Colonel Bagirov's Problem

“My job is to get you out of captivity! Why do you even care about that woman?!” I hiss quietly through my teeth, even though I really want to yell at the stupid son of a general.

“I’m not a woman,” comes a clear Russian voice from under the veil. Saying I’m surprised would be an understatement. “Choose your words, Colonel Bagirov,” the voice snaps back before I even manage to open my mouth and blurt out, in my mighty Russian, everything I think about this duet. That audacious voice stretches every nerve fiber to the limit.

“I didn’t tell her anything,” Karuchayev raises his hands.

“She knows you?” — ready to tear that black cloak off her right away.

“Who. Are. You. Such?” My northern temperament is about to crack.

“Right now, it’s not important who I am,” the voice says. “It’s important how we all get out of here alive,”—and this one and a half meters of nonsense dares to lecture me…