A Cold, Cold Place To Die

by Dan McGirt

work. Her expression was cool and contemptuous.

  "Nika! You?"

  "Of course," said Kirov. "She reported to me your every move."

  "But why?" asked Jack, searching the young woman's expressionless face. "Why would you betray the cause for which your own husband gave his life?"

  Kirov answered for her. "Because, you fool, she is my daughter."

  Jack got a sick feeling in his gut, and it wasn't from the fumes. "Nika, can this be true?"

  "Da. He is my father."

  "Hmm. Did not see that one coming." Jack frowned. She had fooled him completely. He hated when that happened. "Well, I hope you didn't report my every move to daddy, or this could get ugly."

  That got a reaction. Jack saw her pale face flush with color.

  "What is your meaning?" asked Kirov.

  "Ask her."

  "Well, girl?"

  "It is nothing," said Nika, glaring hatred at Jack.

  "Nothing?" echoed Jack mockingly. "So last night meant nothing to you?"

  "What!" exploded Kirov.

  "You are a liar!" shouted Nika.

  "Well if last night was nothing, what about the night before, on the train?" demanded Jack. "And that first night, in St. Petersburg, with the whipped cream and the trained weasel?"

  "Liar!" She stamped her foot and stepped forward to strike Jack's face. Kirov intercepted his daughter, catching her wrist and spinning her around to face him.

  "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "I sent you to keep a watch on this American, not to be his harlot! Have you no respect for your father, girl, that you behave like common street trash? I am a Hero of the Soviet Union!"

  "Former Soviet Union," said Jack.

  "Enough from you!" said Kirov, unholstering his sidearm with one hand while holding Nika in check with the other.

  "Oh, lay off, Fedyenka," said Jack. "If you wanted her close to me, believe me, she did an excellent job!"

  "Stop it! Stop it!" screeched Nika, struggling to break free and get at Jack. "He's a liar, Papa!"

  Jack had hoped an old school ramrod like Kirov would pop his cork at the notion that a smooth-talking decadent American capitalist had gotten up close and personal with his daughter-even if Kirov was the one who put her there in the first place. While the family altercation distracted his captors, Jack worked a false filling loose from a lower right molar. Though Jack had flawless teeth and perfect dental hygiene as a result of his disciplined regimen of brushing and flossing after every meal, he often wore a variety of faux dental implants and appliances concealing such items as miniaturized radio transmitters, recording devices, spools of monofilament optic fiber, and other devices useful in his work. The filling he now manipulated with his tongue was none of those things, but it might give him a chance to escape his present predicament.

  Kirov pushed Nika away and into the hands of two troopers, who restrained her. The general leaned forward until he was nose to nose with Jack. His breath reeked of sour cabbage. Kirov aimed his automatic pistol at Jack's crotch. "I should cut off your privates and feed them to you," he said. "Then crush your legs beneath the treads of a tank and leave you for the wolves to eat."

  "Imaginative," said Jack. He positioned the loose filling under his tongue.

  "But it would be a waste of time. Instead, I will take great pleasure in personally throwing you into the vat and listening to your screams as the flesh dissolves from your bones."

  Jack coughed up a thick gob of mucus, surrounded the filling with it, and spat in Kirov's face. The capsule adhered to the Russian's cheek. As Kirov reached up to brush it away, Jack hurled himself to the floor, dragging the two Black Flag troopers with him. He gave a shrill whistle, hitting a particular combination three notes.

  The MHE-microencapsulated high explosive-detonated, blasting half of Kirov's face away. Bits of scalp and skull and grey matter sprayed outward from his head, exposing the frontal lobes of his brain. Stunned, the general staggered backward. His remaining hair was aflame.

  "Papa!" screamed Nika.

  The Black Flag troopers, caught off guard by the explosion, lost their grip on Jack. He rolled away and sprang to his feet. His hands were still bound, but he lashed out with his feet, kicking high and low to keep the nearest soldiers at bay. He slipped past the stumbling Kirov and lunged for the stairs, only to collide with Nika, who was trying to reach her father.

  "Get out of my way!" she said. She slapped Jack hard across the face.

  "Get out of mine!" Jack snapped back.

  Then he felt Kirov's thick arms surround him, crushing him in a painful bear hug. Despite his horrible head wound, the general had enough brain function left to recognize and attack his enemy. The sickly sweet smell of burnt flesh assailed Jack's nostrils. He struggled to break Kirov's grip, but with his own arms bound, he had no chance of escaping the Russian's massive limbs.

  Kirov lifted Jack from the floor and squeezed the air from his lungs. Jack saw black spots across his field of vision. Kirov dragged him toward the rail over the chemical vat. The Black Flag troopers trained their weapons, but held fire, fearful of hitting their commander.

  Nika had no such concerns. She pummeled Jack with her slender fists and screamed curses that employed all of the Russian language's extensive vocabulary of profanities. Her words did more damage than her hands, until she abruptly decided to stop beating him about the face and instead jammed her fist hard into his genitals.

  That hurt. Jack didn't have enough breath to yelp in pain, but he would have if he could have. Reflexively, he scissored his legs around Nika's waist, pinning her, and activated his jump boots.

  The heavily insulated soles of Jack's boots contained a concentrated rocket fuel charge which, exploding in a short burst, could propel the wearer more than fifty feet in a vertical jump or twice that in a broad jump, feats that were often required in Jack's chosen line of work. Activating the boots now was a desperation move. They were not designed for indoor use due to the danger of slamming oneself into a wall or ceiling at a truly terminal velocity.

  Crossing his legs at the shins, while incidentally pinning Nika, put Jack's feet at such a relative angle that much of the thrust of each boot was cancelled out by that of the other. Nonetheless, the resulting forward thrust was enough to lift Jack, Kirov and Nika from the platform and launch all three of them into the air. Jack hoped their foreshortened trajectory would at least take them clear of the chemical bath.

  It didn't quite work out that way.

  Kirov lost his grip on Jack and hit the surface of the green sludge with a splash, plunging beneath the surface. Jack and Nika flew on, passing over the rim of the vat and rebounding off the rail of the nearby service platform before tumbling fifteen feet to the cold concrete floor. Nika hit the ground first, cushioning Jack's fall, but stunning her. Groaning, Jack rolled off Nika and struggled to stand. His legs were rubbery and unsteady. The best he could do was prop himself against a metal strut.

  Green flames flashed upward from the chemical vat, lighting the factory interior with their strange, flickering radiance. Alarm claxons sounded. Red emergency lights flashed.

  "This is not good," Jack moaned.

  Seconds later, he was surrounded by half a dozen Black Flag troops, guns at ready.

  "Okay," said Jack wearily. "This time I really do give up."

  A barking barrage of automatic weapons fire echoed off the metal walls. When it ended, the six Russian soldiers lay in a bloody heap at Jack's feet.

  Jack's rescuer emerged from the shadows. Short and powerfully built, he wore U.S. Army-issue winter cammies and held a recoilless .75 caliber Ajax-9 machine pistol in each hand. His narrow face was reddish-brown, his eyes dark, his long hair glossy black.

  "You're late," said Jack.

  Galahad shrugged. "I see you have everything under control, as usual." He clipped one of the guns to his belt and freed Jack from his plastic bonds with the flick of a carbon-steel combat knife. "What's cooking in that big soup pot?"


  Green fire now roared from the chemical vat, which was vibrating violently. Yellowish smoke boiled over the rim and drifted downward like dry ice vapors-but far more deadly. The caustic fumes ate away at whatever they touched.

  "Bad medicine," said Jack. "Let's get out of here."

  "You want the girl?" Galahad nodded to Nika, who was coming to.

  "Not really," said Jack.

  "Double-crossed you?" Galahad grinned.

  "You got it." Jack sighed. "But let's save her anyway."

  A salvo from the Black Flags on the landing above sent sparks flying. Bullets ricocheted off metal platform struts all around them. Galahad returned fire.

  "Go!" he said. "I've got your back."

  Jack threw Nika over his shoulder and ran for the exit. Bullets chased them the whole way, but tanks, pipes, and machinery gave adequate cover. With Galahad blazing away, the Black Flags on the upper platform were held at bay.

  Jack reached the door. He looked back and saw the huge vat into which Kirov had fallen explode. The blast spewed flaming green goop in every direction. The napalm-like gel stuck whatever it hit, including Black Flags. As the burning substance ate through pipes and drums containing other chemicals, it set off secondary explosions. The fire suppression system belatedly activated, spraying CO2 safety foam down from the rafters to little effect.

  "Gal! Come on, man!"

  "Right behind you, amigo! Go! Go!"

  Jack ran what he hoped was a safe distance from the building before lowering Nika gently to the snowy ground. The inner core of Volochanka-9 was laid out on a radial