Игорь Патанин – Seven Elephants (страница 5)

"What do the red elephants signify?" Anna asked insistently.

"Red ones are for those who have already become part of the collection. Who have gone through the entire transformation process. Like me. Like Igor," he raised his eyes. "But soon there will be more of them. Many more."

"Where is Berkut keeping Sophia?"

Viktor shook his head.

"I don't know exactly. He never reveals all his cards. But he has several places for… processing. Special places where he conducts his experiments. One of them is the basement in his country house. Another is a former sanatorium somewhere in the forest. He called it his 'laboratory.'"

"Do you know the address?"

"No. They took me there blindfolded. But I remember that the journey took about two hours."

Anna made another note in her notebook, then looked up at Viktor.

"Why are you telling me this? Why now?"

Viktor smiled—a sad, almost human smile.

"Because something went wrong. Here," he tapped his temple with his finger. "His control isn't absolute. Sometimes… sometimes glimpses of my real self break through the programming. And in those moments, I hate what he's made me into."

"You said you went through this transformation… What did Berkut do to you?"

"First—drugs. Special injections that make the mind pliable, like clay. Then—sessions of suggestion. For hours, days. A voice in the darkness telling you who you are, who you should be. And gradually… you start to believe it. The old personality is erased, a new one is written over it. Like on magnetic tape."

"And this is irreversible?"

"Almost," Viktor smirked again. "But sometimes the tape wears out. There are… interferences."

Anna gathered her papers, preparing to leave.

"If you remember anything else—an address, names of Berkut's accomplices, other details—report it immediately."

Viktor nodded. When Anna was already at the door, he called out to her:

"Detective! Be careful. He's not just a criminal. He's… a creator of monsters."

Leaving the detention center, Anna immediately called Dorokhov.

"I need everything available on Doctor Alexander Viktorovich Berkut. And check all psychological centers and clinics in the city, especially those working with children and teenagers."

"Already on it," Dorokhov's voice sounded excited. "We have something interesting. A psychological center called 'New Life,' very prestigious. And guess who runs it?"

"Berkut," Anna was already getting into her car. "I'll be there in twenty minutes. Gather everything you can find: the center's history, list of employees, patients. And check if Sophia Velichko was ever their client."

"Already checking. But there's something else—a woman came to us. Says she has information on the case. Claims she knows Viktor Rogov and Igor Sokolov. Or rather, Igor Vasilyev, as he was previously called."

Anna froze with the ignition key in her hand.

"Who is she?"

"Klavdia Mikhailovna Petrova. A former music teacher from Tver. You need to hear this, Anna."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

In the rearview mirror, the detention center flashed by—a gray building, behind whose walls she had left a man who was simultaneously a criminal and a victim. A monster and a puppet.

And somewhere in the city, in an unknown location, Doctor Alexander Berkut was preparing to turn Sophia Velichko into the same kind of puppet. And the time to save her was running out.

Chapter 8: Mosaic of Consciousness

The police headquarters greeted Anna with the muffled hum of voices and ringing phones. Dorokhov intercepted her in the corridor.

"Klavdia Mikhailovna is waiting for you in the third office. Meanwhile, I've prepared information on the 'New Life' center," he handed her a folder. "Everything we could find."

"I'll speak with the woman first," Anna nodded, taking the folder. "Then we'll look into the center together."

In the interrogation room sat a middle-aged woman with a tired face and wary eyes. When Anna entered, she stood up, nervously clutching a worn bag.

"Hello. I'm Klavdia Mikhailovna Petrova."

"Anna Sviridova, investigating officer in Sophia Velichko's case," Anna shook her hand. "My colleague said you knew Igor Sokolov and Viktor Rogov?"

"Yes. Except back then, Igor was called Vasilyev. Igor Vasilyev. I worked with them at the music school in Tver twenty years ago. I taught violin," she paused. "When I saw the news about the missing girl and Sokolov's photograph… I realized everything was happening again."

"Tell me from the beginning," Anna took out her notebook.

Klavdia Mikhailovna took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts.

"Tver, 2004. Glinka Music School. I had been working there for several years when new teachers appeared. Viktor Rogov—piano class, Igor Vasilyev—physical education and choreography. Both young, talented. The children adored them."

"And what happened?"

"At first, nothing special. Regular work, concerts, lessons. But then a new school psychologist appeared—Doctor Alexander Berkut," Klavdia Mikhailovna swallowed nervously. "He very quickly became close with Viktor and Igor. They often stayed after classes, talking about something. Sometimes until late at night."

"You were eavesdropping?"

"Not intentionally. I just sometimes stayed late, preparing students for competitions. And I began to notice… oddities."

"What kind specifically?"

"Berkut conducted some kind of experimental sessions with troubled teenagers. He called it 'breakthrough therapy.' Many parents noted positive changes—children became calmer, more obedient. But I saw something else too."

"What exactly?"

"Emptiness. In their eyes, in their gestures. As if something important disappeared from them," Klavdia Mikhailovna took a tattered notebook from her bag. "I began recording my observations. Here."

Anna took the notebook, flipping through the yellowed pages with neat, small handwriting. Dates, names, observations.

"This entry here," Klavdia Mikhailovna pointed to one of the pages.

"Today I saw the elephants in B's office again. White, blue, green, red, yellow, purple, orange. He said each color has its meaning. White ones for those who have found peace. Blue ones for those who are still waiting. Green ones for those who are preparing. Red ones…"

"The next page is torn out," Anna noticed.

"Yes. Berkut found out about my notes. He came to my home supposedly for a visit. Said I had an anxiety disorder. That I was seeing conspiracies. He spoke so convincingly… and prescribed me pills."

"What kind of pills?"

"I don't know exactly. Small, white ones. After taking them, I felt detached. I'd get confused about the days of the week, forget details. And one day… I discovered that pages from my notebook had disappeared."

"And then Katya Voronova went missing," Anna was stating rather than asking.

"Yes. She was Viktor's student. A talented girl. Fifteen years old. Disappeared on her way from music school. Viktor was arrested a week later," Klavdia Mikhailovna pressed her hand to her lips. "And Berkut just… vanished. In a single day. Didn't show up for work, emptied his apartment overnight. And Igor Vasilyev disappeared too."

"Did you tell the police about this?"

"I tried. But I was already taking Berkut's pills. They considered me… unstable. They decided I was upset about what happened and was inventing conspiracies."

Anna made several notes in her notebook, then looked at the woman.

"And now Berkut is here. And he's hunting again."

"Yes. I saw his photograph in the news about the 'New Life' center. He's hardly changed. And when I read about the missing girl, about suspicions against a physical education teacher… I realized it was him again. His signature."

Anna opened the folder Dorokhov had brought. On the first page—an official photograph: a distinguished man with gray temples and a penetrating gaze. Alexander Viktorovich Berkut, director of the psychological center "New Life."

"Is this him?"