Chapter 20 Faded Years

Nursing the last drops of whisky into the night, Gulag stared into the flames of the crackling fire. So much chaos was unleashed upon the world, and yet it felt almost too easy.

Brock closed the free bar and gave the Bloodies keys to the tavern's motel rooms. Gulag left early, taking the remote hiker's cabin.

Now Gulag's eyes began to close from the last burn of the single malt, the flickering embers hypnotising him into a deep state of sleep paralysis.

A vivid carousel spun in his mind, transporting him back to a young boy of thirteen.

Eaton College's spires rose majestically against the morning sky. Down the tree-lined lane, his Russian parent's car disappeared along the gravel drive.

Leaving him abandoned in front of the stone walls of his new school

Now alone as would be the case for the rest of his life, Gulag gripped the strap of his leather duffel, entering the oak-paneled entrance where new students waited to be assigned rooms.

In the darkest corners of Gulag's dream, the crowded dormitory melded together with the laughing faces of the privileged sons of England's elite.

They kicked and tripped the strange little Russian boy, wheeling his gaudy oversized leather trunk down the dorm hall to a narrow bed.

That was the start of Gulag's swallowed innocence from the endless toll of bullying, following him around like a bad smell.

Lunches and suppers would be the same mob of boys stealing the ladled beef stew from his table. His crumpets and jam served in the common room would be thrown to the floor and then trampled on with abandon.

Every week, Gulag would look out the ivy-crawled dormer window at the boys on the college greens, their pockets bulging with the pocket money his parents had sent him from overseas.

Between Gulag's wakefulness and slumber, distorted illusions morphed into smells of lavender blooms and freshly mown grass flavoring the perimeters of the rambling gardens.

He would wander in solitude during his formative years. Known as the strange Russian boy to be given a wide berth.

Then he started to peak. Throughout his puberty his frame became lanky, and he developed a morbid fascination for the infamous "doctor of death" for Hitler Josef Mengele.

Gulag would seek refuge by trekking through the library each day, cocooned by the scent of old books, his eyes always drawn to the same biography about Mengele. Fascinated by Mengele's mind. He couldn't understand how someone could be so brilliant and yet so evil.

He wanted to know what drove a man to conduct cruel and inhumane experiments. Flicking through the pages the dark annals of history began to slowly warp his mind.

Bodies mutilated and spirits broken. Black and white photos of prisoners at the Auschwitz concentration camp filled Gulag with a strange sense of excitement.

He was a brilliant scientist, but he was also a monster. Had the boys who bullied him at Eaton met anyone like Josef Mengele? But they would soon meet Magister Gulag.

He was sick of always being excluded from conversations in the halls. Snubbed from entering lavish parties. With no membership in established social clubs.

Gulag was seen as an outsider by his peers. Because he had no family crest the tutors took the favourites on the hunting expeditions.

Gulag's athletic skills couldn't match his classmates who had been training for prestigious teams since youth.

But then he had his lucky break. Attending an advanced chemistry seminar one day Gulag stepped into the gleaming laboratory.

The shelves were filled with beakers and Bunsen burners, and the air was filled with the smell of chemicals. Gulag felt a sense of excitement, looking around. This was where he belonged.

A Young Russian chemistry professor on tenure took a shine to the young Gulag in the seminar. He fed off Gulag's passion and analytical mind for it.

Gulag knew that he would never be like Mengele. He would never conduct cruel and inhumane experiments on people. Or would he?

Gulag opened his notebook and began to write down his ideas for his experiments. In an imperfect life for him so far, the perfect designs would evaporate their smug smiles, replaced by confusion and fear as he dismantled them.

They would soon learn to give the strange boy from abroad a wide berth.

Gulag observed the tired eyes of the bullies in the gleaming bathroom mirror, straightening his navy blazer embroidered with the Eaton coat of arms.

He had felt different that day, possessed of a cunning and intelligence that set him apart. In the late night hours, they would disappear, which was not unusual.

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However, a whisper that an MI5 recruiter was on campus had everyone on their toes. Spycraft had always fascinated him, perhaps because his father and late uncle had both worked for the KGB in one form or another.

Gulag rumpled through the dorm boy's belongings, noticing an itinerary for a midnight physical fitness test held by Mr. Robinsion on Wednesday. Were the privileged bully boys testing for the recruitment test for MI5?

Like a KGB spy, young Gulag would place small cameras borrowed from the media room. Following them out of sight like a peeping Tom, listening to their personality tests behind closed doors.

After school on a Tuesday the Russian chemistry professor would give Gulag private tutoring. It was at this time a window of opportunity presented itself. The chemistry professor forgot to lock the chemistry store room.

In the recesses of Gulags' subconscious, his dream unfurled into a cryptic tableau of stark black and white labels.

Words of "highly corrosive toxic" and "toxic substance" beat in and out, like a strobe light of psychosis with Josef Mengele's face on the tightly closed containers of Sulperic Acid.

"Gulag, you are the new "doctor of death". I have been watching you reading about me. Take the Sulperic Acid to the swimming pool and kill them all."

To some, Mengele's words could be dissected as a full-on hallucination, but to the young Gulag at the time, it was his becoming. The calling.

Tuesday 10-00 p.m. Gulag lined eight buckets full of sulphuric acid mixed with liquid chlorine along the side of the Eton College Sports and Aquatics Centre pool.

Soon the MI5 recruitment process would begin. But first Gulga's unfathomable act needed to unfold.

In a grotesque symphony. He emptied the first bucket into the deep end of the seemingly innocent 25-meter swimming pool.

Behind fogged goggles and thick gloved heat, Gulag observed with curious fascination as the clear liquid snaked through the cyan water in ribbons. A wisp of smoke began coiling from the surface, intensifying with each successive pour.

By the third container, the pool had taken on a strange chalky hue and emitted an odor reminiscent of rotten eggs. Working it now, a sheen of perspiration gathered on Gulag, from the building thermal output of the reaction.

Eight buckets in, the mixture had transformed into a putrid slurry, roiling and emitting noxious fumes that stung the eyes and lungs.

Persistent wisps of vapor blanketed the surrounding deck, starting to creep out over the compound.

Gulag paused to evaluate, ensuring each variable proceeded as calculated. Satisfied, he methodically emptied the remaining acid with machine-like precision.

When the final bucket drained, the pool came alive, waves rippling across its length with increasing violence.

Within moments, a furious boil erupted along the bottom as temperatures escalated precariously. Gulag backed away, snatching up the buckets.

Gulag stirred in the log cabin chair. Flames of the fire shaped into the faces of those unfortunate souls who dared to dip their toes in the water that night.

Twisted in agony. The mouths of Gulag's tormentors were agape with screams - peeling skin devoured by the seething water - bodies sinking to the bottom.

It was the first time he met Robinson. Escaping, coughing violently - emerging from the doors, through the toxic haze enveloping the pool area.

Robinson with burning lungs seeking oxygen, stumbled down the corridor, noticing the lanky figure at the end of the hall.

Robinson took in the tall boy’s apparent amusement at his distress, nonchalantly leaning against the wall. His cool demeanor hinted at guilt

Through watering eyes, Robinson met Gulag's calculating stare, immediately grasping the magnitude of the situation. That this was no accident...this was sabotage, conducted with ruthless precision.

Gulag had orchestrated some diabolical scheme, demonstrating not only keen scientific aptitude but the willingness to cross lines others would not.

A dangerous combination, yet one that piqued Robinson's interest at the time - despite all alarm bells going off in his head.

Opportunists like himself knew where to find true talent, however obscured. If nurtured correctly, Gulag's strengths could serve British interests well, in more covert spheres.

The next evening, Robinson approached Gulag after evening lessons.

"I have read your school file, we did a little digging your father and uncle served in the KGB."

"That is correct," Gulag said without looking up from his chemistry book.

"Do you have a good relationship with your father and mother?"

"As you have read my files. Then you should know already, they have not visited me or hardly written to me in six years. My life is not in Russia anymore."

Robinson closed Gulag's book gently.

"Your English has become quite fluent, I was told you could hardly speak the language when you first arrived. Russian and English are very in-demand skills in our world Gulag."

Gulag looked up with a look almost devoid of emotion, he was already dead inside from the years of bullying, and a family that did not much care for him. Robinson sat down beside him.

"We have a home for you in the UK, where your strategic mind would be seen as a gift and nurtured, nobody will ever bully you again Gulag.

And the swimming pool investigation, it would just swim away from you, it happens a lot in our world."

Gulag's eye glittered with intrigue, compliments were a currency, that he very rarely traded with, except for the Russian Professor, and of course the great "doctor of death" Josef Mengele.

"A role awaits within a specialized group, for those comfortable in the shadows. Prove yourself and rise through our ranks, as your cunning dictates.

And there are also the perks, you will get to travel the world, and be compensated handsomely for your services if you are the right fit."

Gulag woke to knocking at the lodge door. Dawn's faint light barely peeked through the grimed windows of the cabin. The ashes had cooled in the hearth of the fireplace.

"Gulag it's Asp, We are ready to depart."

"Give me 30 minutes "Gulag shouted, stirring himself awake.

Gulag dressed, retrieving his gear and swinging the box truck keys in his finger. It was just another day, with a new location to be at.