The Godsverse Chronicles

Change: Chapter 3

"You do realize, even for me, getting into the Soviet Union isn't cake, right?" Ollie told me when I called her with the information I got from Jared. "Also, I thought I told you not to call collect anymore."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you not want to get updated about this dagger you are up my butt about finding?"

"No, I do. I just want you to foot the bill."

"While you're complaining, you're wasting precious time, and time is money. Are you going to help me or not?"

She grumbled something to herself, which I could only assume wasn't polite since I couldn't hear it. "Take the next flight to West Berlin. I'll have my friend Dimitri meet you at the airport. He'll get you the papers you need to cross the border at Checkpoint Charlie."

"That's what I wanted to hear. Thanks."

"Don't thank me, just find that dagger," she said and hung up.

Belgium and Germany shared a border, so it was relatively easy to catch a cheap flight from Brussels to Berlin. Reagan worked hard to cool the tensions between the USSR and the west, and we all had a lot of hope that Gorbachev would be easier to work with than Chernenko, but the Berlin Wall still stood as a huge indicator that the Soviet Union was not interested in playing nice with the west. Getting through the Iron Curtain wasn't easy, even for somebody who knew Russian and could shapeshift into any form they wanted. However, the one thing working in my favor was that few people wanted to break into the Soviet Bloc. Most people were trying to break out. Of course, that was because it was a nightmarish hellscape...and I was walking right into the belly of the beast.

When I landed in West Berlin, I found a tall, svelte man in a long coat and a thick beard who held up a sign reading "PITA" for "pain in the ass," which was the sort of joke Ollie would make for me.

"Are you Dimitri?" I asked, walking up to him.

"Da," he replied. "You must be the pita."

I chuckled. "Most people call me Sadie."

"Ah," he said. "This is some sort of joke, then?"

I nodded. "Something like that."

I didn't pack more than a backpack, so we made our way out of the airport without stopping off at baggage claim and into a small, black car. I was lucky I packed light because little more than my backpack would have fit into the boot of the car.

"You have not been to Moscow before, da?" Dimitri asked with stern words.

"No, I haven't," I replied. "Is it nice?"

"Absolutely not," Dimitri said harshly. "Nothing about the Soviets is nice. You must be mad to want to go there."

"It's part of a job. I couldn't say no if I tried."

"Your job is very bad, then." He sighed. "Though, what would I expect from somebody who knows Ollie?"

When we could see the Berlin Wall in the distance, he pulled to a stop. Dimitri reached over me and pulled a bunch of papers out of the glove compartment. "I don't have more than a passport, but Ollie says you are a master of disguise, so it shouldn't be a problem for you."

I looked down at the passport, focusing on the picture of the husky woman staring back at me who I needed to impersonate. She had a hard face with thick jowls. Her face was expressionless, which helped my ability to turn into her.

"You don't have a piece of her hair, do you? Or a flake of skin?"

He shook his head. "Are you crazy? Why would I collect such things?"

"No reason." I would have liked a piece of hair to make the disguise more believable, but I would have to make my best guesses and hope it was good enough.

"Did you find Kirkorov?"

He nodded. "He lives in Moscow. He heads a program to acquire magical weapons that can finally win their war with the west."

"They must be desperate if they think a dagger is going to be their salvation."

He looked at me, expressionless. "Desperation is our natural state. We live with it like an old friend."

"Wow, that is bleak, even for me."

He didn't seem to acknowledge me as he continued, "I have arranged for my contact in Moscow to meet you at the Alexandr's Bar in the Mozhaysky district. There is a map I included with the rest of your things. It will show you the location. She will meet you in three days' time." He pulled a wad of cash from the inside of his coat. "Ollie says you are good for this much, but you might need more."

I grabbed several thousand dollars out of my pocket and handed him enough to exchange with him. "Thanks."

"This will get you to Moscow. Just follow the route through Poland and Belarus. All roads lead to Moscow from here." He got out of the car, and I did the same. He extended his hand. "Good luck. Do not get caught. The Soviets are not kind to spies."

"I will take that under advisement."

"See that you do." He patted the car. "This is a good car. It will get you to Moscow, even through the cold, oppressive winter."

I exchanged places with him and drove forward toward the checkpoint. Dimitri did not wait to see me go. He turned on his heels and disappeared from sight seconds after I pulled forward.

The Berlin Wall, at least from the West, was covered in graffiti and trash. It looked like it could be blown over by a stiff wind, and yet the guard towers on the far side spoke loudly that it was not to be trifled with, at least on the Soviet side.

Dimitri sent me through the most famous of the checkpoints into the Soviet Union, Checkpoint Charlie. It was generally used by Allied troops and foreigners, so I hoped they would be less strict than others, which were just for nationals. Before I reached the gate, I took a long moment to look at the passport of the woman I was impersonating. Her name was Galina Petrov, and she was 57 years old.

It was always more painful to maneuver my body into a new form without a strand of DNA to use, and the wider the person, the more I had to stretch my body to accommodate their figure. Luckily, I had eaten a meaty lunch to aid with the process. I stretched myself horizontally quite a bit to impersonate Galina, and by the time I was done, I looked at myself through gritted teeth. I held the passport next to my face and thought it was close enough to match the blurry black and white picture.

I took my car through to the gate, where a stern-looking soldier with a tall wool hat stared at me. "Papers," he said once in English, then in German, then in Russian. I understood all three, but I was only proficient in Russian, not fluent in it.

I handed the soldier the papers and nodded at him. "Here you go."

He looked over the papers for a long moment. "You are supposed to enter through Checkpoint Alpha."

"I know," I said, trying my best to hide my stilted Russian. "I have very little petrol, and I hoped to make it home before getting more."

The soldier growled at me. In the old days, in the years right after the war when the wall was erected, my insolence never would have stood, but these days nobody had the heart to keep the fight going anymore on either side of the divide, so the soldier simply rolled his eyes. "Don't let it happen again."

The gate rose, and I continued. "Thank you."

I put the car in gear and continued across the demilitarized zone into the Soviet Union. The sign at the exit to the checkpoint told me it was exactly 1,793 Kilometers to Moscow. It was the only city on the sign, despite there being hundreds between there and Berlin. Dimitri was right. All roads led to Moscow.