by Barry Reese
Kaslov had changed into his traveling clothes, which consisted of a military-style khaki shirt, jodhpur pants and black boots. A leather gun belt completed the ensemble, a holstered .45 automatic on the side.
As the party settled into their meals, Flynn caught the Russian’s eye and they shard a silent exchange of humor over the young lady’s enthusiasm. She caught wind of their glance and sat back with hands folded in her lap, looking a bit embarrassed. “Sorry, gentlemen… I didn’t mean to prattle on so.”
“It’s quite alright,” Benjamin Flynn replied, gracing her with a dashing and somewhat roguish grin. “Honestly, it’s been ages since I’ve traveled in the company of so vivacious a woman.”
Libby glanced down at her plate, enjoying the man’s attentions but equally aware of Kaslov’s presence. She knew better than to hope that he’d grow jealous of Flynn’s attentions—there seemed to be nothing about women that could seize the Russian’s attention for long. “Leonid,” she began, lowering her voice slightly with anticipation. She rarely called him by his first name but they were out of the office and she felt more comfortable doing so in this setting. “Tell me again what you want me to do when we arrive?”
“My face is a bit too recognizable,” Leonid explained, picking at his salad. A dedicated vegetarian, the Russian was usually very finicky about his vegetables, often bringing his own with him on trips. He had foregone that today and looked decidedly unhappy about the results. “And it is very likely that Mr. Flynn has left a lasting impression upon these mysterious guards in Loggieville… so we need you to be the ‘face’ of our little operation. Both Flynn and myself will be with you but we will disguised enough that no one will notice us as long as you play your part effectively.”
“And that is?”
“You will need to be only yourself, Miss Raines: attractive, funny and outgoing. Any red-blooded male in Loggieville will be too enamored of you take any real notice of us. We’ll try to get them to let us in directly, claiming you’re there to visit Mrs. Lorraine O’Bannion, aged 63, who lives at 134B Early.”
Libby blinked in confusion. “Is she a real person—?”
“Yes,” Flynn said, answering before Kaslov could do so. “She’s the mother of the woman I was visiting in town. Wonderful woman.”
Somehow, Libby wasn’t surprised that Mr. Flynn had been there to visit a woman… She sat in silence for a moment, digesting everything that was said. It took a moment for her to realize that Kaslov’s words had been the closest things she’d ever gotten in terms of interest from him. Wetting her lips, she leaned forward, pushing her mostly untouched plate to the side. “You’ve always been so mysterious about your past, Leonid. Could you please tell me about you—? I mean, I’ve read the interviews and all, but you rarely go into any kind of detail.”
Kaslov hesitated. “I’m certain my life story would bore you both,” he murmured.
“Not at all,” Flynn countered. “I’ve been a bit curious myself. The rumors I’ve heard… well, if half of them are true, they should make movie serials about you!”
“I’ve received offers,” Kaslov replied with a laugh. “Many of the men and women who are part of the adventurer’s club I belong to—the Nova Alliance—are in the same boat. None of us seek the limelight but sometimes it’s hard to avoid it, I suppose.” Leonid glanced out the window, staring hard at the passing countryside, which was blanketed in a field of white that stood out startlingly clear against the night sky. “I was born just after the turn of the century, in 1901. My father was the scientist Nikola Kaslov. He married late in life, not becoming a father until he was nearly 45 years old. My mother was a secretary who came into his employ just three years before my birth. I was born precisely at midnight in the midst of one of the greatest lightning storms to ever hit Russia. My father said it was a sign that I was meant for great tings.”
“Your father was an expert in electricity and magnetism wasn’t he?” Flynn inquired. “I’ve read about his exhibition of wireless communication back in 1893. Brilliant.”
“Yes. He was. But he was also deemed a madman by many within the Russian Empire. They thought he was insane for his various claims, his various pursuits. He never sought to create weapons of destruction but all too often his ideas were twisted to those purposes.” Kaslov’s eyes flashed with an inner fire that surprised Libby. She rarely saw him so emotional. “He worked in many fields, including robotics, physics and even brief forays into the paranormal. After my mother’s death when I was three, my father became even more distant and withdrawn but he always included me in his work, taking me on as his greatest pupil. I became his greatest invention, a living weapon against the injustices of the world. During my early teens, my father fell out of favor with the Tsar and so he fled to Siberia to continue his work.”
“I began experiencing a peculiar affliction during this time: blinding flashes of light that accompanied hallucinations. These visions were often linked to a word or an idea that I had recently come across and they frequently led to astonishing leaps of logic that allowed me to begin equaling my father in his studies early on.”
Kaslov paused for a moment as the train crossed over into New Brunswick. The dinner car was mostly empty now but a few stragglers lingered in one of the corner areas, laughing and playing cards. “My father showed me much before he died. Thanks to him, I’m fluent in English, Russian, French, German, Hungarian, Italian, Latin, German, and Hungarian.” Kaslov laughed. “Sometimes I catch myself thinking in a mixture of all those.”
Libby smiled, though she sensed sadness brewing behind those pink hued lips.
“My father was summoned back to the royal court in 1916, requested by several men who were growing concerned about the influence that Rasputin held over the Tsar. The Mad Monk as he was called… was a far more dangerous man than most people realize. He dealt with things that were beyond science, beyond what could be considered moral and just. My father took part in the planning of the man’s murder. He felt it was necessary to preserve the Tsar’s rule—despite the problems he and Nicholas had shared, my father was loyal to the rulers of our country. I begged my father to let me accompany him on that December night, but he refused. The deed was done but not before Rasputin had helped sow the seeds of doubt that led to the Revolution. My father was murdered just weeks before the Revolution took place… his killer unknown to me, even now. I fled to the United States when the madness took hold in my country and have been here ever since, working tirelessly to continue my father’s dreams. I hope to eventually bring about a better world, one that is based on the precepts of morality, kindness and scientific exploration.”
“I’m sure your father would be very proud of you,” Libby whispered.
“Thank you.” Kaslov looked up as the train began to suddenly squeal on the tracks, lurching forward and then back. The men who had been playing cards stood up, looking out the window on their side of the car as the train slowly came to a stop.
“Wouldja look at that!” one of them exclaimed.
Kaslov and Flynn moved to join the men. “What’s going on?” Flynn asked the nearest of them.
The man smelled of alcohol and looked a bit out of sorts, his eyes glassy and wide open. “A bunch of guys are blocking the tracks with a truck! They’re all wearing funny jumpsuits and carryin’ guns.”
“Black uniforms?” Flynn wondered aloud. When the man nodded in confirmation, the adventurer turned to Kaslov. Before he could speak, the sound of gunfire rang out, followed by the screams of passengers.
The tall Russian sprang into action, pushing Flynn towards Libby. “Take her to safety! Defend her with your life!”
“What about you?”
Kaslov’s body was tensed for combat, his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. “You must have been followed, Benjamin. They know you escaped and went for help. That’s the only explanation for them being here. We need answers—and I don’t plan to stop until I get them!”
CHAPTER VIII
&
nbsp; Death in the Snow
Leonid was doing the exact opposite from what most of his fellow passengers were doing. While most of the men and women onboard were scrambling in terror from the sounds of gunfire, the muscular Russian moved at a steady pace towards the danger. He felt no fear at the knowledge that death possibly awaited him, for he had faced such terrors numerous times before. Instead, he felt a sudden quickening of the pulse, a thrill that went from the top of his head down to the very tips of his toes.
A man of science, he was, but he was also a man of action. In combat, he was able to blend the twin disciplines of the mind and the body in a way that he could never express otherwise.
He finally found his quarry near the head of the train: five armed men; each dressed as Flynn had described. They wore black leather uniforms with emerald green piping, their hands hidden beneath dark gloves. One of them had a porter shoved up against the wall, the barrel of a rifle pressed against the terrified man’s throat. “I won’t ask you again,” the gunman was saying. “Do you or do you not have a man named Benjamin Flynn onboard?”
“I’d have to check,” the porter stammered, his eyes growing wide. He was an older man, in his sixties Leonid surmised, and his hands trembled with fright. “Please… I don’t know everyone onboard by name!”
“I’m not expecting you to, you old coot!” the gunman yelled. “But you know how to find out, now don’t you?”
Leonid Kaslov broke into a run as one of the other gunman spotted the massive Russian and raised the barrel of his gun. With a roar, Kaslov lowered his head and slammed into the nearest of the men, knocking him right through the glass window behind him. The man flew through the air, landing in the snow. Kaslov continued his flurry of activity, backhanding another of the men and grabbing hold of the terrified porter, tossing him to safety.
The leader of the pack backed away after his hostage was ripped from him. Once he had more room to maneuver, the man opened fire, not caring that his own companions were at risk. Indeed, one of them was torn down in a bloody barrage of bullets that ripped him from head to toe.
Kaslov ducked below the stream of hot death, knowing that he’d escaped death by mere inches. His sleeve caught on part of the narrow hallway, ripping as he moved forward. This had the effect of revealing his marvelously proportioned bicep and he flexed this muscle just before rising to his full height and slamming a fist into the firing man’s face. The sound of bones crunching rang out as blood spurted from the man’s injured nose.
This left only two opponents still standing and both looked as if they were having second thoughts about the whole affair. While they wavered in their resolve, Leonid dispatched one with a well-placed kick to the knee. A sickening pop was followed by a cry of pain as the man fell to the floor, crippled.
Kaslov took a step towards the remaining gunman. “You saw what happened to your friends,” he warned, his words taking on an icy tone that seemed all the more threatening. “If you want to be able to walk away with the police under your own power, you’re going to answer a few questions for me.”
“You’re him, aren’t you?” the man stammered. “Leo somethin’ or other—the Russian!”
“I am.”
“My name’s Marty,” the man said, a sickly grin appearing on his face. “Believe it or not, I’m a big fan of yours. My little boy has a picture of you on his bedroom wall!”
“How did you end up working for these people, Marty? You don’t strike me as a bad sort.”
Marty seemed to take those words as something meaningful, for he lowered his weapon and glanced over his shoulder nervously. He was aware that he’d just taken part in an awful crime, one that would probably cost him his freedom, but he was also in obvious awe of Kaslov. “I answered an ad for men with military experience, who were good with a rifle and who needed money, no questions asked. I’m not even sure where these guys are really based—maybe we were all blindfolded and taken by boat to an island in the middle of nowhere! That’s where we’ve been every since, up until the comet landed in Loggieville. Now we’re holding the place prisoner until the boss can finish learning whatever he can from the Black Flame.”
“The Black Flame,” Leonid murmured aloud, stroking his chin. “What is that, exactly?”
“I don’t know,” Marty answered. “I’ve never been that close to it… but one of my friends says it’s like nothing nobody’s ever seen before! He said it was somethin’ alien… a living fire!”
“Hmm.” Leonid glanced outside the shattered window, where one of the gunmen had begun to stir. “Tell me about your boss.”
“Tall guy. Speaks with a funny accent—a lot worse than yours, but maybe he’s from the same place. Calls himself a monk but he ain’t like no monk I’ve ever seen before. Real bushy beard, dark eyes, stinks to high heaven.”
Leonid’s eyes flashed with sudden, awful realization. That description was of someone who was long dead… “Have you ever heard his name? His real name?”
Marty nodded eagerly, pleased to have information that Kaslov wanted so badly. “Sure! Just once… but they said he was really named Rasputin. Do you know him?”
“Yes… I’m afraid I do. And this situation has just gone from curious to downright bizarre!”
CHAPTER IX
Communing with the Black Flame
Loggieville was a quiet town, with a population of only a few hundred good-natured souls. Founded by men and women of mostly Scottish and English descent, Loggieville was home to hardy woods and beautiful sunrises. The current mayor of the town was Henry O’Shea, a hearty man with a rust-colored beard and lively green eyes. He was a bit on the heavy side but he tried to hide the fact by constantly crossing his arms in front of him, which only served to enhance his portly image. He was a beloved figure, however, and was generally considered to be Mayor for Life.
Unfortunately, he now wondered if his life was going to be a short one. He was bound by the wrists with heavy rope that bit into his skin. A gun was pressed against the back of his neck and he was forced to his knees on the cold floor, his eyes never wavering from the peculiar image in front of him.
Rasputin sat cross-legged in front of a large brazier, in which sat several broken pieces of dark colored rock. Black and blue flames danced about the rocks, sometimes shooting high up into the air, so that they left little marks on the ceiling. Henry hated seeing his office defiled like this but the Russian had claimed it as his own soon after the town fell under enemy control.
Henry found it hard to believe that the man was really Rasputin, anyway. Well read, Henry knew enough about the troubles a few decades back to know that the real Rasputin was long dead.
“Your men have worked quite hard,” Rasputin said, his voice sounding somewhat drugged and unfocused. His eyes drifted lazily about the room and Henry got the impression that the man was staring at things that were beyond the normal veil of man. “When we are done here, I plan to leave them all alive, though precautions will be taken to assure that we are not described to authorities.”
“None of us will say a thing,” Henry promised. His knees ached from being on the hard floor but he tried to maintain a friendly demeanor. Though most people considered him far more likeable than your average politician, the truth was that he was just as slick as the best of them and had mastered the art of pretending to care for what was being said to him. It was an unfortunate truth that sometimes a politician had to put on a fake smile and go to town, which he was now doing. “You have my word on that.”
Rasputin’s gaze seemed to steady on Henry’s form and he regarded him as if he were some new form of bug. “Do you know how lucky you are?”
“What do you mean?”
“In all of humanity, there are only a few moments in which mankind receives a true evolutionary push… a point in which we are blessed to receive knowledge from beyond.”
“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.” Rasputin rose from his
sitting position and turned to face the flickering flame. “Show this unfortunate just how blessed he truly is,” the Mad Monk proclaimed, raising his hands to the air and throwing his head back in rapture.
What do you wish of me? A voice rumbled and Henry felt the blood chill in his veins. This was no sound produced by a human voice—this was inhuman and very, very old.
“I need knowledge from beyond,” Rasputin explained. “Have my men killed the one who escaped us before?”
The flames danced madly and Henry got the distinct impression that the alien entity that existed within its confines was considering the matter. Your men have failed to kill the one called Flynn. They were repelled by one of your fellow countrymen—a man named Leonid Kaslov.
The Mad Monk heard a gasp of surprise from the mayor and he shot the man a withering stare. “Kaslov,” Rasputin whispered, drawing out the name as if tasting it. “I knew a man named Kaslov. After my return from the grave, I slew him in revenge for his role in my assassination. Is this his son?”
It is.
“You don’t know who Leonid Kaslov is?” Henry wondered aloud. He immediately regretted speaking his thoughts aloud as it once again brought Rasputin’s attention upon him.
“I care nothing for the heroes of your media,” the Mad Monk intoned.
“Kaslov is a super-man!” Henry explained. “He’s a brilliant scientist, inventor and adventurer! If he’s after you, then there’s nothing for us to fear—you’re the one who should be worried!”
“My soul was bartered long ago for power beyond your imagining!” Rasputin bellowed, sparks of electricity dancing around his eyes and fingertips. “This creature that stands before us both was brought down from the heavens by my power—by my calling! I have brought the flame of eternal power to Earth!”
