Chapter 2
Dr. Franklin Terzini had a singular purpose in life: to repair the rotting cesspool commonly known as society. He was tired of being forced to exist alongside the filth that inhabited the planet, or more specifically, people in general. What the world hailed as civilization was far from civil. He loathed living among others and had learned early on that all people were motivated by selfishness, by their basest desires. He’d also learned that those desires were a direct result of emotion.
Emotion was the cause of all evil as far as he was concerned. As a result he wanted to rid the world of emotion.
Changing all that was wrong, rooting out evil and the emotions that caused it would be both a challenge and a process. He knew that. But it was his destiny. And he was never one to ignore destiny when it beckoned him. But several obstacles needed to be addressed before he overhauled humanity and pursued his destiny. One such obstacle had arrived at his house moments earlier and was walking across his property.
He heaved a sigh and pursed his lips and felt his stomach drop to his feet as he looked out his window. Dmitri Ivanov approached. Terzini watched as he lumbered up the snow-covered walkway to his front door and he felt his stomach churn again. The sight of Ivanov was revolting in so many ways. With perpetually inflamed skin that looked ablaze as it flickered across the snow like firelight, he was as ugly as he was intimidating. His platinum-blond hair was lost in the backdrop, camouflaged completely by the frozen landscape. Terzini groaned aloud at the thought of sitting across from him, of being forced to look at his face up close. As he did so, Ivanov looked up, trained his bulging eyeballs in his direction and stared, hard, as if he’d heard the involuntary moan and Terzini’s thoughts as well. The eye contact was intense and unsettling. He stepped back nervously, away from the window, away from the penetrating glower beyond its pane.
Once he was out of sight, he attempted to dash across the living room and leave from the back door in a last-ditch effort to avoid his meeting with Ivanov altogether, but was halted by a banging sound at the front door. He froze and turned to look over his shoulder only to see Ivanov’s red face in the glass to the left of the door. He’d felt the weight of his stare before he’d turned and realized with a sinking feeling that there was no escaping. Reluctantly, he walked to the door and opened it.
As soon as he did so, he was greeted by Ivanov’s enormous form crowding the doorway. He marveled at how the man’s brawny physique managed to menace before he even opened his mouth to speak. Terzini detested him with every ounce of his being, dreaded their every encounter. Each time he arrived unexpectedly, it was to criticize, to belittle. Terzini hated to be criticized, especially by someone so far beneath his enlightened, elevated status, someone not worthy of his company.
“Hello Dmitri. What a surprise it is to see you,” Terzini said flatly and rolled his eyes, not bothering to mask his disdain for his uninvited guest.
“Hello Doctor,” Ivanov replied and smirked.
Without being invited in, Ivanov stepped across the threshold and pushed past him.
“Excuse me!” Terzini exclaimed, unable to conceal the exasperation in his voice.
Ivanov did not flinch or bother to respond verbally. Evidently, the buffoon did not view his utter rudeness as an offense. To Terzini, Ivanov represented all that was wrong with humanity. He wanted nothing more than to scold him, but knew better than to open his mouth. Instead, he swallowed hard and shuddered as the ill-mannered brute focused his bulging eyes on him long enough to intimidate him. Under ordinary, less threatening circumstances, he believed someone who’d behaved as Ivanov had would benefit from an etiquette lesson. But his circumstances were far from ordinary, and he was not in the presence of an ordinary, ill-mannered brute. Ivanov was no stranger to violence and Terzini was not prepared to be injured or lose his life while trying to educate his guest on social conventions.
After reminding himself of Ivanov’s taste for violence, Terzini decided to proceed more carefully.
“Let me take your coat, Dmitri,” he offered and made his tone more hospitable. “We can sit in the kitchen.”
Ivanov plodded into the kitchen area and sat in a chair before a small, wooden table. Terzini had no choice but to follow and sit in the remaining chair.
“Can I get you something? Tea perhaps?” he asked and made a concerted effort to be civil.
“I am not here for a tea party,” Ivanov replied sarcastically. “You know what I’m here for.”
“No, Dmitri, I do not,” he lied.
He looked on in horror as Ivanov’s red complexion deepened in color to an unhealthy shade of violet. It had become painfully obvious to him that he had infuriated Ivanov and he regretted toying with the man.
“We are through playing games, Terzini!” Ivanov thundered. “You have been paid your money and still, we have nothing! This is your final warning! Either you deliver, or we’re going to have a problem!”
“What do you mean by problem?” he asked and felt his concern skyrocket along with his pulse rate.
Ivanov did not answer right away, which was never a good sign. His pale brows gathered and his nostrils flared several times, another sign that trouble brewed, then he leveled his cement-hued eyes at Terzini.
In that instant, words were unnecessary and Terzini felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. He realized Ivanov had not come to argue or complain. He’d come to threaten his life.
Terzini shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The room suddenly felt uncomfortably warm despite the scarcity of air. He wanted to run, run out of the house and into the snow, to be anywhere other than where he was. But he knew fleeing was not an option. So he stayed where he was, seated across from a man who wanted to kill him, and endured the relentless, murderous glower.
He knew he ought to say something, anything, to acknowledge what Ivanov was implying. But words escaped him. His mouth had gone dry.
Seconds felt like hours and when finally he was able to choke something out, “Oh. I see,” was all he managed.
His mind raced. He panicked and wondered whether the threat would be carried out sooner rather than later, as in today, now. He wondered whether they were on to him, whether he would die in mere moments. Dmitri Ivanov, the head of a small faction of the Russian Mafia, did not make empty threats. He had known that from the beginning, knew that if he failed to deliver what he was contracted to create, he would be killed. To date, he had not delivered. His assassination orders loomed on the horizon, perhaps closer than he’d originally thought.
“Do we understand each other?” Ivanov growled through clenched teeth but did not break eye contact.
“Of course Dmitri, of course, you will have what you need,” Terzini began.
“What you were hired to produce!” Ivanov interrupted.
“Yes, yes. You will have what I was hired to produce,” Terzini agreed and felt annoyance begin to prickle. He was not used to being spoken to with such disrespect.
“We have people waiting on you!” Ivanov reminded him as if he needed to be reminded. He held multiple doctoral degrees, for goodness’ sake! And this man, this Ivanov, what accolades did he possess? None, that’s how many, unless, of course, there were some kind of degree program for violent criminals. That would be the only program a half-witted thug like him could possibly earn a diploma in. Terzini had revolutionized reproductive cloning, yet had to answer to a buffoon with a gun.
The absurdity of his situation made him feel as though he were going to explode. He could not withstand the hounding any longer, and interjected without considering the dangerous nature of his company.
“Dmitri, you do realize that constructing a nuclear weapon alone has been a challenge. I cannot rush the process. Rushing would be foolish, disastrous even. Surely you understand that, right?” he said and did not curb the condescension in his voice.
“I am not here to understand you, Terzini!” Ivanov shouted as he slammed a solid hand on the table between them.
The gravity of his predicament suddenly weighed on him with leaden heaviness. He recognized the need to proceed far more cautiously.
“Fair enough, Dmitri. Fair enough,” he said calmly. “I was not trying to insult you. I only meant to explain that what I am working on–what I have nearly completed–has been a long, arduous process.”
He was almost positive that Dmitri Ivanov did not have the slightest idea what the word arduous meant. He doubted the mindless criminal had ever even heard the word. His use of language that exceeded his company’s limited vocabulary was intentional. He enjoyed small, subtle acts of superiority that often went undetected. They allowed him to passively own Ivanov, to entertain himself at another’s expense.
“Arduous, huh,” Ivanov said as he rubbed his scarlet face with one hand before raking it through his white-blond hair.
Terzini struggled to determine what Ivanov’s thoughts were, his hardened features were unreadable. He guessed Ivanov was wondering what exactly arduous meant and was too embarrassed to ask. He found himself suppressing a smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He could not expect Ivanov to understand a synonym for the word difficult, much less the extreme level of intelligence, patience and tenacity involved in nuclear fission.
“Yes, Dmitri, very arduous,” he continued and was delighted by his own wittiness. “But now that it is almost completed, it will be yours to use as you wish. Just tell me how we will go about delivering it.”
“We are not a delivery service. We are not picking it up. You will bring it to us,” Ivanov demanded. “We’re not going to risk blowing ourselves up with something as unstable as a nuclear weapon. We’ll know it was assembled correctly if you make it to the location in one piece.”
Offended by Ivanov’s implication of incompetence on his part, he watched as the grotesque thug retrieved a small slip of paper from his pants pocket and balled it into his fisted hand.
His outrage quickly turned to fear as he became uncertain of what exactly Ivanov intended to do with his large fist. He cringed as the mobster launched his brawny arm toward him. Then, stopping short of his jaw, Ivanov’s arm froze. Confronted with four impressive knuckles a mere fraction of an inch from his nose, he sighed imperceptibly as Ivanov unclenched his hand and dropped a crumpled piece of paper on the table between them.
“Here, this is the date, time and address of the drop site,” Ivanov said.
The theatrical nature with which Dmitri Ivanov exchanged information was impressive. Terzini wondered whether the burly thug had missed his calling in life.
“Thank You, Dmitri.”
“Then it is set. We will see you very soon,” Ivanov snarled.
“Yes,” Terzini lied.
Though he had agreed to the terms set forth by the Russian Mafia, Dr. Franklin Terzini had no intention of delivering a nuclear weapon to Dmitri Ivanov or his associates. He had never even attempted to build one. He had the ability to, but thought it an utter waste of his talents. Instead of wasting his time and talent fashioning a weapon of mass destruction, he had been using their money for his genetic research and development.
His work had originated when he had lived in America. He had made unprecedented advances in his field. But strict government regulations had forced him to leave the United States and relocate to the remote Kamchatka Peninsula in the Russian Far East to continue his work independently. Initially, he had financed his own work, but saw his money wane quickly.
He had been desperate for funding when he had approached Ivanov and offered his expertise in physics and unique ability to build a nuclear weapon for the organized crime group. He saw working for them as an opportunity to receive a steady cash flow.
He knew they would research him and discover that his sterling reputation spoke for itself; that he had been the most respected nuclear physicist in the world. And when they did, they enthusiastically sanctioned his financial backing.
As he reflected back, he could not believe Ivanov and his associates had been foolish enough to believe a man of his caliber would actually provide them with a nuclear warhead.
He did intend to deliver something to the Russians, however. He nearly smiled as he thought about what it was they would receive, but stopped as Ivanov, satisfied that a drop site and date had been established, rose from his seat unexpectedly and stretched, flexing and straightening his brawny form. He stood as well and felt dwarfed by the towheaded mobster. Ivanov narrowed his eyes at him, offered a look of disgust then puffed out his chest and tipped his chin up arrogantly. His posture was one of triumph, of dominance. Terzini was all too familiar with this portion of their meetings; it was the victory stance that preceded a painful handshake. He dreaded the handshake as much as he dreaded looking at Ivanov. His hand ached at the thought of it.
Then, as if on cue, Dmitri Ivanov reached his arm across the table and offered a meaty hand to him. He reluctantly accepted it and felt a tremendous amount of pressure being applied. Though the handshake was a regular part of their meetings, knowledge of it did not prepare him for it. There was no way to prepare for it. Ivanov would squeeze his hand until he winced in pain. It was a juvenile act meant to emasculate him. The only redeeming part of it was that it meant their meeting was over.
He envisioned Ivanov leaving as he felt the man’s powerful hand squeeze tightly, unbearably. He felt his breath catch in his chest, but resisted the urge to react. Instead, he tried something new. He accepted the pain and denied Ivanov the response he so desperately desired.
To his dismay, his passive aggression seemed to incense Ivanov further. The blond thug unexpectedly jerked his hand forward and yanked him. He found his upper body dangerously close to Ivanov.
Ivanov leaned in even closer, placing his face just inches from his and whispered, “I will personally slit your throat if you disappoint us again.”
Terzini felt the color drain from his face as Ivanov froze, glaring unflinchingly at him. Neither of them moved. He was unable as his hand was being squeezed and contorted with impossible pressure. Ivanov stared at him with unnerving concentration as if boring holes into his skull.
After several seconds passed and the bones in his hand risked collapse, Ivanov relinquished his ironclad grip and turned toward the front door and walked out, but not before he slammed the door so hard the wood threatened to splinter.
As Terzini rubbed his smarting hand, he took comfort in knowing that despite what he’d just endured, soon, the world would be purged of Ivanov’s vile presence. He closed his eyes and imagined the entire lot of them dead. His daydreaming was interrupted by the rumble of a car engine in the distance, Ivanov’s car engine. He felt a degree of relief knowing the ignorant thug was finally off his property. He never thought his life would come to this, that he’d be reduced to dealing with criminals. But it had, and experiences such as the one he’d just had made him feel ill.
He took a moment and breathed deeply, trying to compose himself. Being forced to suffer insults and threats from Ivanov was draining, demeaning. He deserved better. After all, he had been revered by scientists, professors and researchers worldwide not long ago.
Although associating with degenerate criminals sickened him, he realized the necessity. His recent projects did not fund themselves. The price he paid for the funding of his genetic research included rubbing elbows with them, as well as living in a house that should be condemned. Both seemed small inconveniences to endure when he considered how the work done there with the criminals’ money supported the eventual transformation of humanity.
That thought, the thought of his work and how it would affect the planet, made him smile. He glanced around the unfortunate-looking living space a final time before grabbing his coat and leaving. He stepped out into the cold and trudged through several inches of snow on his surrounding property before reaching a large, white, rectangular piece of plastic. To anyone else, the material would have gone unnoticed, blending seamlessly with the snowy landscape. Beneath the plastic, however, lay a form
idable steel door. Once opened, a concrete staircase led to his secret facility.
Twenty feet below the snow-crusted soil, an underground refuge that had once been a small nuclear fallout shelter was now his laboratory. It retained some of the most sophisticated technology in existence, some of which he had personally fashioned. It was both his living chamber and workspace, where he preferred to spend most, if not all, of his waking hours.
Before moving from the United States to the Kamchatka Peninsula, he had expanded the square footage and installed updates that supported electricity, telephone and Internet connection and cable television. The space had also been supplied with a ventilation system that circulated fresh air and deterred insect infestation.
Fluorescent light fixtures had been mounted to seven-foot ceilings and lit the workspace. Computers that performed various tasks edged the walls while stainless-steel tables equipped with electron microscopes, test tubes, beakers, petri dishes, flasks and centrifugal equipment occupied the interior area.
As Dr. Terzini walked along the pristine concrete floors, a voice called out to him.
“Is he gone, sir?” the voice asked.
Planet Urth Boxed Set Page 69
