by Leslie Wolfe
“What’s the catch?” Jane asked, reading the hesitation in Gary’s voice correctly.
“Well, we need someone to volunteer to deliver the aerosolized mix at the precise moment they come through that door. We can’t control the time they’d burst in through there, so we have to have someone manually start the release.”
“I’ll do it,” Adenauer offered. “I’m the most massive of the entire group. My body mass will work in my favor.”
“I was offering to do that,” Gary objected. ”I’m younger; I can hold my breath for longer, and I should be able to recover easily after I stop breathing it in.”
“Nonsense,” Adenauer pushed back. “You’re one of our very few combatants. You need to be able to shoot those guns. I can’t do that; I’ve never fired a weapon in my life. It’s decided. I’ll release the gas.”
Gary shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. Stubborn, arrogant, old fool…there was no point in arguing with him.
“All right, then, let’s move that table over there, just say we need to have more space for another centrifuge. As soon as the gas mix is ready and pressurized, we’ll tuck the canister between the two centrifuges and the chromatograph. They won’t see it.” He stared at Adenauer with concerned eyes. “You release, and you step back toward where we’ll be, understood? The compound is very strong. Don’t take any stupid risks, Theo. You could die.” He bit his lip, then explained further. “We were willing to err on the side of speed rather than caution, so the anesthetic mix is a bit strong,” he added apologetically.
“I know precisely just how strong it is,” Adenauer replied. “I’ll be fine.”
“OK, then, we’re set. Let’s test the compound on the rodents first.”
Jane fed one rodent a capsule, returned it to the cage, and let it sit a few seconds to take effect. Then she released a small burst of gas through the tube leading to the transparent case. Within seconds, the two other rats fell to the ground, apparently lifeless. The third rat still stood, fidgeting and sniffing around, doing fine, even if a little agitated.
“A bit strong,” Jane said, while extending a high five to Gary.
“Let the fuckers bite the dust,” Gary replied, this time his profanity elicited a smile instead of an eye roll from Dr. Adenauer.
The rusty door was shoved open with a startling noise, and Bogdanov approached their group with big steps.
“What’s going on?” he asked, looking at the cage.
“Just another failed test,” Gary replied impassively. “Only the antidote rodent survived the test.”
“Blyad! You’re a lame bunch of incompetent idiots! You have one hour, then I will start killing one of you bastards every hour until you give me what I need.”
...54
...Tuesday, May 10, 1:56PM Local Time (UTC+3:00 hours)
...Russian Ministry of Defense
...Moscow, Russia
...Thirteen Days Missing
Myatlev had given up going out for lunch; his appetite had vanished, swallowed by the wave of paranoid thoughts taking over his mind, replacing his typical logical thinking with anxiety-driven, nonsensical thoughts.
He didn’t feel hungry anymore, but there was a persistent, annoying pain in the pit of his stomach, gnawing at him, spewing hissing jets of acid, making him miserable. With a long, frustrated sigh, he called his admin and asked for a cup of chamomile tea, making her raise an eyebrow and ask whether he liked anything stronger added to the tea. That was unprecedented; he never drank tea, but he hoped the warm, soothing liquid would dilute the burning acid in his stomach and take away the pain nested in there.
Ivan walked in right behind his obliging assistant who brought his tea. He looked worried, a deep frown ridging his brow.
“Ah, you’re back already,” Myatlev said. “Good. What have you found out?”
“Umm…the plane belongs to a financier, a very rich and quite famous banker, Blake Bernard, the head of Global Transactions.”
“Bernard? I think I met him once. Interesting…” Myatlev commented, forgetting all about the tea and lighting another cigar. What the hell was Bernard doing, visiting the backyard of his secret operation? “What else?”
“He’s traveling with a retired CIA operative now in his sixties, an ex-Navy SEAL, and a technology consultant—a woman.”
“That can’t be it, Ivan, these people are a business team, not a commando unit. Keep looking. Although,” Myatlev added, suddenly aware of an indefinite uneasiness tugging at his gut, “they sound a little too military for a business team.” He ran his fingers through his thinning, buzz-cut hair and swallowed a sigh, then continued, “Huh…maybe Bernard and the woman are the actual business team, and the other two are there to protect them from the scary Russians,” he chuckled and lounged back in his immense leather chair. That must have been it; he just needed to relax. “I wonder what Bernard’s after in this part of the world.”
Ivan cleared his throat, continuing to frown.
“Boss, there’s more.” He sounded concerned, and he rarely was.
Myatlev’s expression changed, all his features expressing alertness and vigilance. With a quick nod, he encouraged Ivan to continue. He leaned forward in his chair, feeling tension knotting in his shoulders, driving knives of sharp pain in his neck.
“Cyber ran their full backgrounds, and they’re all clean. Too clean, almost. But Cyber also ran international travel history for them, and one thing caught my attention.”
“Go on,” Myatlev prompted.
“The woman was in India at the same time ERamSys Corporation worked on your elections project.”
“What?”
Myatlev sprung to his feet and started pacing the office furiously, like an enraged caged animal, while a wave of refreshed paranoia played a number on his brain, shifting it into overdrive. In his line of work, coincidences didn’t exist.
“Let me see her face,” he growled, seizing the file from Ivan’s hands and scattering all the papers on his desk. He found the picture of the woman, extracted from her photo ID most likely, and picked it up, staring intently at the eyes locking with his from the blurry, magnified printout.
Could it be true? Could his worst nightmare actually be reality? Maybe it wasn’t his paranoia talking when he thought there was someone out there set to get him. Maybe it was his gut, telling him to watch out. That gut of his had saved his life and fortune more times than he cared to remember. When he looked at that stranger’s face, he felt his gut twisting, ringing all kinds of alarm bells. Why? What interest could there possibly be for a technology consultant, an American woman he’d never met, to want to hunt him down?
“What’s her name?” Myatlev whispered his question between clenched teeth, continuing to stare at the woman’s picture.
“Alex Hoffmann.”
Whom was she working for? That was the real question. Someone was using her to get to him; that was for sure. Women don’t just hunt people like him. Women aren’t hunters; women do as they’re told. Behind this American woman there had to be a powerful man, a motivated enemy with access to information, to the secrets in his life. A ghost from his past, maybe from his days in the KGB? Or maybe a business enemy, a competitor who wanted him destroyed.
So many theories…yet all converged to the same focal point. Someone close to him had betrayed him. Myatlev felt a pang of fear hit his gut, as he realized just how few people had access to information about his most secret of operations. Ivan…but Ivan didn’t have the resources, the acumen to orchestrate something like this. If Ivan were ever motivated to take him down, he could expect an honest knife in the heart from him, nothing more.
Dimitrov, the Russian minister of defense, was another man privy to his darkest secrets…But first, Dimitrov was on his side; he believed that with all his heart. Dimitrov was also too soft, not the kind to weave plans of great magnitude, involving people in other countries. He was a brilliant military strategist, implicitly not covert in his nature. No, it couldn’t have
been Dimitrov.
Then who? A thought froze the blood in his veins. It could have been Abramovich. The sick son of a bitch had everything: a devious mind, tremendous resources, and an appetite for playing mind-fucking games. Abramovich could have very well decided that Myatlev had outlived his usefulness, and decided to play a game before eliminating him. Maybe Abramovich wanted to make him pay for who knows what real or imaginary offense he couldn’t even think of.
Myatlev felt a wave of nausea contemplating that scenario and his own paranoia. Well, if that was the case, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Better said, he wasn’t going to go down at all.
He’d had enemies before, and yet here he was, still alive, and more powerful than ever. He’d just find out who was pulling that woman’s strings, and kill them, and everyone around them.
He looked at Ivan with a changed expression. All anxiety had disappeared from his eyes, replaced with cold determination and a vengeful lust for blood.
“Find out everything there is to know about this woman,” he said. “Leave no stone unturned. Ask Cyber to look at everything she’s ever touched and everyone she’s ever cared about. I want everything, you hear me?”
Ivan continued to stand, waiting for his boss to finish.
“Now, Ivan, now!” Myatlev snapped impatiently. “And call Bogdanov. Tell that idiot to expect trouble and bring in more firepower.”
...55
...Tuesday, May 10, 9:14PM Local Time (UTC+10:00 hours)
...Undisclosed Location
...Russia
...Thirteen Days Missing
Wu Shen Teng watched them closely, hoping that at least one of them would make eye contact with him, or speak to him. But what was he expecting? He had betrayed these people, and he couldn’t bring himself to look them in the eye. Maybe the part he was planning to play in their escape could redeem him in some small measure. In their eyes…As for his own conscience, he’d have to live the rest of his life remembering how he failed cowardly and dishonorably, jeopardizing the lives of his family, and the lives of everyone else. Unforgivable.
Teng watched them getting ready, their faces somber and determined, reminding him of ancient Xia dynasty warriors preparing for battle. He took a deep breath and approached the group, feeling the blood chill in his veins.
Dr. Davis handed each of them a green capsule, discreetly, making sure King Cobra didn’t catch on to what they were doing.
“I’ve made a few extras, you’ll find them here.” He placed the small container with the remaining capsules inconspicuously near the liquid dosimeter. “Don’t take more than one unless really needed, and absolutely not more than two.”
“How about Declan, Gary?” Jane Crawford asked.
“I’m thinking of putting an oxygen mask on him,” Dr. Davis replied. “He might be better off sleeping through all this.” He rubbed his chin, thinking a little before continuing his argument. “We’ve kept him sedated and loaded with painkillers. I’m concerned that if we wake him and expose him to all this, we’d only be shocking his system for no good reason.”
“Agreed,” Adenauer replied.
“I’ve given a pill to Lila, and instructed her to stay by the back wall, Dr. Davis added. “We’re ready.”
Teng extended his trembling hand, and Gary Davis placed a green capsule in his palm.
“Don’t worry, Teng, you’ll be OK,” Davis encouraged him. “Just focus on your part, we’ll handle the rest.”
He couldn’t bring himself to speak; he just nodded, keeping his eyes firmly stuck to the ground.
Jane Crawford stared a little at the green capsule in her hand, and then tucked it in the chest pocket of her shirt. A crooked smile fluttered for a second on Gary’s lips.
“What are you smiling about, Cheshire Cat?” Bukowsky asked Davis.
“Can you imagine all of us meeting at next year’s conference? The things that only we will know? Having survived all this?” Davis replied, still grinning, making an all-encompassing gesture with his hand.
“You’re really that sure we’ll survive all this and meet next year? C’est vrai?” Marie-Elise asked with a timid smile.
“Marie-Elise, for the first time since a fucked-up destiny brought us all here, yes, I am sure. I’m betting my life on it.”
She reached and took Gary’s hand with both hers, and Adenauer placed his hand on top of theirs. One by one, they joined hands together, as one, silently, yet the effervescence of their hope and determination sent crackles through the air like static electricity.
“Teng, you too,” Davis invited him.
Hesitantly, Teng put his hand on top of everyone’s joined hands, daring to lift his eyes from the ground. He didn’t see anyone’s glance judging or despising him; he saw everyone counting on him to do his part. He wasn’t going to let them down.
“I’m ready,” Teng said.
“All right, let’s play ball,” Gary Davis replied. “Take positions, stay focused.”
Teng locked eyes with Davis, who nodded encouragingly. He approached King Cobra and said, “I need to speak with Dr. Bogdanov. Now, please; it’s urgent.”
King Cobra grunted, then stood, shoving Teng up the steps that led to the massive door. He unlatched the door and stepped outside, speaking into his radio. Then he slammed the door behind them, locking it with a rusty squeak.
Bogdanov appeared within seconds, frowning impatiently as he approached, walking briskly on the long, curved hallway.
“What?” he snapped.
Teng kept his eyes lowered.
“Please,” he whispered, “you said you’re going to start shooting people. Please don’t start with my family, please!”
“Why the hell not?” Bogdanov shouted. “You haven’t given me anything. You’re worthless to me, and so is your family.”
“No, no, please,” Teng pleaded, feeling chills down his spine and fear prickling at his gut. “I can maybe…maybe tell you something now?”
Bogdanov waved his hand impatiently.
“They’re planning to jump the guard,” Teng continued in a low whisper. “They’re going to try to disarm him and break free.”
King Cobra scoffed, probably amused at the thought. Teng ignored him, and focused on Bogdanov.
“You shouldn’t send him alone in there,” he continued, pointing briefly at King Cobra. “They’re not as harmless as they seem, you know. One of them used to be a boxing champion. Another one is a black belt in martial arts. And they do have knives, scalpels.”
Bogdanov clenched his jaws and pursed his lips angrily, then spoke something into his radio. Static crackled for a second, then a husky voice replied in Russian.
King Cobra grabbed Teng’s arm, almost lifting him off the ground, and shoved him back into the lab. He couldn’t regain his footing at the top of the stairs and fell, rolling off the steps and landing on the dirty concrete floor. Then King Cobra disappeared, slamming and bolting the door behind him.
Adenauer, in position near the entrance, helped Teng get back on his feet and join the others, at the far end of the lab tables.
Teng signaled to them he’d done his part.
“And?” Gary Davis asked in a whisper.
“I don’t know,” Teng replied. “It should work. They spoke on the radio and left. I’m not sure, but it should work.”
...56
...Tuesday, May 10, 9:28PM Local Time (UTC+10:00 hours)
...5 Kilometers from Abandoned ICBM Site
...Near Naikhin, Russia
...Thirteen Days Missing
Alex unscrewed her canteen and gulped down a mouthful of water, after swishing it in her mouth a little, to trick her brain into thinking she drank more than that. The humid heat had let down a little after sunset, but she was still sweating profusely under all the heavy-duty clothing and weight she was carrying. Mosquitoes were an enemy force of their own, biting her viciously despite the thick layer of bug repellent cream she’d applied on every exposed inch of skin.
>
She refrained from slapping herself where a mosquito just stung her; afraid the slap would cause too much noise in the deathly quiet forest. The few crickets that still chirped were far away, barely audible.
Darkness worked a little in their favor, keeping them hidden as they waited, only five klicks away from the missile silo. They sat scrunched down against tree trunks near the edge of the forest, at the established rendezvous point with the contracted backup team.
She was worried their arrival might get the attention of the Russian Coast Guard, very active in that area. Lou, an artist at his special ops trade, had researched the terrain a little and had instructed them to fly in following the river, an old route for caviar smugglers, and one of the very few loopholes in Russian border defense.
A low hum at first, the sound of the approaching helo grew to slightly higher levels, as the lights of the AW101 became visible. Its rotor blades made a distinctive noise, a lower pitch and choppy, with an unexpectedly quiet whoosh. Lou turned his laser spot on, marking the center of the clearing, and then spoke into his radio.
“Inbound, inbound, this is Lima, green marks the spot. Go dark. Do you copy?”
“Copy, Lima. Ready to deploy.”
The chopper cut its lights, hovering forty feet above ground shrouded in darkness, as the mercenaries dropped to the ground on ropes. As soon as their feet touched the ground, they took off toward the edge of the forest, guided by Lou’s laser spot.
