How to Sharpen Finnish Saw For Ice

PART 1 SCHOOL OF SNIPERS

Chapter 1 WHERE HAS BEEN AWAKEN?

Pulling out a notebook, Varangian for a minute drew some icons on a piece of paper. He always did this when he wanted to concentrate. Then he suddenly crossed out the notes with a few nervous movements, and, crushing the paper into a tight lump, he threw it into the water. Looking at the frozen Tarantula, he asked:

Usually Varyag did not ask such questions. The lawful knew very well that his head of the security service was double-checking information from several sources and always avoiding hasty conclusions. And in such an issue as betrayal, he must be extremely careful.

The tarantula watched as the paper, wet, slowly began to sink to the bottom of the river. He should, of course, be offended, frown slightly, as if showing his displeasure. After all, in the end, he is not a wordless narrow-headed bull, but a man who has considerable merits. But Konstantin acted differently, his lips trembled in an understanding half-smile, and he said:

“How did you find out about this?”

Today Varyag had a free day, and he happily waved fishing. to sit by the water, relax, in a calm atmosphere to discuss urgent problems. A lot of them have accumulated

Vladislav knew that Makarov every Thursday stays for the night with his mistress, who lives near Kutuzovsky Prospekt. In general, lives on two families. Only his most trusted knew about this secret apartment. There was his shadow cabinet. Directors of banks and representatives of large companies dropped in here. All those who wanted to enlist his support. Of each transaction, he had two to three percent, which allowed him to look to the future with optimism. And if he now received his resignation, then there is no doubt that death from hunger does not threaten him. In several very reputable foreign banks, he had very decent accounts, which were constantly replenished.

Six months ago, Tarantul laid in the apartment near Kutuzovsky Prospekt “bugs” and a hidden video camera and knew almost all the negotiations that took place in the apartment of Makarov’s mistress. Once a week, this information was taken by Makarov’s guard, whose duties were to protect the apartment and to ward off possible admirers of his housekeepers from the house. However, the piquancy of the situation was that he himself acted as a seducer. Recruiting him to Tarantula was not worth the trouble. And now he had several cassettes with bed scenes at his disposal.

Over the past six months, Konstantin was able to study Makarov well, and there was enough material for blackmail with his head. But intuition told Konstantin that it was too early to remove bookmarks. And when Soso the Little appeared in the apartment of Makarov’s mistress, he realized that he was not mistaken.

It is known that ideal people do not exist. That any person has one or another set of shortcomings. But you always want people who are nearby to remain loyal to you in gratitude for the good that you have done for them. After all, you are wasting efforts to push them up. But life makes its own adjustments, sometimes not the most pleasant ones, and often the truth is that the higher people rise, the less appreciation should be expected from them. Sooner or later, a hypertrophied sense of self-worth wakes up in them, which affects all the best, because of which you promoted them before.

Something similar happened with Soso Little. There was a time when he went into Varyag’s crib and sincerely believed that he could not find a better share. But as soon as the thief got a bit of authority in the criminal world, he immediately began to speak out with displeasure about his former patron.

How short is human memory!

“Where is Soso now?”

“Or maybe he had long been preparing his escape routes for himself, and at the first danger he hastened to leave?”

Just for a moment, a clear hostility appeared on the face of a legitimate thief, and his hands clenched into fists. Tarantula, having encountered Vladislav’s gaze, involuntarily cringed, as if he himself were source of trouble.

The Varangian was silent for a moment, squinted at the water sparkling under the sun.

“Now he’s next in line, Vladislav.”

The Varangian grunted involuntarily:

“He knows that the dirt he was trying to take from a person from the Accounts Chamber is with us.” Here the interests of Makarov and Soso converge. Soso Little understands that if he does not eliminate you, then they will kill him himself! And in the near future. Maybe to give a damn about it?

The beholder shook his head in the negative:

The tarantula laughed softly:

“That seemed to me, too.” By the way, between Soso the Little and his former mistress, an interesting conversation took place. He tried to persuade her to leave Makarov and return to him.

“So they still had a feeling?”

The Varangian loved small provincial cities. In the Mother See there was always a risk of encountering a nuisance that could jump out of any gateway. And in such half-asleep towns where life can be planned for almost a month in advance, it was possible to feel completely free.

That is the city for the Varangian has always been Kolomna. A cozy town located some hundred kilometers from Moscow. It cannot be said that Vladislav was an inveterate fisherman, but now, sitting on the grassy shore of Kolomenka, it was felt that he was experiencing extraordinary pleasure. And the fished silver galleys, he rejoiced with real boyish enthusiasm. Konstantin thought that he had not seen the beholder for a long time in such high spirits, and only the mention of Soso made him the same. serious and focused, instantly increasing the distance between them.

For a minute Vladislav contemplated the course of the river, delving into some of his thoughts, after which he said in a firm voice:

The tarantula again witnessed a rapid transformation. There was no trace of the former enthusiastic boy. In front of him was a predator, prepared to jump. collected, prudent, very dangerous.

“He promised to give him a large metallurgical plant in the Middle Urals,” Konstantin grinned.

“Quite a lot,” Vladislav remarked with restraint.

“See how dear I am!”. Varyag exclaimed joyfully, smiling.

And again, he resembled a mischievous boy, unusually pleased with the successful AL-KOi fish.

The teenagers sitting nearby looked in surprise at the two men with fishing rods in their hands. By the grace with which the uncles hooked fish, it was clear that fishing was a familiar thing for them. Not only was their enthusiasm for each fish caught. To some extent, Vladislav’s behavior was a revelation for Tarantula himself. Each gudgeon caught caused him a serious storm of glee. Tarantula with a smile recalled the case when the Varangian in Monte Carlo withdrew a bank of almost a million dollars. Then on his face was not even a hundredth of the pleasure he received from today’s fishing. Yes, and he raked the gain with such a Stihl, as if it were ordinary river pebbles.

The tarantula grunted, remembering how this morning some serious old man with rings-tattoos viciously cursed Varyag when he accidentally hooked his bag with fish. The Varangian, smiling disarmingly, apologized to the grouchy grandfather. When Vladislav took off his shirt, putting on display the tattoos of a thief in law — angels with outstretched wings — the old Urkagan, grunting his fist in frustration, put aside the rod and repentedly approached the crowned one.

“It’s all right, dad,” the beholder smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

The old man among the fishermen had considerable weight, and, noticing how the lads got lousy, he terribly stuck. The youngsters immediately pacified and stared dumbly at the frozen floats. The old man, looking at the Varangian, pursed his lips in an apologetic smile. Say, chantrap, sheer fatherlessness, what can you take from her!

Video: How to Sharpen Finnish Saw For Ice

Often you should get out into the nature!

“He himself,” Konstantin confirmed. Pavlov has already twice transparently been hinted at resigning, but Viktor Arkadievich does not give up. Not a figure to pass so immediately!

“Did the deputy prime minister tell you about the conversation?”

Viktor Arkadievich Pavlov held the post of deputy prime minister in the government. The last five years, his relationship with the Varangian was more than friendly. Twice, taking their friends, they rested together in New Zealand on one of the small private islets. It is not difficult to imagine what would happen to the career of a major official if at least one of the photographs of their joint vacation was made public. But Pavlov fully trusted Vladislav, knowing that the Varangian was under heavy guard and that random people were simply not allowed to access him. And people surrounded by the beholder knew how to hold their mouths tight.

Their friendship began from the time when Pavlov, then a young but successful businessman, was stolen seventeen-year-old daughter directly from college, asking for her five million dollars. Victor Arkadievich was given twenty-four hours to think it over, after which they promised to send him a parcel with his daughter’s hands.

On reflection, Victor Arkadyevich went to Varyag. The beholder carefully listened to Pavlov’s excited request, talked twice with someone over the phone, and after some thought, promised to do everything in his power to rescue the businessman’s daughter. Vladislav warned Pavlov that the situation is not simple, and therefore one should prepare for the worst options. Victor Arkadevich courageously listened to the words of the beholder and only nodded with restraint at the end of the conversation.

A day later, his daughter was returned to him. Only three years later, Pavlov learned that such a service turned out to be a serious complication for Varyag with one of the influential Caucasian groups, who engaged in kidnapping. In the future, the Varangian did not find any compromise regarding this group. Three attempts were made on Vladislav, one of which almost became fatal for the lawful.

Pavlov did not forget people who extended a helping hand to him, and therefore he was unlikely to be able to refuse the Varyag to a tiny request.

“How did you manage to find them?”. surprised Varyag.

“Mostly wild geese." They are unknown to us. But still, one of the instructors is a familiar person. Sergeant! Stepan Yuriev

“So he is after all,” Vladislav nodded thoughtfully. Stepan Yuryev, he is also Sergeant Although why be surprised? It had to happen someday. He never forgave my brother’s death You know, the rest are not scary for me. If anyone should be afraid, then only Sergeant! Find him!

The tarantula nodded in understanding.

“Do you suspect anyone?” The beholder asked quietly.

Shrugging his shoulders, Tarantula answered just as quietly, clearly saying every word:

“Okay, let’s go,” Vladislav rose. Not a century, we are here to cook!

The old man vividly set aside the fishing rod and hastened to the Varangian, funny seed with his feet.

“Would you like to say something?”

The old man smiled widely, flashing a golden fix:

“Twenty-six years old,” he said, hidden pride in his voice.

“Quite a lot,” Vladislav appreciated respectfully.

“I’ve seen it,” the old man restrainedly agreed, as if by chance pushing his left hand forward.

Vladislav saw five small crosses on the knuckles of an old man. Consequently, there are five walkers in the zone behind his shoulders. Fighting old man!

“Take fish, Dad,” the bucket handed out to the lawful old man. “I don’t need it.”

The old man smiled gratefully:

The old man looked a little confused.

The old man looked incredulously at the lawful.

“I’ll tell you,” the old man said, bewildered.

Chapter 2 DIRECT MATTER

Having banged heavily, the door opened, and a lean man with a skinny cider in his hands confidently stepped over the threshold of the cell.

“Greetings, tramps,” he greeted cheerfully and, boldly looking into the depths of the hut, fervently inquired: “Who is watching?”

The stranger kept himself free and confident. It could be concluded that it was not the peasant from the plow who dreamed of amnesty who wandered into the hut to quickly return to his birthplace, but a man who spent most of his life on a stocking, for which kitsch is his native home.

The inmates smiled involuntarily. From the appearance of the arrivals, benevolence and benevolence simultaneously exuded. He knows the rules, and therefore he will not have to learn it. Such a person does not need to be questioned. he will tell everything himself, as it should be. And if recently from the will, so share the news. Without them, quiche is mortal.

The tenacious and slightly mocking look of a novice

The eyes of Bes and the newcomer met. They could not help but meet, the beginner’s gaze was too inquisitive, the area of ​​the cell was too small. One could turn away, remain silent, pretend that he had not heard the question. But this behavior is unlikely to save the situation. Most likely, on the contrary, it would complicate.

Mikhail Chertanov. nicknamed Bes. not once heard that a person has a limit of psychological endurance. But everyone has a different one. If one is enough to slap a slap in the face to break it, then the other will have to thoroughly tinker with, having tried the whole complex of psychological suppression: from ordinary bullying to the use of sophisticated torture. After some time, a destructive rust erodes the strength of the spirit, and the former firm beliefs are shaken and eventually fall. The reverse process is almost impossible, then only a fall.

Faced with a look in, Michael suddenly realized that he himself was at the limit of psychological endurance. A little more pressure, and the spring inside it will burst and tear to shreds the guise that for a while managed to become his second "I".

The consequences may be the most unexpected.

Chertanov felt a small piece of the blade in his pocket and realized that the first person to die would be the one who crossed the threshold of the hut. The shock lasted only a couple of minutes. psychological hardening made itself felt, it was stress that made him mobilize and calmly answer:

Something like confusion flashed across the beginner’s face. Outwardly, this almost did not manifest itself, only slightly widened eyes, and raised eyebrows marked a deep wrinkle on the forehead.

“Thieves,” the guest said. Chased. Holy Call Gerasim.

Chertanov frowned slightly:

“So where do I throw the dice?”

It was as if the guest was checking the person looking at the fortress, constantly staring at him with a frank and steady gaze. For a moment his lips trembled slightly, as if he wanted to add something to his words, but he suddenly smiled relaxed. Chertanov caught himself on the fact that his fingers again clenched a sharp blade. Michael could not even remember at what exact moment he put his hand in his pocket.

“This is your shonkar,” Chertanov pointed to the neighboring bunks. “You will be by my side.” Just yesterday, a tramp here warmed one bone

“And where did he go?”

Asked the saint without any intonation. Just compliance with some secular conventions.

Chertanov confidently withstood his sharp gaze and answered wearily:

It turned out something like a hint.

“Then of course,” the Saint sighed just as unhappily, throwing his skinny scam onto the shonkar.

Chertanov tried not to look in his direction, but he felt like he literally sharpened him with a fixed look. He really wanted to turn around to find out what was more in this look. hatred or outright curiosity. But Michael held back.

An almost friendly relationship was established between the investigator and the accused, as often happens. Although, if you think about it, it was not worth wondering. Sympathy is a difficult to explain feeling, and sometimes it arises where it seems to not be. Perhaps this is why the former person under investigation did not ask him the fatal question: “And you are by chance not the same track that pulled the veins from me three years ago?”

Explanations could not be avoided. Chertanov knew that. He even guessed exactly when the conversation would happen — in the evening, when the tramps, having been soaked up during the day, would scatter among the scones and fall asleep.

Chertanov lay down on the shkonar and closed his eyes. And immediately remembered the conversation with Colonel Gordeev.

Everyone knew that Alexander Antonovich Gordeev very rarely puts on a uniform. He joked that he saw the form once every few years, when you need to screw on the shoulder straps of another star. But even without a uniform, it was noticeable that he was a servant man, and the look that the Chekist met everyone he met showed him a man burdened with considerable power. From a well-posed voice and from what intonation he spoke, it was felt that he was able to apply his power immediately on occasion.

Alexander Antonovich was known as a class specialist in operational combinations, and where he appeared, a serious game was usually planned.

“Do you know why the choice fell on you?” Asked the colonel, squinting slyly.

Alexander Antonovich smiled:

Gordeev kept himself simple, without any officialdom. He was not even wearing the usual tie. The top button of a fashionable shirt is unbuttoned. And he spoke in a friendly manner, slightly stretching his words. And throughout the conversation it was quite appropriate to insert short jokes into the dialogue. However, Captain Chertanov, despite his gullible tone, felt that they were having a serious conversation and that it was impossible to relax for a minute.

“Maybe because I already have some implementation experience?”. suggested Chertanov.

“You see, and everything is in order with logic.” You showed yourself very well for the last time when you were put in a “crib” to the house. If it weren’t for your help, we would never have managed to stab him. I still don’t know why he opened up with you so much. After all, we even planted a “mother hen” before you, but he didn’t reveal himself to anyone.

Chertanov remained serious:

The conversation took place in Gordeev’s office. The colonel sat opposite Michael at a table set against his desk. But this did not get any easier. Gordeev unwittingly suppressed him with his authority.

“From a good legend,” Chertanov answered confidently.

“True,” Gordeev agreed. You have a simple legend You do not have authority from yourself. In two counts! Authority always attracts attention. Remember, you are just an ordinary cormorant and do not pretend to much. True, I went to the "tighten" of very respected people. Which ones, I’ll tell you later. Thinking for a second, he continued:. It will be necessary to agree on some details. But you will not be lunatic. I promise! But do not bull in vain, they also do not like these.

“Got it,” Michael nodded.

With some sixth sense Chertanov suddenly realized that this was the main issue, because of which, in fact, their conversation took place. Everything will depend on how he answers it.

The Colonel smiled relaxedly. A sigh of relief was not enough for the full picture. Michael realized that the answer satisfied him.

The Colonel nodded in understanding.