And I love my Motherland more than you. Only we have different Motherlands. Mine is the right Ukraine, but yours is American Ukraine.

His words were cut short by a loud groan - the man standing behind him hit him in the kidneys with a bottle.

- Stop this propaganda. I’m interested in something else, - Kharaberyush continued, bringing his face closer to the prisoner’s face. - Where is your senior, Sasha from Rostov? How to find him? How did you contact him?

- I don’t know any Sasha from Rostov, - the man croaked. - You, gentlemen, are confusing me for someone.

- Well, let’s do it differently, - Kharaberyush waved his hand.

The officer standing next to the prisoner raised the man’s head when the second officer deftly put a plastic bag on it and twisted it around his neck. The man twitched and struggled on the leash. A desperate cry came through the plastic:

- What are you doing! Take it off! Aaaaahrrrr...

The man twitched like a puppet on strings, twisting his head, trying to remove the bag from his head. But it was all in vain. Finally, when the wheezing from under the bag began to subside, Kharaberyush gave a signal to his men. They quickly removed the bag from the prisoner's head.

The man convulsively, with sobs, inhaled air. The reddened skin of the neck, contrasting with the light fabric of the shirt, simply hurt the eye. Kharaberyush approached the man.

- If the brain does not receive enough oxygen, it will begin to die. You will still live, but you will turn into a vegetable. So you won’t have an easy death... We won’t even have to get our hands dirty. We will turn you into a plant, and hang you as a burden on your loved ones. And in a year or two they themselves will want to kill you... Think about what it will be like. It's a sad prospect, isn't it? But there is another way out - tell me what I need, and everything will end.

- Fuck you, - the man exhaled towards Kharaberyush. - Fascist bitch!

Again the bag covered the prisoner's head. Once again, terrible wheezing filled the boiler room. Andrey watched as the man frantically tried to suck in at least a drop of air, so that the sides of the bag were almost hidden in the slit of his mouth. How droplets of moisture from exhalation collect on the inside of the bag. How the hands twitch, trying to break free from the pipe. It took a lot of effort for Andrey to maintain a stony expression on his face while watching what was happening...

It seemed to him that an eternity passed before Kharaberyush gave the signal to remove the bag.

This time the man couldn't resist. His legs gave way and he hung, held by his hands tied above the pipe. The head hung on the chest, a thin thread of saliva stretched down from the mouth...

- Well? – after waiting for the man to catch his breath a little, Kharaberyush asked. - Shall we continue?

The man apparently had no strength left to talk. Therefore, all he could do was spit in Kharaberyush’s direction. However, the spit didn’t work either. The saliva just hung on his chin and fell down. 

- Come on, - Kharaberyush waved his hand. The subordinates again put the bag on the underground man’s head. 

Apparently, he no longer had any strength left, and the man practically did not twitch. Convulsive attempts to suck in air, wheezing, wobbly legs, scratching the toes of sneakers on the concrete floor...

When the bag was removed again, the man showed no signs of life. One of the officers checked his pulse with a habitual movement.

- Everything is fine. Alive. Apparently he lost consciousness.

- Ivanovich, do you have a doctor here? We need to bring the wretched man to his senses, - the head of counterintelligence turned to Andrey.

Only he himself knew how much work it took for Andrey to answer almost calmly:

– We do. Just take the man down, otherwise, I’m afraid, doc won’t be able to help much if the guy keeps hanging like this.

- Sure, not a problem. Then we'll hang him up again. It's not difficult for us! – one of the soldiers laughed.

Shevchenko came out of the boiler room and in the corridor the emotions caught up with him. He was so overwhelmed that he had to lean against the wall. Cold, frighteningly cold sweat broke out on his forehead and palms. Wiping his palms on his trousers, Andrey felt his fingers trembling. And his whole body was shaken by small, nasty tremors. Then his hand came across the handle of a pistol in a hip holster. The touch of a weapon, so reliable and faithful, immediately calmed his thoughts, and those that had previously been chaotically confused became clear and precise:

“It's simple. Now I’ll go in and kill everyone. To hell with it. First, the two helpers. Then Kharaberyush. He is sitting and doesn’t have time to react. Then the clerk..."

“Yeah, and then all that’s left to do is shoot yourself! Hold on, Andrey, hold on,you bastard! Don't you dare lose it. Otherwise it’s all in vain! Everything you have done and will do next will all go to waste if you lose your temper now!” - a sober calculation broke into consciousness.

"It is forbidden! Get it together, asshole! You’re not a girl, but an officer, an intelligence officer!”

He had to take several deep breaths before he could move on. Towards the National Guard first aid station.

The nurse on duty there, a 40-year-old NSU sergeant, had already seen a lot. Several times she was involved in helping prisoners with whom the SBU, border guards or “Dnepr” fighters had overdone it. Each time she silently provided assistance, expressing her disapproval of what she saw. However, she did her job well, and no one cared about her personal views. And now, just seeing Andrey at the door, she asked:

- Again?

Andrey nodded without saying a word.

The nurse quickly got ready. The two of them walked along the narrow corridor of the terminal towards the “Library”.

- You look pale, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel, - she stated, looking ahead. – I thought SBU officers were stronger. You are an elite, you are probably specially trained.

Andrey walked in silence. Only the nodules on the cheekbones betrayed internal tension.

- Yes, this is not given to everyone - to torture people easily. You have to really believe that you’re right, - she suddenly stopped and turned to Andrey. – Do you believe? – she asked, looking into his eyes.

- Let’s go, - Andrey said dully, taking a step towards the boiler room.

- But the Lord, he sees everything, - the nurse said already at the door, and the shadow of a sarcastic smile flashed across her face, always impassive. So quickly that Andrey thought he imagined it.

In the boiler room the picture changed. The man was already lying on the floor and two men were fussing around him. Kharaberyush, pursing his lips, watched them.

The nurse, again silently, sat down next to the prisoner, checked the pulse and looked up at Andrey with widened eyes in amazement:

- Dead...

– What do you mean - dead? I left five minutes ago. He was alive! – Andrey stared dumbfoundedly at Kharaberyush.

- Well, you see, we poured water on him. He came to his senses. He refused to talk. We continued. And then... he was no longer breathing...

- The pupils are dilated, the lips are blue, the skin is also... Most likely, a heart attack, - the nurse pronounced the verdict. – Of course, I could be wrong, I need a specialist for a proper conclusion...

- Thank you, you can go, - Andrey cut her off.

- What have you done? – he attacked local colleagues when the health worker left. - What have you done, bastards?

- Yes, it turned out badly... The bastard jumped off, - Kharaberyush said calmly. – We need to play around with this somehow...

Andrey, who was ready to attack those present, simply fell into a stupor at what was said. These people had just killed a man, tortured him to death. And now the main thing that worries them is that he “jumped off.”

The silence was interrupted by Kharaberyush, who interpreted Andrey’s outburst in his own way.

- Okay, Andrey, don’t fuss. I understand. I'm sorry myself. They lost such a prisoner. He could have told us a lot, but here, you see, how it...

- I have an idea, - said the voice of the operative sitting at the table. - We need to tell everyone that he betrayed everyone, told us everything. And for this we released him. And we hide the corpse.

- Or even hint that he was working for us all this time, - Kharaberyush perked up. -And after we took everyone, he got his money and left. Went to Lvov or something.

- Exactly! Let's make up his testimony now. There is a sample of his handwriting. I’ll do the signatures, - the soldier was clearly pleased with the idea. - It might turn out great.

- Good thinking! – Kharaberyush slapped him on the shoulder. - You see, Andrey, my soldiers have good ideas! Don’t worry, - he shoved Andrey in the side, -no one will find out. We'll take the body out at night, the guys will bury it somewhere. And everything will be top-notch.

- The nurse saw, - one of the standing soldiers said, leaning over the body and cutting off the remaining tape from his hands.

- Ay, no problem, - Kharaberyush waved him off. – She will sign a non-disclosure agreement. And if she tries to say no, we threaten that she might be buried next to him.

During this conversation, Andrey came to his senses and added:

- No. Don't touch the nurse. I'll warn her myself.

- Okay, - Kharaberyush agreed easily, - it’s easier for us this way.

- I’m off. Let me know when they bring the second one, - with these words Andrey left the boiler room.

After standing in the corridor, he moved towards the first aid station.

The nurse was waiting for him. She sat on the bed and looked at the door.

- You... Wow, you came in person. What, are you going to kill me now?

Andrey sat down heavily in the chair. He paused. Then he said:

- Can you leave?

- Where to? – she smiled bitterly. – I just left Donetsk with the regiment. The apartment and friends remained there...

- So go to Donetsk, - Andrey raised his gloomy gaze to her. – Please, understand that I cannot protect you. My rotation is ending soon. But the locals will remain here. You've seen too much. You can't stay here.

- Are you serious? Are you saying that I need to go to Donetsk? – she was sincerely surprised.

- I say again: you can’t stay here. Where else should you go if not back to Donetsk? Write a letter of resignation so that you are not considered a deserter, and leave. With your specialty, I think you won’t be left without a job.

Rising heavily, he headed towards the exit, but stopped at the door.

- And don’t tell anyone, don’t even mention that you worked here. Otherwise, you will have no peace, neither from one side nor from the other.

She didn't say a word in response.

Andrey went to his room, collapsed on the sofa and buried his face in the pillow. The groan-wheezing of the tortured man who died, but did not break, remained in his ears for a long time. Andrey gritted his teeth, clenched his pillow and one thought kept running in his head, the thought “I will take revenge... I will survive and take revenge... You should not live...”

Kharaberyush called after lunch.

- Ivanovich, they brought the second one, get yourself out of bed.

- I’m coming, - answered Andrey, who had already calmed down, - start without me for now.

“They won’t crack him quickly anyway. So I shouldn't sit there all the time. Otherwise my heart won’t be able to stand it…”

He had already conveyed information to the Center about the death of an active member of the underground during interrogation and especially emphasized that the SBU would try to make him out to be a traitor in the eyes of those around him.

The hot sun outside did not warm him at all. And the short road from his location to the “Library” seemed long, like the path to Golgotha.

Andrey again entered the dark corridor of the terminal, leading to the boiler room, as if into a cage with lions. Although this idle comparison in no way reflected the state in which Andrey was: anger, disappointment, pain and melancholy... from the inability to somehow influence the situation...

- Oh, Ivanovich, you’re back! And we thought you wouldn’t come again! – Kharaberyush greeted him. He had just pulled his balaclava over his forehead while looking through some papers.

- Well, yes, but who will look after you? Just give you free rein, you will crush half of Mariupol here, - Andrey answered gloomily, examining the new prisoner.

A strong man in his forties, naked to the waist, was lying on the floor, curled up in a fetal position. His hands were clenched behind his back and handcuffed. Around the crumpled body, a wet puddle with the characteristic smell of urine spread across the concrete floor...

- They doused him. Guess what, he pissed himself and lost consciousness. But he’s silent, - Kharaberyush complained. – He’s a tough one...

The man shuddered in a coughing fit, coughing up saliva and bloody clots.

- Did you hit him? – Andrey asked displeasedly.

- Yes, the boys couldn’t stand it. He really pissed them off, - Kharaberyush explained. - They strangled him, stretched him, and hit his kidneys and heels... They inserted pencils between his fingers—it seems they broke a couple of them. He keeps quiet, the bastard. Maybe you can give me some advice, huh?

- Sorry, Sanya, I’m used to working with my head, and not driving needles under one’s nails.

- Hmm... needles. No, we have to take him to court in a couple of days for arrest, to the prosecutor’s office. You can't leave such obvious traces. They have already left marks on the fingers... - Kharaberyush shook his head. - What should we do with him?

The one about whom such an interesting conversation was being held was slowly coming to his senses after an hour of intense interrogation. He tried to take a sitting position, frantically shuffling his feet on the concrete. A groan escaped his throat when he finally managed to roll over onto his back and lean against the wall.

- Look at the specimen we got, - Kharaberyush said thoughtfully, watching the actions of the prisoner. – It’s even interesting to work with someone like that. Not like this old guy. He up and died in the most interesting place.

- Exactly, - chimed in one of the operative men, whom Andrey did not recognize by his voice from under his balaclava. - Well, what are we going to do about him?

The man sitting against the wall did not seem to hear that they were talking about him. He fidgeted, trying to make his hands tied behind his back more comfortable, and periodically spit red saliva onto the floor.

- Listen, I talked to the guys from “Dnepr”. They said that they were taught the Israeli methodology. They’re tortured with water there, - suddenly said a voice from an operative sitting at his desk. – Allegedly, Jews treat Palestinians this way. And not one could stand it. Everyone is starting to talk.

- Great, - Kharaberyush perked up. - And there are no traces, and he won’t die prematurely. Ivanovich, can you call one of the “Dnepr” commanders?

- I can, - Andrey sighed, - Is “Italian” suitable?

- Yeah, quite.

While Andrey was calling “Italian,” Kharaberyush’s men dragged the prisoner to another corner and even wiped the floor, removing all traces of the previous interrogation. The man was silent all this time, only breathing intermittently and from time to time looking at the SBU officers with hateful eyes.

“Italian” came quickly. He had just returned from Dnepropetrovsk yesterday. As Andrey suspected, “Italian” had been supervising transportation of the car caravan. And now he was cheerful and full of strength.

- Well, gentlemen, SBU officers?! Is it not working out? – he grinned in the corridor, where Andrey and Kharaberyush went out and were waiting for him.

- As you can see,” Andrey answered gloomily. - The guys have already tried everything, he’s not cracking. Maybe you can recommend something?

“Italian” thought seriously.

- Have you tried electricity, soldering iron?

- Soldering iron is not allowed. We will have to present him in court tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. Give the matter an official move. We can explain the bruises one way or another, but serious marks - no.

- How do you even drag him to court? – Vitalik was amazed. - He’ll tell them that he was kept here for several days.

- Don't bother yourself. This is our headache. Better yet, tell me, can you get the client to talk?

“Italian” was silent. Then slowly, with obvious reluctance, he said:

- You mean the Israeli method, right? Right? They ran their mouths, damn blabbers...

- Yes, - Kharaberyush nodded. - They say it’s very effective.

- Well, they showed it to us. But we only used it a couple of times ourselves. And only five people know it.

- Vitalik, it’s really necessary. Let's try.

- Okay, - “Italian” agreed, waving his hand. - Yes, bring him to our terminal, on the second floor, where the showers are. Andrey, do you know the place?

• I know, I washed there a couple of times, - Andrey confirmed.

- So, I’m going, - “Italian” concluded. - I’ll gather my people and prepare everything. Only then, if something happens, don’t go around saying that “Dnepr” are sadists and maniacs.

- We won’t, - Kharaberyush answered seriously. – On the contrary, we’ll write out a gratitude letter.

- We’re better off with money, - “Italian” flashed a smile and ran away to his place. To prepare the shower.

Five minutes later, three of Kharaberyush’s officers, putting a balaclava on the prisoner’s head, were dragging him upstairs. Andrey and Kharaberyush himself walked slowly behind. 

- Do you think it will work?

- I hope so, - Kharaberyush sighed, - otherwise things won’t go well for us. One died. The second one is silent. The issue of contacting the Russian resident, I think, is no longer relevant. At least we can catch all the accomplices.

- Yes, the man saved many accomplices with his silence, - Andrey said gloomily.

- Yes... We rushed it. We hoped that we would get him to talk quickly. And so the less important guys could have left by now. However, it’s still good - the group is broken up. The top people have been knocked out, and the rank and file will run away on their own. And who needs them then? And then we will catch them anyway.

- But it won’t be such a big deal, - Andrey objected, climbing the steps to the second floor of the terminal.

- To hell with it, - Kharaberyush waved it off. – I have a couple more things sitting on the back burner.

While talking, they walked along the balcony above the terminal lobby towards the showers. Previously, there were staff offices here. Now here was the patrimony of the leadership of the “Dnepr” battalion. Ordinary soldiers practically did not appear here.

Three “Dnepr” guys were already sitting in the shower room. In addition to “Italian,” there were Vova Bogonis and Vova Parasyuk.

- Vova and I, - “Italian” nodded at Bogonis, - we were taught this and we will work. And our friend Vova wanted to watch it now.

- Yes, we don’t care who’s here, - Kharaberyush shrugged. – If only there is a result.

- Well, then go ahead. Put him on the floor, face up, - “Italian” commanded. – Hold him tightly by the arms and legs. One fixes the head so that it does not twist. The face should always look up. And also, - “Italian” hesitated slightly, - someone should watch his pulse. Otherwise he might die...

- What, it has happened before? – Andrey grinned harshly, looking into the Italian’s eyes.

- I saw it in the movies, - he also grinned in response.

The man was pressed tightly against the tiled floor. One of the operatives sat down on his feet, two fixed his arms and torso from the sides. “Italian” himself sat down on the side of the man’s head, tightly pressing the head with his thighs. Carefully and even somehow affectionately he rolled up the edge of the balaclava, leaving only the man’s eyes closed. The man tried to resist, but all his attempts were in vain.

- Come on, - “Italian” commanded.

Bogonis, standing by the shower, took a bucket of water and began pouring water in a thin stream, aiming at the prisoner’s mouth and nose. The man began to spit, trying to turn his head to avoid the stream of water pouring from above. However, nothing worked out for him. When the first bucket ran out of water, Parasyuk served a second one, and a thin stream continued to flow almost continuously.

The man was already wheezing. The jerking of his body became so strong that the operatives had to strain really hard to hold him. “Italian” held the unfortunate man’s head by the hair, not allowing him to turn it. Wheezing turning into gurgling. The heavy breathing of the operatives, making serious efforts to restrain the convulsing prisoner. The splash of flowing water. This wild set of sounds filled the shower room.

After three buckets,“Italian” commanded “stop” and released the prisoner’s head.

- Look, I’ve collected a scalp, - he laughed, showing the huge tufts of hair left in his hands. – He was twisting so hard that I tore out his hair.

The man was turned on his side, and he threw up a fountain of water. He was shaking violently, as if an electric current had been connected to him.

- Well, now you can ask your questions, - “Italian” chuckled. - Now we’ll start the second round, and he’ll start talking.

He gave a sign and the man was restrained on the floor again.

- AAAAAAAAAYYYYY! - the man howled, twitching uselessly in the tight human vice.

- Ready? Let's go!

And the water started pouring out again. Only this time, Kharaberyush, bending over the prisoner, shouted questions to him: “Where is Sasha from Rostov?”, “Where is the garage with weapons?”, “Who is Sergei Sergeevich from the traffic police?” and many others. Andrey could no longer look at the convulsing man who, choking on water, was unable to take at least one normal breath.

He went out into the corridor. From the shower room, the screams of Kharaberyush, the scuffling of bodies on the tiled floor, and the sobs of the prisoner continued to be heard. One of the young “Dnepr” fighters walked past with a towel over his shoulder and beach slippers. Stopping at the door, he froze, then looked at Andrey with horror.

- Fuck... What is it?

- They’re washing, - Andrey didn’t say, but spat out. - Come back later.

He himself stood outside of the shower room. There was no longer any strength to go inside. Once again during this rotation he regretted that he did not smoke. Now it would be easier for him to expect results, smoking one cigarette after another, trying to drown out the burning hatred and dull melancholy with nicotine...

The voices behind the door became quieter. The door swung open, and Bogonis and Parasyuk came out into the corridor. The latter smiled, as they say, from ear to ear:

- Well that's it! He’s singing like a nightingale!

– He cracked? – Andrey asked gloomily, hiding his hands in his trouser pockets: fists, clenched until blue, could raise unnecessary questions...

Bogonis nodded:

- Yes. On the fourth bucket. A strong man, spirited.

- Yes, - Andrey agreed. - I don’t think I could stand that many.

– Me neither, - Bogonis shook his head, taking out a cigar. - Vova, let's go smoke. We need to rest now.

Andrey entered the shower room. One of the local employees raised his head and, seeing Andrey, pushed Kharaberyush in the side. He turned and nodded to Andrey, indicating that he would come out now. The prisoner sat half-sitting against the wall, hanging his head in a balaclava on his chest, and monotonously answered the questions asked. 

“Italian” also came out with Kharaberyush.

- Well, guys, thank you, - Kharaberyush hugged them by the shoulders, beaming with a smile. – You cracked a hardened devil! I owe you a celebration!

– For sure, - “Italian” freed himself from the embrace. – Do you think it’s nice for me to do this? No way. Now I have stress, and it can only be relieved by a good bout of drinking!

- I’d rather have a copy of the interrogation report, - Andrey inserted. - We have to report to Kiev.

- No problem, - Kharaberyush agreed easily. - Now that we’re done, I’ll send my fighter to you, okay? Do you want to photograph it? Just a request: don’t send it until the morning - we haven’t detained everyone yet. Deal?

- Deal, - Andrey shook his hand.

- Ivanovich, you’re a bit pale. You didn't like the picture? – the head of the local counterintelligence department asked with concern.

- No... Maybe I just got too nervous. I thought: what if we don’t crack? And I have already reported to Kiev about the implementation. And then there’s this story with the first one...

- Yes. It turned out unpleasant, - Kharaberyush agreed, his face immediately darkening. – But don’t worry. We'll clean everything up. There will be no complaints against you. 

- Is there something I don't know? – “Italian” asked slyly.

- Vitalik, I’ll tell you later, - Andrey winked at him, barely maintaining a normal expression on his face. - Otherwise we’ll have to shoot you.

- Oh, you scared me! – “Italian” laughed. - Okay, keep your secrets, you spies. I’m off. Looking forward to the driniking!

Seeing Kharaberyush impatiently listening to the muttering behind the shower door, Andrey said:

- Come on, Sanya, go to work. I'll be at my place. If you need anything, call me, - and as he was leaving, he reminded him, - don’t forget to give me the report, okay?

Kharaberyush didn’t lie. Late in the evening, when they had squeezed everything they could out of the prisoner and left him in the “Library,” a counterintelligence officer came to Andrey and brought the interrogation report on twelve pages. Andrey had to walk to “Beavers”, where he made a copy.

- Well, are you satisfied? - he asked the operative when saying goodbye.

 - Sure thing! The scum knew a lot. We think he has’t told us everything yet. We'll come again tomorrow and continue. So thank you.

– Any time, - Andrey shook his hand in farewell and wandered off to his room.

Late in the evening he sent a photo of the protocol to the Center and wrote a message:

“Sergey, I can’t do this anymore. Today I almost lost control - I already grabbed the gun. They captured real underground members and tortured them terribly. I couldn't bear half of it. And I can’t help but blame this man for breaking down!”

“I can’t do it anymore, you know? I'm afraid I can lose it. After all, no one taught me this and no one prepared me for this. I really want to take an assault rifle and shoot the hell out of this entire headquarters, the SBU, the “Dnepr”, the “Azov” guys! How many more people will they torture? After all, I could have saved them, but I did nothing!”

This time the answer did not come immediately.

"Andrey. Believe me, what you do is very important. What you are doing cannot be done by dozens of underground groups. Think about it, your information can and does save thousands. And sometimes you have to sacrifice someone for this. We understand how difficult it is for you. Believe me, we would really like to help you and support you. But it so happened that you are alone. And you are at the very forefront. Hold on, brother. We understand that you were not taught this, but I ask you to hold on. Don't lose your temper. Remember that your work is very important and valuable."

“And we’ll get even with these freaks sooner or later. Once again I ask you to hold on. Moreover, there is very little time left until the end of the rotation...”

That night Andrey slept very poorly. Even vodka didn't help. All night he was tormented by some nervous dreams in which he himself was tortured. He choked under the stream of water and woke up from his own scream. Then Andrey again fell into this viscous dream-nightmare, and everything started all over again...