by David Hunter
~ ~ ~
"Go retrieve explosives from car." The diminutive of the two seemed to almost gently instruct his partner who stood grinning at the lifeless body near his feet; a single bullet hole still expelling a small trickle of blood from the center of his forehead.
Pointing with his index and middle fingers, he continued his instructions in a steady tone, "We need to set charges there, there, and there, with two more inside scrub area. Incendiary bomb must be at very center of basement. Secure it at base of load-bearing wall marked on schematics."
Hearing a commotion the guard who Sasha had earlier relieved for his lunch break left his station to check on the lab manager, calling out his name as he neared the door to his office.
No sooner had his face appeared at the small, rectangular window of the faux wood door leading to the manager's office, than a bullet issued forth from the Glock. It met its target, instantly vaporizing the guard's right eye from its socket, exiting the back of his skull at such an angle and force as to blow out fully a quarter section from of the back of his skull. The guard went limp, dropping in a spray of opaque red blood and gore coating both the window and wall behind him.
"Set timer for fifteen minutes. I want to be at least three kilometers away before building becomes ball of fire."
"Done." His partner spoke for the first time.
"Excellent. Let's get going, we have important delivery to make. Today, my friend, you and I have changed our world and those who control it. Most importantly, we will finally be able to free our country from tight grip of Russia, returning to our own ancestral language and culture. With this leverage, we can offer same freedom to all other Russian satellite countries – for considerable price. Others in group are waiting for us. Let's get going so they don't have to wait much longer. We need to get these canisters back into cryogenic storage."
Returning to the parking lot, whose camera remained disabled along with the rest of the security system, both were surprised, and annoyed, to see two members of the group of conspirators waiting for them near their car.
"What are you doing here? It was agreed we carry out operation alone, avoid undue attention."
"We thought it best to come in case you should require any backup."
"Obviously we did not. We have to get out of here, explosives are set for less than fourteen minutes."
"You are right, I apologize. You obviously didn't require our assistance; you did an excellent job. We think it best, though, to check the integrity of the canisters before moving them."
The soft-spoken of the duo was getting angry, though neither anger nor fear or frustration once manifested in his voice or on his face throughout the verbal exchange. He never trusted these two. Originating from somewhere in the Middle East, they were not his fellow countrymen. He felt no love lost toward any foreigners, especially since the Russians invaded his country in the time of his grandparents. When they first approached him through a mutual contact that he trusted with their audacious plan to weaken Russia, he heard them out. Their money was an added incentive, money his own group would require for an operation of this size and complexity to weaken the political resolve of Mother Russia as she prepared once more to maneuver a military show of strength on his country's boarders. Earlier Russia was conducting military exercises near the boarder of a large part of the Ukraine that was heavily ethnic Russian, a part of the country that welcomed Russian rule and citizenship with open arms.
"There is no time, we have to move now."
"Then I suggest you make time."
Eager to get out of there before the bombs leveled the building and blocks surrounding it, he nodded to his partner to hand over the canisters for inspection. As soon as they were on the ground, one of the Middle Eastern men removed an instrument from his overcoat, passing it around and over the tops and bottoms of each canister. This was, in fact, completely unnecessary. Had there been a leak all would have been dead already.
"The seals are holding, the temperature is steady, there is no sign of contamination on the surfaces or in the air."
Once safety was confirmed, the foreigners each took out a silencer-equipped automatic from their overcoats. Aiming with casual ease they pressed the triggers, permanently silencing the other two who they played so easily. The canisters were carefully loaded into padded containers to be whisked away to an experimental facility, where hundreds awaited agonizing deaths as human test subjects as the strains were modified, multiplied, perfected, and then weaponized.
Table of Contents
3. Her Grandmother's Legacy
"Time is a dressmaker specializing in alterations." – Faith Baldwin
Somewhere in the Negev Desert, State of Israel
Returning to her home in Ramat Gan, a beautiful suburb of Tel Aviv where she lectured at Bar-Illan University, Rachael was deep in thought – but not so much so as to not be able to already itemize the things she would need for the Sabbath meal this evening.
A quick visit to the kosher meat market for a hearty chicken and vegetable soup, then the bakery for dairy-free bread would complete the checklist.
"How did Yishai and children fair during my two week absence?" She wondered. With a mental shrug she pulled into the first food to do parking lot. It had been a while since she saw her family, so this would be a special meal. Yishai could burn water, a genetic trait both children appeared to have inherited. Though, in the case of the children, it was more likely that they realized that, should they cook one meal well, it may prove an indictment against them for future preparations. She was certain that they had been living on frozen pizzas and fast food.
Arriving at their flat, her children had to be cajoled into the family room by their father. Video game in the hands of Shmu’el, mobile phone a permanent fixture in the hands of his older sister Sarah who if not talking with or about boys, could be found texting with, or about boys.
"Did you bring us a souvenir?" Their first line of inquiry, coupled with faces belying anticipation. Souvenir? Then Rachael remembered that she and her husband Yishai had agreed to tell the children that she had traveled to Paris for a conference on String Theory. "String Theory!" The instant retort from Shmu’el followed. "You mean to tell us Physicists still don’t know how to tie their shoes!" Mercifully, Yishai saved her from having to fabricate yet another little white lie by holding her in his arms, kissing her, then telling the children to carry in the groceries.
Prayers to begin the Sabbath and the traditional welcoming of the Sabbath Queen, followed by a delicious meal, were accomplished with few problems. Not typical for a household with two teenagers, but mom had been away for a while so there was a welcome respite from the norm.
"So, can you talk about it?" Yishai started the pillow talk that night.
"You know I can’t."
"If I guess, will you confirm?"
"In the unlikely event that you guess, I’ll have you shot. Well, interrogated first, then shot. Execution to be deferred until after you welcome me back home properly!"
