June 16, 1991 – Neva Transport Headquarters, Alexei's Office
The morning light was grey and unforgiving.
Alexei sat behind his desk, the Belarus ambush still fresh in his mind. Fifty thousand dollars gone. A spy in their midst. Tarasov's shadow stretching across their operations. The warehouse network was growing, but so were the vulnerabilities.
Ivan stood by the window, staring at the depot yard below. Workers moved between trucks, mechanics welded, drivers checked manifests. Normal life. But nothing felt normal anymore.
"We need to talk," Alexei said.
Ivan turned. "About the spy."
"About everything. The spy is a symptom, not the disease. The disease is that we're still operating like a gang, not a company. We have trucks, warehouses, a bank—but our security is still just you and Vasiliev watching the doors."
Ivan's expression didn't change. "It's worked so far."
"It worked against bandits and desperate colonels. It didn't work against Tarasov. He got inside. He knew our route, our timing, our cargo. That means someone in our operation is feeding him information."
Ivan nodded slowly. "I've been thinking about that. The new drivers. The dock workers. Even some of the veterans—Sokolov's been quiet lately. Too quiet."
"Sokolov." The name was a weight. The angry veteran who had come to Kazakhstan reluctantly, who had taken the money but never the loyalty. "You think it's him?"
"I think he's a possibility. But I need time to find out."
"Then take time. But we can't just hunt for spies. We need to build something that makes spying harder. Something professional."
Alexei pulled a folder from his desk and slid it across. Inside was a document he had been working on for weeks, refining with Lebedev's help.
Ivan read it slowly. His eyebrows rose. "Neva Security Services. A registered company. With me as..." He looked up. "CEO?"
"Chief Executive Officer. You'd run it. Full control over hiring, training, operations. A budget, a staff, a legal charter. No more operating in the shadows."
Ivan stared at the document. "I'm a sergeant, Alexei. Not a businessman."
"You're a leader. You led men in Afghanistan. You led them in Kazakhstan. You've been running security for every operation we've done. This is just formalizing what you already do."
Ivan was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was rough. "Your father trusted me to watch his back. Not to run a company."
"My father is dead. I'm not. And I'm asking you to do this. Not as a favor to his memory. Because you're the only one I trust to do it right."
The words hung in the air. Ivan looked at the document again, then at the window, then back at Alexei.
"What would it involve?"
"Registering the company. Hiring a lawyer to handle the paperwork. Recruiting more men—veterans, mostly, but also younger guys who can be trained. Setting up protocols for every operation: communication, perimeter security, emergency response. Building an intelligence network to warn us about threats like Tarasov before they happen."
"That's a lot."
"That's why it needs a CEO. Not a sergeant taking orders. Someone who owns the mission."
Ivan was silent for another long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. "I'll do it. But on one condition."
"Name it."
"Sokolov. If it's him—if he's the spy—I deal with it. My way. No questions."
Alexei met his gaze. He knew what "my way" meant. In the world they inhabited, betrayal had consequences.
"Deal."
They shook hands across the desk. It was the first time they had done so as equals, not as commander and subordinate. Something shifted in the room—a recognition that the old hierarchies were changing.
June 18, 1991 – Lawyer's Office, Nevsky Prospect
The lawyer was a thin man named Feldman, one of the new breed of private attorneys springing up in the chaos. His office was a single room with a view of a courtyard, but his credentials were impeccable—he had worked for the Ministry of Justice before the collapse, and he knew every loophole in the Soviet legal code.
Ivan sat across from him, uncomfortable in a suit that Alexei had insisted he buy. Feldman reviewed the documents with practiced efficiency.
"Neva Security Services. Limited liability company. Registered in Leningrad. Purpose: private security, investigation, risk assessment." He looked up. "You'll need licenses for armed guards. That takes time and money."
"How much time?"
"A month, maybe two. The bureaucrats are slow, but they're also corrupt. For the right fee, things move faster."
Ivan slid an envelope across the desk. Feldman opened it, glanced at the contents, and nodded.
"A month. Possibly less."
"And the CEO registration? Making it official?"
Feldman pulled out another form. "Sign here. And here. And initial here." He watched as Ivan scrawled his name. "Congratulations, Mr. Morozov. You're now a legal entity."
Ivan stared at the document. His name. A title. A company. It felt like signing away his old life.
He walked out into the June sunshine, the paper in his hand, and wondered what the hell he had just done.
June 20, 1991 – Neva Transport, Abandoned Warehouse Conversion
Vasiliev had found the perfect location.
It was an old warehouse in the industrial district, separated from its neighbors by empty lots and crumbling walls. The roof was sound, the floor was concrete, and the location was invisible from the main roads. With a few modifications, it would serve as training grounds, barracks, and headquarters for Neva Security.
Ivan stood in the center of the empty space, Vasiliev beside him, both men assessing its potential.
"Firing range in the basement," Vasiliev said, pointing. "Soundproofing, ventilation, bullet traps. We can train year-round."
"Sleeping quarters upstairs. Bunks for twenty, maybe thirty."
"Kitchen here. Mess hall here. Armory in the back, reinforced concrete, multiple locks."
Ivan nodded slowly. "How long?"
"A month. Maybe less if we throw money at it."
"Then throw money. We need this operational yesterday."
Vasiliev's sniper stillness intensified. "You're really doing this. Building a real company."
"I'm doing what Alexei asked." Ivan looked around the empty space, seeing not emptiness but potential. "The Captain would have understood. In Afghanistan, we had structure, training, discipline. Out here, we've been improvising. This brings back the structure."
"And the discipline?"
"That too." Ivan turned to Vasiliev. "You're my deputy. Training, operations, intelligence. You'll have your own budget, your own team. I need you to build something that would make the Spetsnaz jealous."
Vasiliev almost smiled. "That's a high bar."
"We have high standards."
June 25, 1991 – Neva Transport, Alexei's Office
The first recruits arrived that week.
Twelve men, all veterans, all recommended by Ivan's network. They ranged in age from twenty-five to forty-five, in condition from fit to barely mobile. But they all had one thing in common: they were desperate for purpose, and Neva Security offered one.
Ivan put them through a week of evaluation—physical tests, psychological assessments, interviews that probed their loyalty and their demons. By the end, eight remained. Four were sent home with a week's pay and a promise of referral if other positions opened.
The eight became the core. Vasiliev trained them in security protocols, perimeter defense, threat assessment. Ivan taught them the rhythm of operations—how to move with a convoy, how to read a road, how to spot an ambush before it happened. The twins handled close-combat training, their synchronized movements a lesson in coordination.
By the end of June, Neva Security had eight operational officers, a headquarters, a training program, and a CEO who was learning to think like an executive.
June 28, 1991 – Neva Security Headquarters
Ivan stood before his new team.
Eight men, standing at attention in a way they hadn't done since the army. Behind them, the warehouse had been transformed—bunks made, equipment stored, training schedules posted. It was a long way from Afghanistan, but it was a start.
"You know why you're here," Ivan said. "You're here because you can't go back to the old life. You're here because someone gave you a chance. You're here because you remember what it meant to be part of something."
He walked along the line, meeting each man's eyes.
"This company will protect every operation Neva Transport runs. You'll guard convoys, secure warehouses, gather intelligence. You'll work with men you can trust, and you'll learn to trust each other. The enemy is anyone who threatens what we're building. And make no mistake—there are enemies. We made one in Tarasov. There will be more."
He stopped at the end of the line.
"In Afghanistan, we had a mission. We had each other. We had purpose. Out here, in this dying country, that's harder to find. But we're finding it. Together."
He stepped back.
"Welcome to Neva Security. Dismissed."
The men dispersed, their movements purposeful. Ivan watched them go, a strange feeling in his chest. It wasn't pride—he was too old for that. It was something quieter. Satisfaction, maybe. The knowledge that he was building something that would outlast him.
Vasiliev appeared at his side. "Not bad for a sergeant."
"Not bad for a sniper."
They stood in silence, watching their creation take shape.
June 30, 1991 – Neva Transport, Alexei's Office
The report on Ivan's desk was thorough.
Eight operatives trained and deployed. Three convoys protected without incident. Intelligence gathering ongoing—two potential spies identified, both under surveillance. Tarasov's operations mapped, his weaknesses catalogued, his movements tracked.
Alexei read it carefully, then looked up at Ivan. "You did this in two weeks?"
"I had help. Vasiliev, the twins, even Sasha with the intelligence side." Ivan shrugged. "It's what we do. Assess, plan, execute."
"You're a natural."
"I'm a sergeant who got lucky."
Alexei shook his head. "You're the CEO of Neva Security. Start acting like it."
Ivan almost smiled. "I'll try."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the yard below. Trucks moved, workers labored, the machinery of commerce ground on.
"The spy?" Alexei asked quietly.
"Two possibles. A driver named Petrov, hired last month. And Sokolov."
"Sokolov."
"He's been meeting with someone in the port district. Someone connected to Tarasov's operation. We're watching, but we need more proof before—"
"Before you deal with him. I know." Alexei nodded. "Keep watching. When you have proof, we act."
Ivan stood to leave. At the door, he paused. "Alexei. This company—Neva Security. It's real now. Registered, staffed, operational. Whatever happens with Tarasov, with the spies, with everything—we have a foundation. That matters."
Alexei met his gaze. "I know. That's why I asked you to build it."
Ivan left. Alexei turned back to the window, watching the sun set over his growing empire.
The infrastructure was spreading. Trucks, warehouses, a bank—and now a security company, with Ivan at its head. Each piece reinforced the others. Each piece made the whole stronger.
He thought of his mother's photograph, still in his pocket. Be better than this world.
He didn't know if he was better. But he was building something that might outlast the chaos.
And for now, that was enough.