by Jim Roberts
He openned the door to the pantry, just adjacent to his own bedroom.
Nothing. No one there.
Just like every other room.
Krasnov relaxed his grip on the Tokarev 7.62 pistol, held shakingly in his hand. He was sweating inside his housecoat−his plump skin perspiring from his nervousness. Downstairs, his security force would be on edge all night. No breaks.
Outside, a wind was brewing−shaking the poplar trees he'd had planted in his yard. The branches cast shadows that danced inside the mansion, sending Krasnov's too vivid imagination into overdrive.
I will have those stupid trees knocked down.
He lowered the gun as he reached the end of the hallway and the door to his bedroom. It too was empty, lit merely by the rays of the moonlit night through the large window adjacent to his bed. He placed the gun on the night table, removed his slippers and got beneath the covers.
The stress is getting to me.
He knew the Imperator had no interest in him. He had fulfilled his contract with Olympus to the T. His work on the Code had been slight−nothing compared to Doctor Mobus. Why would Olympus take any interest in him? The oligarch closed his eyes and tried to relax.
Tomorrow was another important day.
Running a city wasn't easy, after all.
* * *
DOWNSTAIRS IN the living room of the mansion, the oligarch's pet cat, Tsarina−a lovely white and black Kurilian Bobtail−slunk through the house on her evening search for mice. Even large, well kept mansions like this one were prone to vermin infestation.
Tsarina searched the house, her perfect feline vision sweeping every corner for signs of life. As she made her way into the kitchen, she had to stop momentarily as her paws stepped in something moist.
A human body lay splayed out, cut completely in half. Tsarina took little notice of the dead security guard, hopping over the pool of blood and onto the dead man's chest. She sniffed briefly at the man's neck, then jumped off. Immediately ahead, were the bodies of two more men, their necks sliced open, eyes wide in unknown terror.
One of the security men had managed to reach his phone, but his arm had been severed and it now lay apart from his body, a still message flashing on the screen.
The cat moved out from the kitchen, unimpressed with what she had found. The lobby of the mansion, which fed into the large staircase leading upstairs to the many bedrooms of the luxury home, was also filed with dead humans. Five men, all laying near one another, as if killed instantly by a shadow that had risen from the darkness of hell to take their poisoned souls into the inferno below. Each man was carved like a roast; hands, heads, legs−missing.
The cat stopped to sniff at the neck of one of the dead men.
She suddenly became aware of something else in the room.
Something alive. Quiet...slinking in the darkness.
The cat's ears bent back, her eyes searching the dark for the form that eluded her. She let out a soft meow.
Then she felt a hand touch her back. Caressing it.
"Shh...my sweet." The human voice was soothing to the cat; feminine and mild. Nothing like the harsh, hateful voice of her fat master.
"Go outside, hun. There's knife work here that needs doing."
The cat purred at the touch of the soothing hand. Then, she felt the human nudge her towards the ajar door. Tsarina bounded towards it, out into the cool night. The shape watched her leave, then closed the door.
* * *
KRASNOV DREAMT he could see the faces of the other men. The scientists who helped shape the Code of War. Helped to create the future of mankind. Their eyes were wide, the pupils pallid and transparent.
Their mouths opened.
Blood poured out as they screamed for him.
Krasnov couldn't hold them back. The heads moved towards him, bobbing loosely on the shoulders of their bodies.
Then they toppled off. Each head fell to the floor, geysers of blood spewing from the disembodied torsos. The heads still stared at him, the eyes accusing him. One of the heads spoke to him, the voice high pitched; screeching.
You reap what you sough, Roman! War devours all in its path−even those that seek to control it...
The head began to scream. Blood streamed from its eyes and mouth.
Krasnov burst out of his nightmare with a start. His eyes were wide as he stared out into his dark bedroom.
There were no heads. No blood. No screaming.
Just the wind and trees outside.
He took a long breath and wiped his brow. He was drenched in sweat. The oligarch laid back into bed.
Just a nightmare. You've had them before.
Krasnov's breathing became regular. He lay there for a moment.
A weight thumped against the bed. Krasnov started to panic until he remembered. Tsarina. She must be coming to sleep for the night. The cat was the last thing he had to remind him of his lovely wife, long gone now. Quite the unexpected tragedy, that was.
Krasnov smiled. He never thought he would have been rid of that bitch.
He reached down to caress the lovely white and black fur of his pet.
What he felt was not his cat. It was slick and moist. Cold. He yanked his hand away but the moisture stayed. His hand was slick with something.
Krasnov sat up and switched the lamp on his nightstand on.
He glared down at what he had thought a second ago was a mere cat.
The grisly head of his chief bodyguard stared straight at him.
The eyes of the head were wide open, meeting Krasnov's with the same condemning stare.
Krasnov screamed. He tried to disentangle himself from the bloody head, but his bed covers pulled it towards him. He screamed again.
Right then, the lamp blew out; hit by some sort of projectile. The room was once again bathed in darkness.
"Roman Krasnov."
The voice was slick with antagonism. Krasnov stopped his cries, too terrified to scream further. He flailed out of the bed and grabbed the gun on the night stand. He fired wildly around the bedroom, the gun's report echoing loudly in his ears.
Click.
Empty.
He continued to pull the trigger, not comprehending that his one chance of survival had left him as quickly as it had come.
The oligarch felt something hit his leg in the darkness. Suddenly he couldn't stand. Krasnov pitched to the floor. He reached down and felt his leg. Something was stuck inside it.
A knife.
He pulled himself along the floor, trying to make his way to the door.
Krasnov felt another knife hit his opposite leg. Both of his appendages stopped working.
Some sort of poison.
He pulled himself slowly along. Strangely there was no pain in the wounds in his legs.
That wasn't reassuring.
He was so close to the door. He reached out with his hand to grab the knob.
Krasnov felt something move, almost faster than he could hear.
He heard something thump to the ground in front of him. His hand stopped working.
No.
He couldn't feel his hand anymore at all.
It lay in front of him.
It cut my hand off!
He grasped the bloody stump of his arm, searching the darkness of the room for his attacker. The knowledge of a definite end was pervading.
He became aware of a shape in front of him, standing tall over his immobile form.
Backlit by the moonlight, he could see it was a woman.
Tall, dark. Terrifying.
It was like staring at the soul mate of death himself. Clad in a harlequin disguise.
"Olympus has no further use for you, Doctor Krasnov."
Shock began to take over Krasnov's body.
He saw the woman raise what appeared to be a wicked looking bladed weapon into the air. The sword gleamed in the moonlight.
"Tiberius sends his regards."
The voice was only an echo to Krasnov. Perhaps he wouldn't fee
l anything now.
The blade went to work.
Krasnov felt everything.
* * *
AGRIPPINA WAS still breathing hard as the Hyperion rose into the night sky. Below the aircraft, the city of Vladivostok was a mass of twinkling lights. The people down there were unaware that the living personification of death itself was flying directly above them. The Olympus assassin pulled the tether holding her hair back and gave her head a shake. Her flowing black locks spilled down around her shoulders in luxurious freedom. She wiped a hand across her face in a weak attempt to remove the splotches of blood on her perfect alabaster skin.
She adored the new suit Tiberius had given her before she had set out on her new mission. Similar to the harlequin-like suit designed by Doctor Yune last year, this one was infinitely stronger. Retaining the original look of that suit−that of a skin-tight design tapered with rynohyde and thin sheets of titanium−it now included armored leggings that would enhance her own powerful, artificial limbs. So far, the suit had performed admirably in all circumstances.
The Hyperion housed one squad of Praetorian elite soldiers, all crammed together, waiting in strict silence for their time to be utilized in combat. The shock troops−equipped with cybernetic enhancements to their brains and nervous systems−wore specially designed optic camouflage suits, allowing them complete stealth for short periods of time. Strapped to their backs were razor sharp katana swords, redesigned by Olympus weaponsmiths to appear more high-tech then their ancient origins suggested. Protecting their heads were the coyote shaped helmets, a reminder of ancient times when soldiers who led the original Praetorian guard did so with the skins of animals on their heads.
So far, Agrippina had had little use for the three squads of guardsmen. They were merely a formality, just so Tiberius could sleep at night knowing his 'little girl' was adequately watched.
Agrippina noticed a gouge in her sleek body armor. One of Krasnov's bullets had grazed her left arm, barely enough to notice. She ignored it−it wasn't deep anyway−and moved to sit at the front of the aircraft, in the co-pilot seat directly behind the pilot.
The Hyperion pilot, his dark helmet obscuring his face, half turned in his seat to speak to the Olympus Executioner.
"Ma'am, Lord Tiberius has demanded an update."
Figures, thought Agrippina. She had a hunch the cold tyrant never actually slept. The co-pilot seat was equipped with a Heads Up Holographic Gestural Interface, allowing the occupant full access to the VTOL's flight data. The user was be able to keep an eye on key elements of the aircraft's operation, such as surveillance, radar, communications−basically the same functions that a Navy Radar Intercept Operator (or RIO) would take care of.
Agrippina made several quick gestures on the floating holographic control plane. In two seconds, she was instantly patched in to Olympus general command HQ. A few seconds after that, the cold, passionless face of Legate Tiberius filled the display in lovely High-Def.
"My raven of war." Tiberius said, his face showing no sign of emotion whatsoever. "What is the status of your current operation?"
"Fulfilled." Agrippina answered, tossing a strand of hair from her face. "Krasnov is dead."
"Did anyone see you?"
Agrippina hesitated, knowing full well what lying to the callous Legate meant.
"Yes, but anyone who did is dead as well. I saw to it."
A flicker of movement passed across Tiberius's check. His eyes hardened in unspoken anger, "How many did you kill?"
"I wasn't keeping count." Agrippina pulled her eyes from the monitor and feigned at checking her fingernails, knowing full well her indifference enraged her commander.
"I sent you out there to kill scientists. Instead you are massacring dozens and risking being caught."
"You wanted swift action." Agrippina spat, "Executions with extreme prejudice. I'm delivering."
"What you are delivering is sloppy. I need you to be careful. Do not take any unnecessary risks." Tiberius leaned forward, his head growing larger in the Display. "Your position can be taken away as quickly as it was given. Remember that, executioner."
And with that, the Legate ended the transmission. With a scowl, Agrippina swiped the interface to deactivate. She sat in rigid silence for a time, enjoying the darkness of the cockpit and the hum of the Hyperion's engines. Things had been going so well. The arrogant Legate didn't know what he was talking about. Her mission had been to end the lives of corrupt, greedy men and she had carried out every mission so far with precision and stealth.
Well...mostly stealth.
A hint of a smirk tugged at her lips. After all, she did have to test her new cybernetic features, and what better way than on some fool security guards that couldn't find their ass with two hands. She had a lot to prove, not just to Tiberius, not to Olympus−but to herself.
The Hyperion captain's voice chimed through the comlink, "Ma'am what is our next destination?"
Agrippina opened the small personal operation tablet imbedded into the wrist of her right arm. A holographic interface switched on, showing the locations of the remaining scientists.
"Minsk, Belarus. It seems our good Doctor Alexi Kiselyov is living a pampered life on Olympus's good graces working for a secret biochemical factory on the outskirts of the city."
In front of her, she could hear the captain keying in the destination into his onboard nav computer.
"ETA by current speeds will bring us there in five and one half hours."
"Good. I need to rest. Wake me when we arrive."
"Yes ma'am."
Agrippina lay back in the not-particularly comfortable seat. Her thoughts drifted as she closed her eyes, trying to sleep. Always in these quiet times her memories returned. A life spent at the service of a mercenary force that had hitherto been a secret to the world. Slaying countless enemies of Olympus, no questions asked. With her eyes closed, the executioner saw the faces of her victims. Their bodies were long lost; dismembered and thrown away.
The images in her mind did not scare her. Instead, they comforted her. The souls of her victims were her only companions. Agrippina knew they didn't judge her for ending their lives.
She was only the messenger. Just because she enjoyed the thrill of the hunt didn't mean she didn't respect and pity her enemies. It was a simple matter of survival. She was stronger, they were not. Every new death brought her another soul for company in these lonely moments.
A thought flashed into her mind just when she was about to finally sleep.
Danny Callbeck. Whisper.
The assassin frowned. There was just no getting away from that man. Her mind journeyed back to that night in Kazinistan.
Looking up into his beetle shell-like helmet as she dangled from the side of the Black Hawk helicopter.
He had held his hand out to her, his rasping voice promising to pull her up.
All she had to do was give him the Code.
For a brief second, she actually had thought about it. She knew he was a man of honor. He would have pulled her into his arms, all gallant and self-sacrificing...
...and taken Olympus's one chance for greatness in this world.
Agrippina abruptly remembered the gunshot wound on her arm. Sighing, she got up from her seat and grabbed one of the small first air kits hooked to the hull of the aircraft. She pulled out several sutures and a tube of anti-bacterial resin. Her new harlequin body armor was weaker in the arms, not even able to stop a 7.62 round. She would have to be more careful in the future.
As she set about patching the wound, her thoughts once more returned to the armored Canadian warrior she had only known for a few days. It simply enraged her that she couldn't get the man out of her head. She had known many men, usually for a short, fiery few minutes. But it had always been a means to an end. The men she had taken to her bed usually had not left upright.
Or alive, for that matter.
And look at me now. Two artificial legs, enough cyber implants to gag Arnold Schwarzeneg
ger.
All because of Danny Callbeck.
She tore off a strip of gauze and tied it tightly on her arm. If it hadn't been for that self-righteous fool, I would still be human. Not this crudely stitched together aberration.
Finished, she tossed the first aid kit behind her. She closed her eyes.
Your time will come Callbeck. I will find you. I will take my time...open you up, break you apart like you broke me.
Chapter 11
Furry Friend
Sadoma, Zimbala, November 24th
"I am telling you, we miss drop zone by at least a mile!"
Sergeant Brick Reynolds held a finger to his lips to hush his too-loud companion. Krieger frowned, but softened his voice.
"We should have landed in park, not worst street in city." The Russian fingered his silenced MP5 nervously, keeping low amidst the rubble of one of the countless blasted out buildings in the midsection of Sadoma.
"Must have been the wind shear. At least we made it down here alive." Brick knew his cockney accent tended to throw the Russian off. To be fair, Krieger's lopsided English caused no end of problems for him as well.
He had to admit: they made a pretty odd pair.
The two had spent the past day and a half together, flying to Mozambique, directly to the north of Sadoma. There, they made contact with a resident cargo pilot who owed a favor to Colonel Walsh from years back. The man, calling himself Rutledge, had agreed to fly the two Peacemakers into the contested country in his wretchedly out of shape Douglas DC-3 fixed propeller plane. The mission was completely off the grid, so Brick and his sardonic companion had to rely on less than dependable means to get them into the embattled country.
The mission was, a matter of speaking, simple. Its execution would be nearly impossible. Find Sarah Anders by following the directions given by the reporter to the Colonel; make contact with her and begin preparations for the assassination of Musabe. In another day, the Colonel, along with Joe, Isabella and a few new recruits, would join them in the Barbarian.
Brick had never done so much for the promise of so little. There was no guarantee Miss Anders had Idea One about anything Olympus was doing in the country, or whether or not she could help them plan a successful assassination. The Colonel had been adamant in the belief that the mission was worthwhile, and that the reporter could be trusted. She had, after all, broken the encryption on the noclist.
