Prelude to Turmoil (1)

Turning around the corner of a street, I spotted a vendor in a red turban, cheerfully pitching his wares from a cart.

His voice boomed as he called out, "Ladies and gentlemen, the finest crockery in town! No bone ash, no machines, just pure art! You won't get this quality anywhere else!

"Perfect for weddings and anniversaries. Buy now, and make your occasions special!" He rambled on until a few gathered.

"So, as you can see, sir, this is high quality, and you can touch it and feel the—!" He cut himself off mid-sentence as I stepped closer.

He turned toward me with wide eyes, while the bystanders eyed us curiously.

"Long time no see," I said, sporting a smile as I moved closer to his cart.

The vendor blinked rapidly, his cheerful facade faltering for a beat, before a smile returned to his face. Turning to the few by his cart, he raised his voice again, sounding less cheerful now.

"My friend has come by, gentlemen, and I ought to meet him. So, will you be buying anything before I close?"

After a quick haggle, the bystanders made their purchases, and the vendor packed up his stall, falling in step beside me. His earlier glee was absent.

The sounds of dickering between customers and hawkers dominated the ambiance. The vendor took the lead, moving purposefully into a narrow alleyway.

The alley was cloaked in shadows, cramped buildings towering overhead, their balconies trapping most of the light.

After navigating the maze of alleys, we arrived at a single-story structure with peeling white paint and a dust-marred façade.

A rusted sliding gate marked the entrance, screeching as we pulled it open, revealing the rudimentary ground floor, with barely enough space for a flat.

We climbed the rocky stairway, the stench of tobacco-stained spit wafting from the red-streaked walls. I didn't flinch.

The first story, while slightly cleaner, was still far from pleasant. We stopped at the second flat, where the vendor unlocked the deadbolt and pushed open the chipped wooden door.

Inside was a modest hall, sparsely furnished with a settee, though the interior was well-maintained.

I considered sitting on the settee but hesitated when I caught the intensity of his frown.

He locked his eyes on me and spoke. "I thought you were dead, Vane. You didn't contact me for months."

"That's normal in our field, Razvan. You know that," I said. Yet, his gaze didn't waver.

"I know, but it's serious this time. You don't know what's going on?" he asked, lowering his tone.

"I don't. What's going on? Is something wrong?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Not here."

I followed him into another room as he switched on a few lights, illuminating a diwan and a study table.

Razvan closed the door, facing me with a slight frown. After deliberating, he said, "Our operators are out of commission. Maybe even dead."

"What?" I scowled.

"Lost contact. One by one. And it's not like they were picked off individually—they kept in touch, then vanished all at once," he explained, gauging my reaction before continuing, "I warned them, and they were on high alert. It wasn't like they were being suspected. And I couldn't, for the love of God, tell you why they vanished. Besides, what were you doing these months, staying silent?"

"I was playing assistant to one of Varetsky's men. Thin ice, Razvan. Couldn't afford comms. Also, that bastard was too impressed with my 'dedication'—took everything I had to shake him off."

"But it seems like a lot went down while I was occupied," I said.

Razvan exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging with relief as his frown eased. "It makes sense now. I thought you might've been eliminated like the others. Hell, I thought I might be the only one left. But I'm glad."

After a pause, I leaned forward. "So, what exactly happened to the others? What were their missions?"

"There were six operators. Their target was to hit the Margers' research facilities. Word was they were developing a bio-weapon. Two teams went in—some disguised as janitors, others as technicians. They targeted the two largest facilities," Razvan explained, his voice lowering further.

"The first team was wiped out. Clean. They hadn't done anything to draw suspicion, but they vanished without a trace. I warned the second team, told them to halt all actions and stay under the radar. They did. Yet, a few days later, they disappeared too. The government's keeping the facility under wraps, so I've got no leads."

"That's scary," I muttered, baffled by their efficiency.

"Surveillance is tighter now. We need to tread carefully," Razvan said.

"Don't worry, I've got Varetsky covered," I assured him. "That lunatic won't find me, and his men are clueless. I sold them a sob story about leaving to help a sick uncle. They bought it."

Razvan chuckled, folding his arms. "You're good, I'll give you that."

After a brief pause, he asked, "What now?"

"I don't know. Higher-ups have me on standby. What about you?"

"Same here."

"Guess we're in the same boat. Let's keep in cahoots."

"Yeah."

We remained quiet, and I took a seat on the diwan while Razvan sat on the desk.

"I'll stay over tonight," I said, receiving a nod in return.

For now, we weren't operators. Not weapons of the government. Just two comrades finding solace in the quiet.

By nightfall, I lay on the settee, staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying Razvan's warnings. For people like us, there's no peace.