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It wasn't until much later that Andre learned the truth. The agent on the train—Gromov—wasn't assigned to protect him, but to protect Ekaterina. Still, when he found out, Andre didn't take offense. After all, he was a national figure now—decorated and recognized.
He reminded himself he was a pilot, not some elite spy or master of close combat. He had done everything he could during the assassination attempt. If anyone expected him to pull out a fruit knife and perfectly strike down an assassin mid-roll, they were better off reading a spy novel.
After the attack, neither Andre nor Ekaterina continued by train. Once they disembarked at Tengda, a Mi-8 helicopter from the Homeland Defense Air Force arrived to extract them. From there, they were flown to a nearby airbase where an An-12 military transport waited to take them to Moscow.
The An-12, with its four loud turboprop engines, was a rugged but uncomfortable aircraft. China would later adapt the design into the Y-8 series, but right now, Andre only noticed its shortcomings—especially the deafening noise and poor insulation in the cargo bay.
"I miss the train already," Andre said, rubbing his ears. "I doubt the Americans would try something again."
"Don't be too sure," Gromov replied from across the compartment. "If they really wanted to sabotage you, planting explosives on the tracks wouldn't be hard."
His logic was sound, though Andre found it hard to believe the U.S. would waste a deep-cover asset just to kill him. Infiltrating the Soviet Union was difficult—burning a mole just to take out one man didn't seem worth it.
"Still," Ekaterina said gently, resting her head on Andre's shoulder despite Gromov's presence, "how did you know she was an assassin?"
"Intuition," Andre replied. "And she moved like someone I once knew—Annie."
Annie. An American agent Andre had crossed paths with before. The girl on the train had a different face but nearly the same frame and movement. It was eerie.
Gromov nodded slowly. "We might've misjudged things during that operation. The body we recovered wasn't conclusively Annie's. Too many coincidences remain."
Andre's tone grew cold. "Gromov, do you know a man named Serov?"
Gromov didn't flinch. "No. And if I did, I wouldn't be able to tell you. Our work demands strict confidentiality. 'Gromov' isn't even my real name."
Andre didn't press further. He believed him. But the name Serov lingered in his mind like a shadow. The same man who once accused him of treason, now likely hiding behind layers of bureaucracy.
Still, Andre wasn't the same man as before. Now, he was Deputy Commander of the 513th Regiment. A Hero of the Soviet Union. If Serov or anyone else wanted to drag him down, they'd have to try a lot harder.
Ekaterina stayed quiet through this exchange, her expression unreadable. But inwardly, she bit her lip. She knew Serov—and she suspected why he might be targeting Andre.
The cargo bay fell silent once more, except for the steady hum of the engines and the rhythmic churn of the propellers. Andre felt a weight settle in his chest. You could always fight an enemy you could see—it was the ones in the shadows that were truly dangerous.
By the time the An-12 landed at a small military airfield near Moscow, it was nearly eight in the evening. The stars shone above, and the air carried a faint chill.
Andre stepped down onto the tarmac. Ekaterina stood beside him, hesitating before finally speaking.
"Andre... you don't have family here, right? Maybe you could... stay with me tonight."
She didn't look up. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. It was the tone of a girl unsure if she would be accepted or turned away.
Andre smiled gently. "Ekaterina, I promise I'll meet your family—but not yet. I want to do it right. Let me accept my medal first. When I show up at their door, it'll be with the Gold Star pinned to my chest. Then they'll know I'm worthy."
Ekaterina's eyes shimmered with emotion, but she forced a smile. "Then… promise you'll come."
She didn't say the words in her heart: There is no one waiting for us at home anymore.
A black government Volga waited outside the airstrip. Gromov and Ekaterina got in. Andre watched the car disappear into the city lights, feeling a surprising sense of loneliness.
As modern as Moscow was, certain traditions lingered. Even if their relationship was strong, it wouldn't be proper for him to join her tonight. He caught the last military bus heading downtown, thoughts swirling as the city unfolded outside his window.
Half an hour later, the bus dropped him at a modest hotel near the Air Defense Command headquarters on Gagarin Street. After presenting his ID, Andre received a key and headed to his room on the second floor.
He closed the door behind him and let out a long breath.
The past few days had been anything but peaceful.
Dropping his bag, he stripped out of his travel-worn uniform and made a beeline for the bathroom. The hotel provided hot water 24 hours a day—a rare luxury.
The shower roared to life. Hot water poured down his back, washing away the sweat and tension of travel. Andre leaned against the tiled wall, eyes closed.
For the first time in days, he finally relaxed.
He didn't hear the door behind him quietly open.
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