Agent’s Revenge. Novel

Agent’s Revenge

Novel

Yuri Yakunin

Иллюстрации Vivago

© Yuri Yakunin, 2026

ISBN 978-5-0070-1986-6

Создано в интеллектуальной издательской системе Ridero

Agent’s Revenge

Foreword

— Agent’s Revenge — is an example of what can result from a chance encounter and a five-minute conversation by the window of a psychiatric clinic. The meeting was so emotional that it resulted in an action-packed novel spanning a period of fifty years. The novel features love and betrayal, decent people and outright scoundrels, the KGB and the Ministry of Internal Affairs, murders and their punishment, and of course — salvation. Actually, a script for a TV series was commissioned, but the client, unfortunately, — lost to a heart attack — and the result was a novel without long-windedness or delays. It is something between a screenplay for a film series and a play for the theater.

About the Author

If you are inquisitive, active, mischievous, curious, a cheerful visionary with a sense of humor, emotional, and impressionable — all events become brighter.

The train of life rushes fast, sometimes bypassing small stations. Here you are a capable boy, almost a natural talent, then a power engineering student, then a philandering womanizer, then occupied with scientific developments, then the owner of your own real estate company, then a stop and a forced disembarkation at a siding due to an incurable disease, but once again — not broken and starting everything from scratch.

It was the illness that allowed me to look at life from a slightly different angle, to slow down, to think about many things, to remember what flickered in the window of the life train, and to review and rethink a lot of things in general.

As you have understood — the result is before you.

Liana Tabidze

Characters

Evgenia Petrovna Margelova — the main character

Roman — a student. One of the main characters

Nina Vladimirovna Meskhi — one of the main characters

Dali Melitonovna Pertaya — Nino’s mother

Meliton Georgievich Archvadze — major, pilot, Dali’s father

Mary (Agent «Sova» [Owl]) — Dali’s mother

Margo Pertaya — Mary’s mother

Pyotr Margelov — Evgenia Petrovna’s father

Archil Vekua — captain, head of the hospital department

Georgy Ivanovich Merabov — colonel, Khutsiev’s cousin

Vakhtang Glonti — lieutenant

Nugzar Varlamovich Khutsiev — major, special department officer (osobist)

Natella Varlamovna Khutsieva — Merab’s wife

Irakli Nugzarovich Khutsishvili — colonel, Merab’s son

Lali Irakliovna Khutsishvili — daughter, David’s fiancée

Merab Lezhava — colonel. High-ranking official of the Ministry of Internal Affairs

David Lezhava — Merab’s son

Lieutenant Semyon Zakharchenko, Gela and Koba — KGB officers

Zurab — a doctor at a regular hospital

Guram Ivanovich Yashvili — head doctor of the psychiatric hospital

A Cigarette

What drives us when we take an untrodden path? Who knows where it leads? Sometimes, it can drastically change the fate of not only the traveler but also those he doesn’t even know. Others’ fates often depend on our seemingly accidental choices, but nothing in life happens by chance; all coincidences are regularities. The main thing is what stands behind the regularity — good or evil!

For several days, I talked through a window with a «mentally ill» woman. If I had known what this conversation would lead to — maybe I wouldn’t have talked! But who knows if we would be better or worse for it?

My classmate ran away when we were getting some vaccinations at school, and while crossing the road, he was hit by a car. I don’t think the vaccination was worth spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair and ruining the lives of the driver and his family.

It was in the mid-seventies. I, a student at the Polytechnic Institute, the life of the party, a favorite among my female classmates, was doing my pre-graduation internship at a thermal power plant. Opposite it was a psychiatric hospital. Several Tsarist-era buildings, enclosed by a fence with iron gates. A small part of one building overlooked the embankment. Apparently, after the expansion of the embankment, due to a lack of space, there was no fence or sidewalk there — and besides, who would walk there? Just the embankment and cars. At that spot, instead of a fence, a pair of barred windows on the mezzanine of an old brick building with thick walls faced the embankment. These two small windows, almost invisible in the gooseberry bushes, would hardly have ever attracted anyone’s attention.

Usually, after classes at the plant, students walked to the metro station by the opposite route leading away from the embankment, which was closer to the metro and more convenient.

On that day, for some reason, I walked along the embankment. A long, deserted road passing by the psychiatric hospital.

— Handsome, got a cigarette?

I flinched; the young girl’s voice seemed to come from nowhere — there was no one nearby.

— I’m here, in the window.

Through the bushes, in the barred window opening, I saw a semi-naked woman sitting with disheveled hair. Through the gooseberry leaves, it was not very clear what kind of woman she was, and simply as a smoker, I decided to give her a cigarette, nothing more.

I already had a sad experience of communicating with a mentally ill neighbor who periodically appeared in the house for a few days when she had an improvement. Back then I was a kid of six or seven and remembered well how she spat or doused people with water. She was completely toothless and gray-haired, though she wasn’t even forty.

Approaching closer and handing her a cigarette, I froze in amazement. The woman sitting on the windowsill in the barred window seemed to be about 18—20 years old. And if what adorned her head — resembling almost felt of an indeterminate color — and the quite distinct bruises on her half-naked, unkempt body corresponded to the institution this young woman was in, her face, though it bore the seal of deep depression, was simply of unearthly beauty. I had never seen such a beautiful face before or since, although I had never been deprived of female attention.

Enchanted by her beauty, I simply couldn’t walk away. How could such a beauty end up in a psych ward, and how could she be in such a derelict state? Didn’t she have a family, relatives, or friends? Could her wardmates really not help her?

— Thank you. What’s your name?

— Roma.

— And I am Nino.

A thin, elderly woman appeared in the window, but unlike Nino, she was neatly dressed, with dark hair carefully combed back. Her gaze was cold and even somewhat searchingly sharp for an insane person.

— Roma, give some cigarettes to my neighbor, otherwise she won’t let us talk, she’ll call the sadist orderlies.

I took out a pack and handed it to the «thorn» in the chocolate-colored corduroy robe who had appeared in the window. Something resembling a smile appeared on the woman’s face, and the sharpness vanished from her gaze.

— Well, do you like the girl? Everyone here likes her, but she’s just very stubborn, the little fool. She doesn’t wash and doesn’t screw, so the local thugs beat her. Just look at her breasts and her butt. Everyone tries to break her in — she’s damn good — but she keeps kicking like a stubborn filly. Good thing I’m on guard; they’re afraid to rape her.

— Get out, you bitch. You got your cigarettes, so leave.

— Now, why «bitch» right away? I’ll shout right now, and the admirer of your pretty face will be kicked out, and you’ll be injected with a dose for violating the routine — you’ll be spinning like a top.

— Don’t, Zhenya, he’s just a regular passerby and he gave you cigarettes.

— That’s it, got scared! Well, go on, youngsters, flirt while I’m in a good mood.

Nino was smearing tears across her face. I stood there, so stunned that I couldn’t utter a word. To me, everything I had seen and heard was some kind of monstrous dream, something beyond our Soviet reality, some kind of unreality. It wouldn’t fit in my head how it could be that good people leave this world early, while this «corduroy» dandelion, the embodiment of evil, lives on.

Nino, leaning towards the windowsill to be closer, spoke quietly, swallowing tears:

— Roma, you are the first normal person I’ve spoken to in many days. Go now, or I’ll break into hysterics, but I beg you — come tomorrow, I’ll be waiting.

— I’ll come around this time. I’m doing my internship at the power plant here, so it’s no trouble for me.

— You’re a student?

— Yes, I study at the Polytechnic.

Nino said softly:

— I studied too, at the Academy… but that was in another life. Well, go now, but come alone tomorrow. Bring something for that old woman; she’s «normal,» lives here as if looking after me, and if something goes wrong — she informs. And if possible, I’ll ask for some simple cosmetics, just give them to me unnoticed, otherwise Evgenia Petrovna — that’s the crone’s name — will take them away.

2. Transformation

I walked home completely shaken by what I had seen. In my imagination, beauty and abnormality simply didn’t align. In a person’s common perception, a mentally ill individual is something humanoid, chewing grass with monotonous, frenzied gestures, bulging eyes, a toothless drooling mouth, and a gaze full of either hatred or fear. A typical visual sequence from television documentaries of German experiments on humans during World War II.

Of course, my childhood neighbor Anya didn’t really fall out of that sequence either. And here — a girl beautiful to the point of stupor, and suddenly — insane. For what reason, why, who brought her to such a state, and why specifically her, someone so beautiful? Was she now to be chained to this «yellow house» for the rest of her life, and in ten years turn into a likeness of neighbor Anya — a toothless, gray-haired, mumbling old woman, neither externally nor internally corresponding to anything sane? Even though I was a happy-go-lucky guy, a womanizer and a joker, I was quite sentimental deep down. This life’s injustice — the thought of Nino turning into neighbor Anya — took my breath away and made my eyes moist.

I sat on a bench at the bus stop and, watching the girls passing by, couldn’t find anyone more beautiful than Nino. They were all here, on this side of life — clean, joyful, and rushing about their business. While Nino was there, on the other side. And why in such a state, neglected and abandoned? Remembering her uncombed hair and her bare, unwashed body covered in bruises, I realized that a normal woman wouldn’t let herself go like that. Yet I couldn’t understand — there was another woman right there with this poor girl, could she really not help her? Besides, Nino spoke quite normally; she didn’t twitch, she didn’t spit, and her eyes weren’t like Anya’s — which were wide open, even bugged out, with a completely mad, empty look that broadcasted her insanity. Nino’s eyes were beautiful, large and blue; they held a kind of infinite exhaustion, perhaps. Her facial expressions and the intonations of her voice didn’t match the felt-like hair on her head at all. All sorts of nonsense crept into my mind. I realized I was getting ahead of myself. The last thing I needed in this life was to get involved with a «crazy» girl, no matter how beautiful. No, I thought, men’s brains clearly aren’t in their heads — if a woman is beautiful on the outside, then everything about her, her soul and her thoughts, must be beautiful too. Но when you distance yourself from beauty, when you stop rushing, when you start thinking logically, weighing all the pros and cons and putting everything in its place — a completely different picture emerges, and you even feel a bit ashamed of yourself.

— Oh well, it’s a good thing I haven’t told anyone about the «prisoner of conscience» yet, — I thought. — They’d laugh me to scorn and might tease me for a long time.

My heart felt a bit lighter:

— She’s not the first nor the last mentally ill person, and fate doesn’t distinguish between who is beautiful and who is ugly. And how could I believe that old fool about someone wanting to rape Nino?

I shuddered when I imagined kissing an unwashed beauty, stroking her unwashed and uncombed head.

I thought once more that if Nino weren’t so beautiful, no such thoughts would even enter my head.

Now I even regretted promising Nino the mascara and cigarettes. I no longer felt like going to meet her at the madhouse. But since I had promised — I had to. And I felt sorry for her; after all, she was a sick girl, and it was a sin to deceive such people.

Having calmed down, I boarded the arriving bus. Settling comfortably in the back seat, I drifted into a daze, and thoughts of Nino left me entirely.

The next day, after my internship, I went down to the embankment. The old woman was standing by the window:

— Did you bring the cigarettes, Romeo?

I wanted to curse the old hag out, but I simply handed her a pack of BTs:

— Where is Nino?

— Nino, come here, your darling has arrived, — the old woman smirked, pulling a cigarette out of the pack.

Nino approached the window.

Everything that I had understood so clearly while putting together the logical puzzles at the bus stop — about the mentally ill woman and my own foolish position as a boy who fell for looks — vanished instantly.

Behind the bars of the window stood a matchless beauty with heavy, dark hair falling down.

Last time it had seemed to me that Nino had light blue eyes, but today I clearly saw beautiful eyes of a deep dark blue. A clean, unironed blouse was buttoned up to the top. Nino was smiling, and almost childlike dimples appeared on her cheeks.

I was stunned. This was a clear injustice; no, it was simply overkill — to be this beautiful and «abnormal.» I felt somewhat timid from the unexpectedness of it.

— Hello, Roma, it’s good that you came. I was very afraid you wouldn’t come, scared off by my appearance. It’s strange, but I was preparing for your arrival like it was a first date, forgetting about…

Rom, how old are you?

— I’m 22, and you?

— I’m 19. You’re handsome.

— And you are indecently beautiful! Why did you look like that yesterday?

— Roma, let’s talk about pleasant things today. I, for instance, am happy right now, like a girl in love. Let’s not talk about heavy things today! Tomorrow everything will fall into place, and perhaps I’ll tell you then. But for now, let’s just smoke in silence.

I remembered the mascara. Nino was delighted and immediately hid it in her sleeve.

— If they see it, they’ll take it away.

We smoked, each thinking our own thoughts. I couldn’t understand how it was possible that yesterday this girl was a repulsive, unwashed, abnormal woman, and today — you could take her straight to the altar. I no longer knew how to behave with Nino or what to say; my voice suddenly failed me. There was total chaos in my head! Now Nino was almost like a Count of Monte Cristo in a skirt. And to be completely honest — she turned me on.

I walked home, utterly failing to understand what was happening. And the last phrase from the old woman, who had stepped closer, kept spinning in my head and giving me no peace:

— Why couldn’t you two have met six months ago? — and after a pause, she added a verse from the New Testament — «Whom I love, I chasten.»

3. The Beating

The next morning, I was on pins and needles. I was dying to share the news about Nino with one of my friends, but the realization that fellow students might line up in front of her window like the orchestra pit of a theater, trying to call the poor girl out for an encore, horrified me and kept me from such a rash step.

Today I went to Nino with a firm determination to find out what had happened to her — how she ended up in a madhouse while being of sound mind. After comparing what I had seen and heard during our two brief encounters, I no longer had any doubts about her sanity.

Everything that had transpired in the two days since I started taking the embankment road past the psychiatric hospital began to seem like an implausible dream. «Go right — you’ll end up in the metro; go left — you’ll find a nightmare.» What if I had gone «right» to the metro that first time? Would Nino not exist? Or would she still be unwashed and uncombed? Or was it just because I happened to pass by that Nino became normal? And in general, what was really going on with her — an illness, an accident, a crime? And what was my role in this? Why did chance bring us together? For her happiness or my misfortune? Who needed this and why? Questions, questions, questions.

It was like a Hitchcockian script playing out specifically for me — a random passerby. A highly improbable coincidence of chances, which only confirmed the lack of any pattern — it was simply astonishing. Most striking and incredible was the fact that all of this was happening to a girl of stunning beauty. If Nino were ugly, what would happen then? Two things struck me: first — the assigned cerberus in the form of the «dandelion» old woman; and second — which was beyond all reason — the girl’s apparent abandonment. She hadn’t flown in from Mars; where were all her relatives, loved ones, and friends? A beauty like her couldn’t lack friends, and the absence of a loving man’s heart seemed completely impossible given her looks. Where were they all? Is it possible that in this whole wide world, there is no one but me, a random passerby, to bring her mascara? Something was wrong!

To be honest, I didn’t understand how this girl could be dangerous to others in any way. Why keep her in isolation? Why couldn’t she be treated at home? And again, why was there no presence of relatives, either direct or indirect? Considering the state Nino was in when I first saw her, it was clear that none of her family had visited her in a long time. Why was she allowed to walk around the clinic in such a deplorable state? Even if it’s a madhouse, there must be some order and hygiene rules! And the bruises — I wondered who left them. In the ward, besides Nino, there was only the old woman. Surely she wasn’t beating the sleeping girl at night? Though they say the insane don’t feel pain, people have eyes, and bruises would be discovered in the morning. A madhouse is a madhouse — only questions, not a single answer.

And then there was that instantaneous, almost magical transformation of Nino after a completely accidental, fleeting interaction — as if she saw not me, Roma, but at the very least, Jesus Christ himself descended before her.

When I approached the window, I expected another surprise. Nino was sitting on the windowsill just like the first time, but she had a black eye and a swollen nose. She looked horrific. I felt a sharp sting somewhere in my chest — probably where people’s souls are located. The old woman was not at the window.

— Nino, what happened to you?

— I tripped on the stairs.

After all my reflections, this was hard to believe.

— Nino, I can’t wrap my head around this situation. I really want to help you, but I’m lost in this horror! Tell me, what’s going on? I understand you’re not in a sanatorium, but this isn’t a concentration camp either! Tell me how to contact your relatives — you must have some! If I have to, I’ll go to them. Maybe there’s something I can do myself? I can see you’re not sick — or at least not so sick that you should be kept here. Why won’t your parents take you home, at least for the weekend?

— I have no one!

— What do you mean «no one»? You must have some relatives!

Nino remained silent. Her eyes filled with tears, and her face contorted in a grimace of pain.

— I beg you, don’t. It hurts so much, it’s unbearable.

— Sorry, I didn’t think.

I handed her a piece of paper.

— Here is my phone number. Call if you need anything. Maybe you want me to come with my mother or grandmother? We’ll say we are distant relatives. You’ll come over for the weekend, take a bath, eat normally, and sleep on starched sheets.

Nino looked right through me with a dull, empty gaze.

— I’m tired, and my nose hurts. I want to lie down.

— The nose is nothing, it’ll heal by the wedding… Don’t mind me, I blurted out something stupid again.

— I’m tired of you. Go away!

It was hurtful. I was there for her with all my soul, and she was driving me away like a nuisance.

The old woman approached:

— Roma, go home. She needs to rest. In fact, you shouldn’t come here anymore; it’s bad for everyone, especially for Nino. If you come again, I’ll tell the doctor you’re peeping.

While I was talking to the old woman, Nino turned away and went deep into the ward. She didn’t reappear. I spoke with the old woman but couldn’t find out anything. Feeling undeservedly offended, I left.

I went to a cafe, ate, cooled down from the resentment, and realized that Nino, like any girl, simply didn’t want me to see her with a black eye and a broken nose. Silly girl — I didn’t even care about the nose, such a trifle! Apparently, I shouldn’t have mentioned the wedding… I was being stupid! I should go back and distract her — read some poetry, maybe?

I returned and quietly called Nino. No one came to the window. I called several times, with the same result. I grabbed the bars and pulled myself up. Just as I was about to look into the window, a powerful blow to the ear knocked me to the ground. Two thugs were standing nearby.

— What are you peeping at? Jerking off to this beauty?

— No, — I muttered, — just like that, by chance.

— Oh, waiting for a tram here in the bushes?

The second blow hit my solar plexus. I lost consciousness. One of the men picked me up, and when I came to, the second one punched me in the nose; blood started flowing.

— If I see you here again, — the one who hit me said, — I’ll kill you and throw you in the Kura as fish food.

Taking out a handkerchief, I pressed it to my nose.

— Get the hell out of here.

Crossing the road, I leaned against the embankment parapet and tilted my head back, trying to stop the bleeding. Моя shirt was splattered with blood; my ear was ringing. I was furious. To think that old hag actually complained about me peeping! And I, like a fool, had to hang onto the window bars. Of course, they beat me like a voyeur.

I gnashed my teeth from anger and resentment. If you left, stay away — why did you go back? I got what I deserved. Shamed and beaten, I decided I would never visit this «crazy» girl again. Let her be treated! I treated her like a human being, and she shamed and humiliated me like this.

4. Major Archvadze, Year ’37

As Roman walked away — bloodied, beaten, shamed, and embittered — he could not see Evgenia Petrovna standing at the window. Roman was right about who had called the guards, and he cursed the woman with every fiber of his being. He couldn’t have imagined that his harmless «tête-à-tête» with Nino by the madhouse would end in such a beating. Man — the pinnacle of evolution — is powerless before elementary malice!

Evgenia Petrovna saw Roman being beaten; she felt sorry for the boy, who had quite accidentally stumbled into something he could never have anticipated. However, she was glad he was caught while pulling himself up on the bars, rather than during a conversation with Nino.