Phoenix RisingTen: Dealer's ChoiceAt the Bay Area regional office of the Phoenix Foundation, Pete rang off the phone at last and turned to where Ruth was sitting, reviewing the reports of the previous day’s events.
“That’s it for now,” Pete announced. “Still no leads on the arsonist – although Mac said he had a few ideas there. But the San Francisco branch of the DXS will keep you posted on the Brookhearst aftermath. If they start to stonewall you, let me know, all right? I’ll set them straight.”
“Good.” Ruth tossed the final report onto the stack on her borrowed desk. She had commandeered the office of the regional director, who was in obvious awe of her. “Once the rats have all been flushed out of the maze, we should be able to resume work there. They’ve been very good partners in the past, and there are some fine scientific minds on their staff. We might simply take over running the lab; God knows we have enough projects to keep them all busy and out of trouble.”
“Speaking of staying out of trouble – Ruth, what the hell were you doing leading a team into that KGB nest yourself?”
Ruth arched one elegant eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I? Is it the presumed dignity of my advancing years, or the expected constraint of my fancy title?”
“A little of both.”
“Oh, Pete. You know what happens to old spies.”
“Well, no, I don’t.”
“And why not?”
“Because other than you, I’ve never met one.”
“Damned straight you haven’t. That’s because there aren’t any. As a breed, as soon as we start to age or slow down, we make some stupid-ass mistake and get ourselves shot, usually taking a few younger, faster, better, up-and-coming young sparks out with us as an entourage to our stupid-assed egos.”
“Ruth, I’m getting worried about you. You didn’t used to be so shy about expressing your personal opinion.”
Ruth laughed. “I did try to retire from the game, Pete. I truly did. And I damned near went insane. My husband finally told me that since I clearly needed a hobby, I could choose between divorce or gardening, or go back to trying to save the world.”
Pete laughed. “I think you married the right man.”
“Oh, I did. All three times. But what about you, Pete? The DXS have given you a lovely wide desk, and it’s getting wider. How hard a stretch is it to reach across it? How much pressure are you under to stay out of the field?”
“Ruth, I thought we’d dropped that subject.”
“I’m picking it up again. Do you know why I’m currently warming the chair of the Phoenix Director of Operations?”
“Of course I do. Your predecessor died suddenly, and you’re trying to replace him. With me. And you’re not paying attention when I tell you I’m not interested.”
Ruth waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, Tom died very suddenly indeed. He died in the field during active operations. He stopped a bullet – but he also stopped an attempt by the Bulgarian DS to ‘repatriate’ a scientist that we helped liberate the previous year.” Ruth leaned back in the plush leather office chair. “Pete, the Phoenix Foundation has
no age limit for field operatives, as long as they stay certified. Admittedly, a dozen times during my last recertification, I wished I’d chosen gardening instead . . . I should also mention that we badly need a better assessment programme for ongoing certification. Does that sound like the kind of project you’d care to tackle yourself?”
Pete eyed her. “Two minutes ago, you were lecturing me on why old spies should just fade away.”
“Ah, but I’m not a spy any more. I’m a civilian.”
Pete shook his head reprovingly at her and turned away. “Where’s MacGyver? He wanted to check up on Jason Blake once we were finished here.”
“Last I saw, he was stretched out on the couch in the outer office, dead to the world. But that was hours ago.” Ruth reached for her intercom. “Jocelyn, any signs of life from Sleeping Beauty?”
“He’s been awake for a while – Willis called with some computer question. They’re still on the phone.”
“Good lord.” Ruth stood up in alarm. “We’d better go remind him what day it is.”
The phone in the outer office had a long cord, and Mac was pacing around as if at the end of a leash, gesticulating emphatically as he talked. “Aw, c’mon, Willis. That’s science fiction. You’re never gonna get true artificial intelligence just by networking computers together, even if they can get the connections up to speed. Okay, yeah, I agree; sooner or later they will. So you hook up a thousand computers – a million! – and they’ll all still be individually stupid. But when you connect all those computers, you’re also connecting the people behind them. Just
think about where that could lead!”
Jocelyn looked desperately at Pete and Ruth. “Please. Make him stop.”
φ“Geez, Mac, what is it with you and the girls?”
MacGyver was sitting on Gina’s couch, trying to remove a loudly purring cat from his shoulders, but it seemed to have become semiliquid; he was having trouble getting a firm grip on it. “What?”
“The first four months after I started seeing Gina, Bastet wouldn’t even let me pet her,” Jason replied. “Now she’s fallen in love with you. I didn’t think you were a cat person.”
“I’m
not! I’ve always had dogs.”
“Or camels,” Pete cut in.
Mac picked up one of Gina’s gaudy throw pillows and lobbed it at Pete’s head. Pete caught it easily. Once MacGyver stopped trying to remove the cat, she climbed off his shoulders and planted herself firmly in his lap, kneading his legs and purring.
“So how’s Gina feeling?” Mac asked.
“She’s okay – they released her this morning. She’s lying down right now. The cops picked Bryce up yesterday afternoon; he’s still in jail. Fortunately, he hasn’t got a prayer of making bail.”
“Fortunately?”
“Yeah. Talis heard what happened. Baba’s going to have to distract her for a while, or there won’t be enough left of Bryce to prosecute.”
Mac winced at the image. He had been petting the cat without realising it; when he stopped, she butted his hand with her head and yowled. He looked down at her. “Pushy, aren’t you?”
Jason laughed. “Okay, you win. You’re not a cat person. You’re just an easy mark.”
MacGyver looked at him in annoyance and reached into his jacket pocket. “Jason, I’ve got something for you to translate for us. Are you up to it? How’s your eyesight?”
“I get dizzy spells and I’m still having trouble with tunnel vision. Other than that, I’m okay – how ‘bout you?”
“You got a bigger dose than I did – I have to be careful driving at night is all. It’s like having sunglasses on all the time.”
“Better stay out of dark alleys for a few days, then. What’ve you got?”
Mac pulled out the memos he’d taken from the file room at Brookhearst, spreading them out on the coffee table. The cat in his lap started to bat at the nearest one, and he pushed them closer to Jason and out of harm’s way. “They’re from that file I found on Quayle.”
Pete nodded. “Yeah. It’s going to take a lot of work to go through everything in that file room – thank God the fire didn’t reach it.”
Jason studied the scribbled Cyrillic. “These memos were written by two different people – oh, I see. They’re between Volen Andreievich and Arvil Volenevich – ”
Mac interrupted. “Um, Jason – if it isn’t too much to ask, can you just call ‘em ‘Dad’ and ‘Junior’?”
Jason gave MacGyver a puzzled look. “Okay. Sure. At any rate . . . let’s see. This set is dated from January – Arv, uh, Junior is complaining that someone has refused to pay something – ”
“That’s right,” Mac broke in. “After we took Quayle down, whoever was supposed to pay the travel bill welshed on the deal. I guess it was supposed to be a round-trip ticket.”
Jason continued. “There’s no letter ‘Q’ in Cyrillic, of course. They refer to him as ‘K’.” He frowned. “That’s funny – Junior asks if he should close the file, and the same memo was sent back – Baranyev simply wrote on it, ‘No, keep the file open.’”
Mac and Pete looked at each other uncomfortably, thinking of the botched prisoner exchange in Czechoslovakia and the conviction that another set of interests had been at work.
Jason picked up the next memo. “This next set is from May, after – well . . . ” He looked faintly green. “Anyway. This one’s from, uh, Dad. ‘Visha’ – that would be Arvil – ‘I told you to drop it. You do not need to know more. K was a weakling and a fool.’ Here’s the reply: ‘I thought you said he worked for us.’”
The room had become very quiet as Jason picked up the last memo. The cat’s purring had stopped some minutes before. “‘He worked for
me, and he knew too much. He was a liability. Close the file. I do not want to hear of this again.’” Jason set the memos down and wiped his hands on his slacks, trying to scrub off the tangible sense of corruption and betrayal.
Pete let out a long whistle. “Just what was Baranyev up to?”
Mac shook his head, his eyes troubled. “I’m not sure. Nothing the KGB or the Kremlin knew about or planned – nothing official; we know that. Something outside the system – something big and nasty that hasn’t got a name just yet.”
“There are a lot of changes getting started in Eastern Europe,” Pete remarked. “Not everything that might be set free is going to be good. When the system starts to relax its grip, the predators are going to get loose too.”
“Hang on . . . ” MacGyver sat back in the couch, unconsciously rubbing the cat’s ears as his eyes turned inwards, hunting a wisp of memory. “There was a phrase in some of those telexes – it kept turning up.
Soviet Biznesa, no,
Sovet – that’s it:
Internatsional’nyi Sovet Biznesa.” He looked at Jason. “Nothin’ to do with the official
Soviet government at all – ”
Jason was nodding. “That’s just ‘
Sovet’ as in ‘network’ – ‘International Business Network’. It sounds pretty simple.”
Pete’s eyes had narrowed. “Some foresighted entrepreneurs taking an early shot at the underside of capitalism. I don’t think we’ve heard the last of them.”
Jason rose abruptly, grabbing the back of his chair to steady himself. “I’m going to go check on Gina.” The cat slipped away from under Mac’s hands, flowed off his lap, and padded after Jason.
Pete looked over at Mac and seemed to reach a sudden decision. “MacGyver, there’s something I need to talk to you about. Things have been, well, a little unsettled at the DXS.”
“Brandon still givin’ you a hard time about Leningrad? Heck, you’ve got a whole basketful of KGB goons you can dump on his desktop.
And we can finally close the file on Quayle, with a few answers for a change.”
“It’s not that. It’s – Mac, he has been giving me a hard time, but not about Russia. About you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. He’s not comfortable with your status at the DXS – he’s, well, puzzled that you even exist.”
“You know, whenever I start to wonder about that myself, I usually go hiking. Has he tried that?”
“Mac, that’s not what I meant! Brandon doesn’t like having an operative who’s a part-time contract worker! And he wants to know why I give you all the ‘plum assignments’, in his words. He told me he wants you ‘regularised’.”
Mac shook his head and blinked both eyes. “ ‘
Regularised’? Is that even a
word?”
Pete gave a twisted smile. “It’s from an obscure dialect of Bureaucracy-speak. I don’t think even Jason could translate it into anything meaningful.”
“Oh, I get the meaning all right. Pete, how long have you been runnin’ interference for me on this one?”
“I haven’t exactly – ”
“Oh, yes you have – ”
They were interrupted by the loud jangling of the phone. Mac started, then picked it up. “Hello?”
“
Zarsha. Did you find your knife?”
Mac settled back on the sofa. “Yeah, Baba. I did. How did you know anyway – never mind, don’t tell me. Lucky guess?”
“Of course. Lucky guess. What else?”
“Where are you callin’ from? Are you okay?”
“I am at home. I am safe. You will come here now, please? And I think your friends should come too. Not Gina; she must rest. The others. There is something that must be considered.”
φWhen they reached Baba’s, Tasha was sitting outside on the porch, watching Willow run back and forth on the lawn, arms outstretched, emitting vrooming sounds. She was wearing a child-sized motorcycle helmet. Talis’ Harley was at the curb.
Willow ran up to the Jeep as soon as it was parked, stared solemnly at Pete, then attached herself to Jason’s leg as he climbed out and demanded an introduction to Pete. Once MacGyver emerged from the driver’s side, she abandoned Jason, ran around the Jeep and proudly showed Mac her helmet.
“See? Talis promised to take me for a ride.”
Mac picked her up. “Cool.”
“She says I’m too young to have my own bike.”
“Well, yeah. Your arms need to be longer so you can reach the hand controls.”
Willow pulled off the helmet and looked at MacGyver seriously. “What’s your name?”
“My name?”
“Your real name. The one you like to use. Not ‘Phoenix’; you don’t like that. You don’t like any of the others.”
“Mac.”
“Mac. Did the fire scare you?”
Mac ruffled her hair. “If you’re careful with fire, you don’t have to be scared of it.”
“Not that fire. The big smelly one, where it went boom and stuff. The one you had to put out.”
Mac stared at her. “How could you possibly know anything about that?”
Willow shrugged.
“Well, yeah. I was scared. I was scared that a lot of people might get hurt.” MacGyver felt a wave of ice wash through him at the memory, and he found himself hugging the child harder than he had intended to; but she merely wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed back, the helmet thumping against his back as it dangled on its strap. “That scared me so much I didn’t even think about getting hurt myself. And that’s why I had to put the fire out. Later on I thought about how I could have been hurt, but I’d still do it again if I had to. Sometimes you just do things even when you’re scared.”
“I was scared to jump off the diving board at the pool last week, but Mommy told me to go ahead and so I did.”
“Did you? Good for you. And good for her.”
Talis came out of the house and Willow looked at her, waved, and wriggled to be set down. Once on the ground, she put the helmet back on and charged at the tall woman, tagged her and ran away.
Pete and Jason had already gone in; Mac paused on the porch for a moment with Tasha, turning to watch Talis chase Willow around the yard, roaring like a turbocharged lion.
“She asked you about the fire, didn’t she?” Tasha asked.
Mac nodded, not sure what to say.
“And no, nobody told her anything. She brought it up herself yesterday, and I didn’t even know what she was talking about. We finally told her she’d just have to ask you.” Tasha stood up and met MacGyver’s eyes directly. “Baba said you asked her why she plays the ‘Gypsy Queen’ role for Aspen and Gina and the rest.”
Mac looked at the child. “That’s why?”
“Yes. There are two or three others, but she’s the one we worry about the most. She’s so young . . . so far, we’ve managed to keep her thinking it’s just an ordinary thing. Private, but normal. We’re teaching her to be careful who she talks to about it. She understands ‘private’ very well.”
“It’s a good thing for kids to learn about anyway.”
“Careful, MacGyver. Your skepticism is looking a bit thin.” Tasha gave a sideways jerk of her head. “Baba’s waiting for you inside.”
“Do you know why?”
She looked troubled. “Yes, but I’m not supposed to tell you.”
The scene in Baba’s living room was eerily reminiscent of finding Baranyev a prisoner in his own house; but this time, the stern authority figure was Baba herself, with Pete and Jason backing her up instead of a matched set of KGB heavies. The focus of their attention, although miserable and sullen, was not bound and bleeding. And instead of a disorienting lurch as the world realigned, there was an almost audible click as the puzzle pieces fitted together. MacGyver realised that he’d known all along. He even understood why he had to be the one to do the talking.
Rainbow sat hunched in the middle of Baba’s couch in her stained and faded tie-dyed shirt and scuffed jeans, her arms wrapped around herself, hopeless and yet defiant. She looked up as Mac approached her, glaring, uncontrite.
“You followed me that night at Brookhearst , didn’t you?” Mac looked down at her and tried not to give in to the memory of the infinite sickening moments in the underground lab. Getting dressed that morning, he’d found most of his left side covered with livid bruises from when the shock wave had slammed him against the side of the elevator shaft. “That’s how you got in.”
Man, my rear-view mirror musta been way more crowded than I thought . . . good thing Rainbow and Vasily didn’t trip over each other. “Did you pick Brookhearst as your target because of me? Because you heard me talkin’ about them?”
Rainbow shook her head. “No. I did hear you talking about them, and then when I saw you there that night I followed you. But I already . . . I was already going to do it, even before that.”
“But
why? Why set the fire? Okay, you saw a lot of horrible stuff in Bhopal – but why Brookhearst? They had nothin’ to do with it!”
“But I knew that what they were doing was evil!”
If you only knew, Mac thought.
Rainbow’s sullen spite suddenly flared into rage. “I thought you’d be on my side! I heard you at the Solstice festival – you knew
something about Brookhearst. And what you said about toxic chemicals. You must’ve known they’re poisoning things. They’re all part of it.” She hunched her shoulders again. “Why’d you have to put the fire out?”
“Well, for one thing, there were people in that building! Including me! And research that might actually
help people – aw, nuts, forget it.” He could see in her eyes just how tightly closed the doors were inside.
Rainbow sniffed petulantly. “I didn’t mean anyone to get hurt! I’m
sorry.”
Baba threw up her hands. “Enough!” She had once again shed her gaudy trappings and ostentatious jewelry, and in her plain black dress and head scarf, she had faded into near invisibility. Now MacGyver caught a glimpse of Pete’s startled expression as Baba stepped forward. Pete had only just met her, and had never seen her make this sudden switch into the haughty autocrat.
Baba stood in front of Rainbow and folded her arms decisively. “You were to apologise to him, not argue with him – and since you cannot do even that, this ends now.” She turned to Jason. “Bluejay, you will go with her to the authorities? Tasha will take you in her car.”
“Of course I will,
Babushka,” Jason replied. He glanced from her to Mac and Pete. “Um, where should I take her? Somehow I don’t think the local cops are going to be the best choice . . . ”
Pete rose to his feet. “I’ll make a couple of phone calls. We should be able to get this wrapped up pretty smoothly.”
Mac stood with his thumbs hooked into his jeans pockets, watching as Jason and Tasha led Rainbow away. Behind him, he could feel Baba like a watching shadow. Once they were alone, he turned to face her. After a long moment, his hand dipped into his front pocket; he drew it out and opened the fingers wide to show his knife.
“Thanks. I guess I owe you one.”
Baba shook her head vehemently. “No. If there is a debt it is on my side.”
“Baba. Why did you send me off after Baranyev? Did he do something to you, or your family? Did you used to know him, back in Leningrad?”
“All that – you think it was for revenge?” She shook her head emphatically, almost indignantly. “I never saw him before he came to this country, not so long ago. I have been here many many years! You know that. I am citizen here. I still have the little flag they give me.” She gestured towards one wall, and Mac suddenly noticed that there was a small
domovushka hanging from the framed mirror that faced the hallway; worked into the knotted cords was a small, faded American flag.
She shook her ahead again, but without anger. “No, no. I needed your help to be free of him. When I first went to his house, I knew it was not a good idea. But it was already too late to refuse. Every time I saw him, every time he sent for me, the stink of evil was worse. His money stank of evil. I had to give it away. I was afraid, afraid for Tasha, afraid for all my foolish children who wish so much to be a little bit Roma. They have no notion how evil men can be.” The birdlike eyes pierced his own. “When you look at me, do you still see a charlatan?”
“I’m not sure what I see,” Mac said slowly. “And since I’m not sure, I’m not gonna pretend I know better.” As Baba smiled broadly, he added, “What do
you see?”
“Me?” She shrugged. “Are there words for it? I see patterns. Sometimes, I see where the pattern is broken, or where it is shifting and will soon break. Then I must look for the thread that will make the pattern whole.”
Baba stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss like a benison on MacGyver’s forehead. “And you,
Zarsha – you must hold the pattern of what
you believe. It is part of what you are.” She reached into a pocket of her dress. “This is for you. A keepsake.” She held out a small, painted wood carving of a bird: the firebird from Russian folklore. “And now you will excuse me, please. There is someone I need to see. She will be here soon.”
φPete returned from his phone calls to find MacGyver sitting on Baba’s couch, turning the firebird carving over and over in his hands. Mac looked up, his face uncertain but resolute. “Um, Pete – there’s somethin’ I need to tell you.”
“What’s up, MacGyver?”
Mac looked slightly sheepish. “Now, don’t take this wrong, but . . . well, it’s like this. I’m gonna be talking to Ruth, and I’m gonna ask her to keep me in mind if the Phoenix Foundation has any more work that they might want me to do. And, well, I might have less time for DXS missions. Maybe a lot less.”
“I see.”
“Oh, don’t look like that, Pete, okay? You know I really like workin’ for you. And
with you. It’s been great. But – I’m kind of missing out on a lot, traveling so much. And there’s lots of things needing attention closer to home – did I ever tell you about the Challengers Club? I dropped in on them again a coupla weeks ago.”
“Yeah, you’ve mentioned them. I know you liked being involved there.”
“And when you get down to it – Pete, I just can’t see myself getting ‘regularised’!”
“MacGyver, are you sure about this?”
“Yeah, I am. You know I always wanted to make a difference – well, this is a different kind of difference. And . . . I kind of owe them one.”
Pete’s expression had been carefully noncommittal; now he merely looked blank. “What?”
MacGyver had been running his fingers along the delicately painted wings of the firebird carving, following the lines as the feathers turned into flames and back again. It was the work of a master: the fire that engulfed it also uplifted it. “I guess I never told you – you know my family never had a lot of money. Didn’t you ever wonder how I managed to swing college? Especially at a place like Western Tech?”
“I always assumed you went on the GI Bill.”
Mac shook his head. “That would’ve maybe paid for state university. No, Pete. I went through college on a Phoenix Foundation scholarship. I’d never even heard of them till a buddy of mine told me I ought to apply. They paid for everything.”
Pete nodded.
“Ya know, Pete . . . have you ever considered working for Phoenix yourself? You saw their operations centre – there’s a lot more goin’ on there than just scientific studies.” Mac looked at Pete in annoyed frustration. “Oh, for cryin’ out loud, Pete, why are you laughing like that?”
Pete’s laughter was echoed by a chuckle from the doorway. MacGyver looked up to see Ruth Collins leaning against the jamb, her arms folded, a triumphant smile on her face.
“Ruth! What the heck are you doing here?”
“Baba Irina called me a short time ago, and asked me to come over. I just arrived, and she chivvied me inside and disappeared. I thought it better not to ask why.”
“You know Baba?”
“Well, not really. I’d never even heard of her till yesterday; but after reading your report, I called her up this morning to see if she’d consider reading cards at my next party. She has graciously condescended to accept me as a client.”
Pete was still laughing, but he shook his head at Ruth reprovingly. “You know, Ruth, I never thought of you as a collector.”
Ruth gave him an arch look. “I’m simply recycling, like a good citizen of the earth. In this case, I’ve been picking up underutilised resources that the DXS are damned idiots enough not to use properly.”
MacGyver was looking from one to the other suspiciously. “What’s goin’ on?”
“I’m afraid you just lost him a bet, MacGyver.”
“I never accepted that bet!” Pete snapped.
“True. But I’ll pay up on my side anyway, as a signing bonus. I’ve always been a firm believer in incentives.”
Pete sighed. “The carrot and the stick? Is that what we both have to look forward to?”
“Don’t fret yourself, Pete. You needn’t worry that I’ll interfere – well, not much – very little – not once I’ve handed over the reins. I shall retire to my lovely nest here in San Francisco, and you’ll only have to contend with me during board meetings.” Ruth glided into the room and settled herself in one of Baba’s armchairs with the air of a queen assuming a throne. “Believe me, if I’d wanted to keep the Ops Director job, I wouldn’t have bulldogged you for all these months. And I behaved myself last time, didn’t I?”
Mac had been listening with fascination. “Last time?”
“Oh, tell him,” Pete said with resignation.
“Very well. I first met this rascal in Toulon, over twenty years ago. I had returned to France and was yawning my way through the social whirl, and my husband found it necessary to borrow Pete from the DXS to bring embassy security up to something resembling competence. The Cold War was heating up, and I thought that sounded far more interesting than cold cuts and garden parties. So I reactivated what remained of my old network from the war and turned it over to Pete. I believe they performed satisfactorily?”
“Once you made it clear I was your anointed successor, yes. You had some damned good men on tap.”
“I have never been satisfied with less than the best. And now I can be sure I have just that.” She beamed at her new acquisitions.
MacGyver looked thoughtful. “Ruth, exactly what kinda work were you planning on having me do?”
“I wasn’t planning on being exact about it. Exactitude is often overrated. What kind of work do you
want to do? You have a unique set of talents, after all. We’ll just call it ‘troubleshooting’ and have done with it.” She looked at Pete again. “And Pete, before you start in with a fresh batch of regrets, let me warn you both: don’t be too quick to assume you’ll be writing yourselves out of the pages of history.”
Pete snorted slightly. “People like us aren’t there anyway. Our part gets written in invisible ink.”
“Then you may find working for Phoenix a refreshing change. Governments generally find the truth unsightly and awkward: an embarrassment to be buried in some dark cellar. We’re more interested in dragging it out into the sunlight and seeing if it starts to smoke – or sprouts leaves and blossoms instead. There’s a great deal of work to do, and no end of trouble to be stirred up.”
MacGyver set down the firebird carving; his grin was a beam of pure mischief and delight. “I can’t wait.”
Final acknowledgements:
This story would never have seen the light of day without an
incredible amount of help and research support. Particular gratitude goes out to:
For chemistry: MacGyvergrrl, a Dangerous Woman with many interesting recipes.
For mid-80’s computer systems: Rockatteer. (Home systems only. Any errors involving mainframes are entirely my own.)
Special thanks also goes to Rockatteer for his documentation of MacGyver’s various Swiss Army knife models.
For Russian: Laarell, Astra, and MacNymph, and the Linguaphiles community on LJ.
Special thanks to Melissa, for overall support and vetting me on the behaviour of small children.
And extra-special thanks to Lothithil, the best Beta in the world, for support, enthusiasm, and checking me on canon.
A great deal of information and dubious inspiration came from Misha Glenny’s recently published book
McMafia: A Journey Through the Global Criminal Underworld (published in the UK as
McMafia: Crime Without Frontiers); released in April 2008, just in time to give me plenty of background and ruin my sleep.
Russian and Romany terms and expressions:
molodoi chelovek – young man.
Babushka – Grandmother; can be used to apply to any old woman. ‘Baba’ for short.
domovoi – in Slavic folklore, the tutelary spirit of a house.
domovushka – a good-luck charm.
marime – the Romany (Gypsy) concept of impurity or uncleanness. Unrelated to actual physical dirt.
gadje – Romany term for a non-Rom. (The word "Gypsy" is not used by the Romany at all.)
Ruska Roma – the largest of the ethnic Romany groups of Russia. As in most countries, they suffered ongoing persecution, which persisted under Tsarist, Communist, and contemporary government.
A note on Cyrillic transliterations: any attempt to render Russian into the Roman alphabet is going to involve awkward stumbles. As an example, I chose to use the spelling ‘
zarptika’ for the Russian “firebird”, although my best source for Russian rendered the word ‘
Zhar-ptitsa’.
Also worth noting: the Russian Firebird is very different from the Phoenix of Arabian mythology, as dissimilar as the European and Chinese dragons. Where the Phoenix passes through a fire of its own making and returns to life renewed by the passage, the Firebird is an elemental force of fire itself, not to be approached casually or regarded lightly.
An historical note on Sasha’s wrestling career: the US boycotted the 1980 Olympics, held in Moscow; the USSR boycotted the 1984 Olympics, held in LA.
As with my first story,
Up a Long Ladder, I have collated this one into a single pdf document, should anyone prefer their fix in one single dose (or find offline reading easier). Please PM me if you're interested.
Cant wait!! 
