Codename Anastasia Novel (End) - Chapter 16

Just then, an unfamiliar ringtone sounded. It seemed to be Zhenya’s phone. He checked the caller ID and answered, “What is it?” His voice was a bit different from usual. While it was never exactly warm or gentle, it was colder and more dry than usual. The tone itself was so low-pitched that he sounded like a completely different person.

“Alright. I’ll be right there.”

He unilaterally listened to the other party’s words and quickly ended the call. He stared at Zhenya. He thought, as colleagues, Zhenya would naturally tell him who he was talking to and what was discussed. However, Zhenya simply stretched his arm out onto the road without a word.

Soon, a taxi pulled up in front of them. Before Kwon Taekjoo could even ask where he was going, Zhenya crumpled himself into the backseat and closed the door. And then, he drove off.

“…….”

Kwon Taekjoo stood there, dumbfounded. His clothes, soaked to the core, had frozen solid, making them worse than wearing nothing at all. The hand holding the card Zhenya had given him was red and trembling. He didn’t know where it would be safe to go. He didn’t even know where he was. Taxis still sped away, refusing to pick Kwon Taekjoo up.

Again, Moscow’s winter wind blew. Now, he didn’t even have the strength left to huddle. He hopelessly watched the cars whizzing by when his stomach rumbled. Come to think of it, he hadn’t had breakfast yet. What kind of movie was he starring in? His predicament, looking like a beggar in a foreign land thousands of miles away, suddenly filled him with self-pity.

He found lodging close to the riverside. The shabby hostel was a world apart from the luxurious hotel he had stayed at under the Russian government’s invitation. It boasted several room types, and since he desperately needed a hot bath, he chose the most expensive room. But once inside, he couldn’t understand why it was more expensive. Did the price only differ based on whether there was a window? The small room contained only a worn bed barely big enough for one person and a broken-legged makeshift table. To exaggerate a little, there was also a tiny television, but he doubted it would even turn on. Wi-Fi seemed like an impossible dream.

Of course, if the water ran well, those things were no problem. He barely managed to peel off his clothes, which clung to his body, and stood under the showerhead. To warm his frozen body, he fully turned the water temperature valve to hot. However, the hot water he expected only trickled out by the time he finished his cold shower. He didn’t even have a common bathrobe, so he came out with a large towel wrapped around his waist, covering only his lower body.

At the sudden sign of movement, something scurried away. Cockroaches. At least three or four. He imagined those creatures probably mated and laid eggs even in Siberia, where temperatures fluctuated between minus 40 and 50 degrees.

He shook his head and threw himself unhesitatingly onto the bed. Dust rose from the mattress, God knows when it had last been cleaned. His nasal passages and throat tingled irritatingly. Because of that, he coughed repeatedly but didn’t get up. He simply had no strength to lift a finger.

The bed creaked whenever he shifted. It looked like it could collapse at any moment. Still, should he just take a nap? His body felt so heavy, and his head was foggy. A short nap might clear his mind. His eyes quickly drooped.

He slowly closed his eyelids, counting the days. It was about time his mother called. With his phone and everything gone, he didn’t know what to do. He imagined a scenario where he completely lost contact with his mother in his half-sleep. A day would be fine, but after a few days, his mother would leave the house herself, determined to see Kwon Taekjoo. The day she discovered he wasn’t a regular administrative civil servant, she would surely fall ill. She might even insist on going first rather than watching him become like his father or brother.

No, no, that won’t do. He sprang upright. He picked up the receiver on the table and called the lobby. For some reason, there was no dial tone. He hung up and tried again, but it was the same. Just in case, he pulled at the phone cord. Sure enough, the electrical cord, gnawed as if by a mouse, dangled loosely.

Annoyance welled up. He threw the phone he was holding. Nothing seemed to go his way today.

What should he do? He ruffled his wet hair, pondering, but there was only one option. He didn’t dare put on his half-thawed clothes again. Instead, he wrapped a towel around his waist to cover only his lower body and trudged downstairs to the first floor.

Contrary to his worries, he didn’t encounter any other guests. The owner was sitting at the counter, dozing. He tapped the desk, and the owner startled awake.

“Oh, you scared me. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to make an international call.”

“It’ll be quite expensive. Is that okay?”

“I don’t care. Card payment is possible, right?”

The owner casually nodded and pulled out an international phone from under the counter. It was covered in dust, so much so that it was caked on from long disuse.

He roughly familiarized himself with the operation and picked up the receiver. After entering payment information first, he successively dialed the country code and his home phone number.

Soon, the dial tone began to sound. His mother picked up quickly. Her voice, saying “Hello,” sounded concerned. She must have been worrying about everything.

“It’s me. Did you call?”

When he asked, guessing the reason, a barrage of questions poured out. Why had he been silent all this time, had something happened to him, was he sick somewhere? She worried excessively, as if he had been out of contact for days. He was used to it by now, so he just said “Yes, yes” appropriately, reassuring her.

The call could only be ended by promising to call her first every day. He was already exhausted. He pressed his aching eyes to relieve the fatigue. As he relaxed for a moment, his stomach rumbled. He felt so hungry it hurt, and he thought he needed to satisfy his aching stomach to sleep soundly.

He glanced at the hostel owner. The owner, yawning broadly, wore an annoyed expression.

“Is there a decent restaurant nearby?”

At the next question, he reluctantly got up, gesturing slightly as he gave directions to a restaurant.

Just as the owner finished explaining and was about to sit down, the towel tied around Kwon Taekjoo’s waist slipped loose. The towel fell to the floor before he could stop it. Kwon Taekjoo asked the owner, who was staring at his groin, for one more thing.

“I think I’ll need some clothes too.”

Of all the restaurants, why did he recommend such a shabby place? Sitting in the empty restaurant, he kept looking around. Maybe it was a hidden gem known only to locals. He tried to console himself, but then he saw the restaurant owner and changed his mind. If the hostel owner’s patronymic was ‘Ivanovich,’ then this owner would be ‘Ivanova.’ Aside from a slightly different hairstyle, it would be hard for them to resemble each other so much.

There didn’t seem to be a menu. Orders weren’t taken separately either. The owner, who had ignored Kwon Taekjoo all this time, suddenly brought out unasked-for food. It was borscht, a cabbage soup, and pelmeni, Russian dumplings. When Kwon Taekjoo looked at him quizzically, he pointed to a wall. On it, the words “Coffee,” “Vodka,” and “Kvass” were scrawled crookedly. He chose Kvass, a traditional drink, and tasted the food that had arrived first.

The moment he took a bite, the gamey smell of lamb rose up. But hunger was the best sauce. He shoved the food down, grimacing all the while. When his throat felt dry, he gulped down kvass.

He chewed on the food in his mouth, organizing his thoughts. He was definitely cursed since coming to Russia. Otherwise, the situation couldn’t have gotten so complicated. First, he was assigned a mission he wasn’t even qualified for, then he was kidnapped a day after arriving in Russia, on the third day his belongings were completely destroyed in a bomb terror attack, and just now he barely survived being drowned. Moreover, his partner was utterly useless; he’d be lucky if he didn’t die at his hands. He hadn’t been that unlucky in life, but perhaps it was all coming at once.

His stomach churned, but he tried to maintain his composure. There was no benefit in lamenting the past. It was more constructive to worry about the future. First, he needed to report his survival and the incident to headquarters and request additional support. And he needed to leave immediately. Since he had suddenly become Psikh Bogdanoff’s target, he couldn’t be sure that he was the only one after him. Assessing the situation could wait until his safety was secured.

How should he contact headquarters? His communicator was gone, and his presence here was top secret. Not even Korea’s immigration authorities or the embassy knew. During his stay in Russia, Kwon Taekjoo’s identity was strictly Sakamoto Hiro. But he couldn’t just go to the Japanese embassy either.

What to do. No matter how he thought about it, the only way was through Zhenya. The problem was that he didn’t even know his contact information yet. He was a man who only appeared when he felt like it, without any promise of when or where they’d meet, making it difficult to even imagine how to find him. Zhenya was just as unhelpful. Was just handing him a card enough? How was Kwon Taekjoo supposed to know where to go?

“Good grief.”

He shook his head and put down his fork. His stomach was somewhat full, and he had no more will to swallow the tasteless food. He picked up the bill and headed for the counter. Just then, the cheerful jingle of the bell at the entrance sounded. Two police officers entered.

They seemed quite friendly with the restaurant owner, exchanging warm greetings. They even sat down at a table without being told. The owner familiarized himself with the routine and brought out glasses and vodka. Then, he chatted idly at their table for a while. It was much later that the owner came to the counter to settle the bill.

“3000 rubles.”

The amount he was charged, coming so late, was absurd. Even 1000 rubles would have been more than enough. The owner’s face, as he overcharged, was shamelessly confident. Everything from the quality of the food to the price was unsatisfactory, but he had no energy to argue. It wasn’t his money anyway.

Without a word, he handed over his card. The owner openly looked troubled. When Kwon Taekjoo said he had no cash, the owner reluctantly took the card. He waited for a moment, but it seemed there was a problem with the machine. After swiping the card several times, the owner glanced at Kwon Taekjoo and abruptly went to the officers’ table. Then he kept peeking at Kwon Taekjoo while whispering something.

Soon, his eyes met the officers’. Their gazes were somehow unfriendly. Were they talking about Kwon Taekjoo?

Immediately, one of the officers stood up. Kwon Taekjoo watched him approach with a puzzled expression.

“Do you have some business with me?”

“Let’s talk for a moment, sir.”

Meanwhile, the other officer also approached as if to corner him and suddenly grabbed Kwon Taekjoo’s arm. What was this about now? This abrupt and baseless turn of events was simply baffling.

It seemed there was some misunderstanding. Misunderstandings usually clear up with calm conversation. The problem was that he had removed his artificial skin. In this appearance, he couldn’t claim to be Sakamoto Hiro. Nor could he reveal his true identity. He had to avoid accompanying them to the police station at all costs.