Black Flagged Vektor (4)

by Konkoly, Steven

  They both started laughing.

  “See? We both know you’re making a joke. Okay. I have more. A whore walks into a bar with a monkey on her shoulder…”

  Foley forced a laugh and settled in for the longest twenty-minute car ride of her life, glad she could barely hear the jokes over the ringing in her ears.

  Chapter 43

  8:21 AM

  White House Situation Room

  Washington, D.C.

  Thomas Manning turned to Director Copley and the president after a brief discussion with Karl Berg.

  “They’re good. The Iranians no longer pose a threat to homeland security. No collateral damage and a clean getaway.”

  “But something didn’t go as planned. Am I right?” the president asked.

  “One of the targets unexpectedly moved to an adjacent room prior to entry and opened fire on our operative. Nothing our operative couldn’t handle,” Manning said.

  “But now we have an escalated situation with the local police,” the president stated.

  “The police would have been involved no matter what,” Manning said. “We had to blow the door to get inside.”

  “I thought this was supposed to be a covert operation,” Remy added.

  Manning hated that pretentious little fuck. He took every opportunity available to dig away at the CIA, Department of Defense…pretty much any organization that represented a potential threat to the administration’s public image, regardless of the fact that these same groups sacrificed deeply to keep the real United States safe and Remy’s precious job secure for another term. Ironically, placating Remy was one of the distasteful tasks necessary to keep the nation secure. The son-of-a-bitch had the ear of the president and could shut down their operation if Manning wasn’t careful. So instead of telling him to shut the fuck up and let the experts run the show, he went in a different direction.

  “We had to kill those guys. They represented a future threat to the United States and our allies. The only other option that satisfied our timing issue was to plant a bomb in the apartment and take down half of the building. Everything is fine. Our operative sanitized the apartment of identity documents. It’ll take them a while to figure this one out. By then, Vektor’s bioweapons lab will be history.”

  “I hope it takes them more than two hours,” the president said, checking his watch, “or your people might have a surprise waiting for them at Vektor.”

  “We’re watching and listening for a response,” Manning said.

  “Well, watch and listen closely, because if they boost security at Vektor, operation Black Fist is off. I can’t risk the consequences of a failed raid at the compound. The fallout from a successful raid will be bad enough, but I’m willing to deal with that shit-storm, because I agree that the Russian bioweapons program has no place in our world. A failed attempt today will shut us out for good. Months or years from now, after Monchegorsk and the threat of a biological attack has faded from public consciousness in Europe and the United States, I won’t be in a position to green light plan B. You get one shot at this, and I prefer that it’s taken while the international community is primed to turn a blind eye to this transgression of Russian sovereignty. But no shot right now is better than a bad shot. I’m counting on your agency to make the right call.”

  “Understood, Mr. President. We have no plans to make a mess of things,” the director said.

  “I don’t mind messy, as long as we’re the ones controlling the mess,” the president shot back. “Gentlemen, I’ll be in my office. Please notify me at least five minutes before the next phase….and good work. I don’t take their sacrifice lightly.”

  Manning watched him walk out of the room, immediately flanked by Secret Service agents in the hallway. Remy stayed behind long enough to call General Gordon out of the room. He didn’t like the way the president used the word sacrifice, like the team had already been written off. He’d have to keep a close eye on the political side of this operation. The Russians had violated the Kazakh border a few months ago in pursuit of Sanderson’s operatives, so it was fair to assume that they might not turn back tonight. With Remy whispering doomsday predictions in his ear all night, the president might lose his nerve at the last minute and abandon Farrington. Manning couldn’t stand by quietly and let this scenario unfold. He’d have to come up with something to turn the tide, even if it meant losing his job as the National Clandestine Service’s director. He couldn’t think of a better way to retire.

  Chapter 44

  8:25 AM

  Mountain Glen “Retirement” Compound

  Green Mountains, Vermont

  Anatoly Reznikov leaned back in his Adirondack chair and admired the bright orange sun on the eastern horizon. His chair sat perched on a small rise in the northwest corner of the compound’s clearing, well removed from the rest of the buildings, but still visible to the ever-prying eyes of his captors. Not for long, he mused. This called for a drink, as did every small task at Mountain Glen. He reached inside his down-lined jacket and removed a flask from the front pocket of his flannel shirt, catching the last vestiges of the day’s sun on its polished silver surface. He took a long pull, feeling the warm rush spread outward to augment the sun’s early morning efforts. He might actually miss the artificial solitude of his mountain confinement.

  The distant sound of an ATV motor spoiled that thought and he turned his head to see what his attendants were up to back at the security station. He saw one of the four-wheel noisemakers headed in his direction, which was unusual. He hadn’t ordered breakfast yet.

  He drained half of the flask, relishing the clean vodka taste, and prepared for the guard’s arrival. The hill was steep at one point, and the best he could hope for was an accident that toppled the ATV. He’d seen a few compound guards roll their toys on less challenging terrain in the past few weeks, as the rains abated and the trails dried. They were just as bored as he had become.

  He couldn’t imagine a life confined to these grounds. Judging by the advanced age of the other inmates, he guessed that this place didn’t appeal to the younger crowd. For someone in their forties, like Reznikov, the thought of spending the next thirty to forty years here would drive you to commit suicide. Maybe that’s why the guest population appeared to be well into their fifties or sixties. The younger guests either opted out of the deal or eventually killed themselves. Not everyone had a contingency plan like Reznikov.

  The buzzing sound of the ATV grew closer, giving him a brief feeling of disappointment that the driver had chosen the shallow approach from the north. No horrible accident today. The olive-drab machine stopped several feet from his chair, sputtering its noise and air pollution in his direction. If he planned to stay here for any length of time, he might recommend that they switch to electric vehicles. Who knew? They might oblige him if he gathered a consensus from the other guests. They’d dragged this chair up the hill specifically upon his request. If only the American taxpayers knew about this place. He turned his head lazily, feeling the effects of the eighty-proof vodka. The guard dismounted the ATV with a satellite phone.

  “Phone call, Mr. Reznikov.”

  “Here?” Reznikov said.

  All of his calls had taken place in the security station, where they could monitor and record his every word. This must be the call he had been waiting for.

  “You can either drop it off on your way back, or we can pick it up with breakfast. Will you be dining up here?”

  “Sure. My usual, thank you,” he said, accepting the phone, along with a small note pad and pen.

  He hadn’t thought of taking breakfast on his private hill. What a marvelous idea. He had to savor the irony of it all. Unemployment was on the rise, families were losing their homes at a record pace, and he got to enjoy a catered breakfast compliments of the same people. He waited for the ATV to disappear before answering.

  “So it has begun?”

  “The Iranians are dead. We’re setting up for phase two,” Berg said.

&nbs
p; “Most excellent. What a way for Vektor Labs to start the week,” Reznikov said.

  “I need this call to be as brief as possible. As you can imagine, we’re a little busy over here,” Berg said.

  “Yes. Of course. I believe you have a series of letters and numbers to pass?”

  “Are you ready to write this down?” Berg said.

  “Go ahead,” Reznikov said, staring at the half-submerged blood-red orb to the west.

  Berg read the twenty-digit alphanumeric code, and Reznikov repeated it, not bothering to write it down. His mental capacity was twice that of these mental midgets, with their notepads and electronic devices. He’d long ago committed to memory the cipher needed to interpret this alphanumeric code. He processed the cipher and smiled.

  “Are we good?” Berg asked.

  “Yes. We are very, very good. Here’s what you need to know to ensure the complete destruction of Vektor’s bioweapons program. The program was relocated to the basement in 2006 in order to accommodate a special directive issued by Putin. At least it was rumored to have been Putin. They needed a way to quickly sanitize the program, leaving no traces. As you’ve probably guessed, very few people in the government or Vektor know about the program, which is why they keep the number of scientists and staff working on the program to a minimum. They also don’t like to leave loose ends, as your people have already experienced. Someone got very nervous in 2006—”

  “Because of your disappearance?” Berg interrupted.

  “Maybe. Either way, they built the new lab and installed a failsafe, which even fewer people know about.”

  “But you know about it,” Berg said.

  “Of course. I make it my business to know these things, which doesn’t come cheap.”

  “Al Qaeda money?”

  “I made significant investments with their payments, and they’ve paid off nicely, wouldn’t you say?”

  “So, what do we need to do?”

  “It works like this. The lab is a negatively pressurized steel container designed to keep airborne viruses and bacteria from escaping. The lab is separated from the first floor of the building by enough concrete and metal to isolate the effects of a truck bomb detonated inside,” Reznikov said.

  “How is that possible?”

  “The lab is vented by twelve immense heat-and pressure-activated shafts that can channel enough of the explosion’s expanding force out of the building to prevent a critical failure of the reinforced concrete and steel sheeting structure. The concept has been tested, and it works. The building would still suffer from the seismic effects, but aside from a severe rumble, all would be well throughout the building.”

  “That’s the failsafe? They have a massive bomb built into one of the lab tables or something?”

  “No. That would make a mess of things in the lab, but it might not destroy all of the evidence. Only a massive fire could ensure that. The lab is equipped with eight pressurized propane burners, each fed by a 500-pound tank buried outside of the building. When the system is activated, the burners will shoot fire throughout the sealed lab, raising the temperature to fifteen hundred degrees centigrade within five to seven seconds, instantly incinerating everything in the lab. The vents are designed to open at five hundred degrees centigrade, alleviating the pressure caused by the sudden rise in temperature. The system burns for a total of ten seconds. Activating this system will permanently erase the program from the face of the planet.”

  “How do we activate the system?”

  “It’s a little tricky, since they obviously don’t want a rogue agent or disgruntled scientist destroying the program,” Reznikov said, pausing for a laugh that never came. “No sense of humor, huh?”

  “I’m a little pressed for time here,” Berg said.

  “Very well. You’ll need two codes, which I will provide. One is entered into a terminal within the lab, the other at a secure terminal within the main security station. I assume your plan involves taking down that station?”

  “It does.”

  “Excellent. You’ll find the secure terminal inside a vault within the station. I recommend taking care of the laboratory first, so your team can put as much distance between that building and themselves as possible. I have no idea where the laboratory vents exit the ground, but I know for a fact that you don’t want to be anywhere near one of them when the propane system activates.”

  “Covering your bases?”

  “I’m not familiar with that saying,” Reznikov said.

  “Covering your ass?”

  “Ah, yes. I don’t want you to deny my retirement to this beautiful resort because of something I omitted.”

  “Please continue.”

  “All right. Your team will find the lab terminal in the southeast corner. It’s a standalone computer system built into the wall. The screen will remain blank until the code is typed correctly and you press enter. The screen will then activate and prompt you for the code again. Once the code has been entered for the second time, your team can leave the laboratory. This side of the activation process was designed so anyone working in the lab could be used to trigger the system.

  “The second terminal is a bit trickier. It is fingerprint coded and can only be accessed by one of the scientists assigned to the bioweapons program or the P4 Containment Lab’s director. There is a key slot, so I assume members of certain special response teams could override the system, but for your purposes, you’ll need to grab one these people.”

  “Luckily for you, we haven’t killed them yet,” Berg said.

  “It wouldn’t matter. The biometric sensor on this terminal does not read temperatures. You could chop off one of their hands and use it,” Reznikov said.

  “As it happens, we’ll have one of the scientists with us. You neglected to mention that a fingerprint scanner protected the lab. Heat sensitive,” Berg said.

  “Biometric security is standard procedure for sensitive areas of an infectious disease laboratory. I just assumed that would be understood,” Reznikov said.

  “Be careful what you assume,” Berg said. “It could mean the difference between lobster Benedict for breakfast and moldy bread.”

  “Do I need to remind you that there might be armed security patrolling the grounds?” Reznikov spat.

  “Which finger do we need for the secure terminal?”

  “Right index finger. You’ll have to enter the code twice and confirm that you want to activate the system. Once confirmed, it cannot be stopped. Thirty seconds later, mission accomplished. Here are the codes,” he said.

  Once the codes were transferred and confirmed, Berg abruptly hung up, which suited Reznikov just fine. He despised the man, despite the fact that the unsuspecting CIA agent had helped realize one of his longstanding dreams. He might pay Karl Berg a visit in the future, accompanied by some of his new friends.

  Reznikov reviewed the deciphered code in his mind and smiled, staring off into the clear blue skies. He’d have to enjoy his last sunset on the hill with drink service from the lodge. A nice dry martini would cap off the evening perfectly, especially when it was paid for by the U.S. government.

  Chapter 45

  9:15 PM

  Oktyabrsky City District

  Novosibirsk, Russian Federation

  Tatyana Belyakov gently kissed her two children goodnight and tiptoed out of their shared room, closing the door behind her. The kids were tired from a long Sunday running through Sovetsky Park, near the State University, where her husband taught molecular biology. Days spent at the park reminded her of meeting Arkady in Moscow during her undergraduate university studies. Fifteen years later, memories of those carefree years with her future husband were buried, brought briefly to the surface by the sight of students lounging around her husband’s campus.

  He didn’t take them to the university very often, and he’d never brought them to his office, which he claimed was crammed into an unsafe industrial basement area of the Biology and Chemistry building. They lived outside of un
iversity-supplied housing and rarely socialized with other members of the faculty; a necessity he stated was necessary to maintain some semblance of work-life balance.

  She couldn’t complain too much about their situation. His salary and housing allowance gave them the luxury of a small home, which was twice the size of the university-supplied apartments and included a tidy yard and garden. The neighborhood left a little to be desired, but the area was generally safe, something that couldn’t be said about many of Novosibirsk’s suburbs. They had been here for eight years, never once experiencing a breakin, which was why Tatyana couldn’t immediately process the scene that unfolded in front of her as she entered their family room.

  Four men with black ski masks and guns blocked all of the exits to the room. One of them held his index finger to his lips and shook his head slowly, aiming a suppressed pistol at her head.

  “Sssshhhhh. We wouldn’t want to wake up the children,” he whispered.

  Her legs nearly buckled at the mention of her kids. She held it together and looked at her husband, who looked confused and frightened.

  “Andrei and Milena will be fine as long as you don’t wake them. They must be tired from a long day playing in the park,” he said, a little louder this time.

  She felt her world spinning. They knew the children’s names and had been following them all day. This wasn’t happening to them. Why was her husband just standing there, doing nothing? Saying nothing?

  “You can have anything you want here. Please, leave our children alone. We won’t say a word of this to anyone,” she said.

  “The only thing I came to take is your husband. We need to borrow him for a few hours. I’m going to leave a few of my friends to watch over you. Their orders are to kill your children if you try anything stupid, like try to call the police. In about an hour and twenty minutes, my friends will leave and you are free to do whatever you please. Can you manage to behave for eighty minutes?”