Rebel stronghold, Gora Lyavochorr Mountains, present day.
Units, vehicles, and troops began to depart for the outskirts of Chudo. From there, the main assault upon the Port of Murmansk would be coordinated and put into force.
I was in awe at the military power that lay at the disposal of Viktor Seuchencko. How such a man could have escaped the attentions of governments and agencies around the world, baffled me. Earlier I had asked him, “What does an oil baron need a private army for?”
He stood opposite me, his suit immaculate and shoes highly polished. His very presence there, in that place, surrounded by fighting men and women, seemed odd.
“Mr Lloyd, when you become good at something, you become noticed. When you become the best at something, people become envious and jealous. They seek to steal what you have made,” he waved enigmatically around the cavern. “There have been attempts upon mine and my daughter’s lives in the past. I learnt to counter the threats, to make it harder for those who want to seize what I have for themselves.”
“But why this? Why bring an army to bear upon a government? You must have planned to do this at some point, this recent threat of viral infection is simply a catalyst for what would have happened anyway, surely,” I mused.
“Our history in Russia is steeped in death, oppression, and violence, Mr Lloyd. The west knows very little about the reality of the last few decades. I have no stomach for war. I am a businessman, yet to be able to conduct profitable business, we must have the stability to trade. We will fight fire with fire.”
In that instant, I understood more about Viktor’s intentions. He wasn’t a saviour as such. His motives were focused on a platform for future business after the revolution, rather than to become a world leader because of it. I saw him as kind of a good bad guy, and I couldn’t help but admire the man.
*****
Over half of the rebel troops were now well on their way to the outskirts of Chudo. It was important to remain a safe distance from the port so as not to alert the Federation of our plans. Given the sheer numbers of heavily armed soldiers at the makeshift base in the Port of Murmansk, for our part, the benefit of surprise would be a good ally to retain. We would be going into a battle outmanned and outgunned.
The final meeting before the troops began to roll out was a sombre affair. We were all present to hear of the plans and timing of the first strike. Barbie sat on the edge of her seat as Sergeant Cross, and Staff Sergeant Stewall gave accounts of their initial contact with what they knew as the deadheads to the rebel commanders.
A gasp sounded exactly the same in Russian as it did in English. For that bit, I didn’t need translation as the effects of the original virus were declared before us. So this is what we had become? This was what I had become? I found myself disgusted at my own being, repulsed at the thought of what I could do, of how normal people would see me, us, now.
Hah! The penny finally drops! Now do you see what you are? Not only a coward, useless husband and poor excuse for a father, but a freak of nature too.
They’ll cage you like the worthless dog that you are!
The vindictive voice scathed.
My eyes narrowed as I looked at Barbie. Sergeant Cross described the violence and senseless slayings of people and animals these deadheads had encountered. I felt dirty, contaminated, and I could feel the same sentiments projected from both of them, too.
That was the first strain of this deadly virus, just the beginning, a taste of things to come. Images of the body parts which had littered the catwalks and hallways of the
Baltic Wanderer
flashed into my mind, the captain slain in his chair, forever guiding a doomed vessel. I shuddered.
That is all you can do, you’re an animal, nothing more. Animals need to be caged.
I recalled the fact that Barbie and I were still very much alive, several months after initial infection. I wasn’t sure whether I should be pleased about that or not. Staff Sergeant Stewall pointed out, and in no uncertain terms, that if any of the men were bitten, the best thing we could do was shoot them in the head. They would have around
twenty seconds
before the virus took them completely, he said. That was another difference between the first victims and Barbie and me.
Though it could have been through exhaustion, both of us blacked out for a good while on the ship. We simply lost time. Our transition to deadheads didn’t come anywhere near as fast as the first strain victims, which got me thinking further. While I must have been bitten by one of the first generation, I suffered different symptoms and a different outcome than those poor unfortunate souls had. If Barbie was infected directly from me, then she had inherited the protection, if it can be called that, of direct contamination from the source of a new, evolved strain. Inside me.
There was something else eating away at me too. This sir thing. Barbie had addressed me by it, and so had Sergeant Cross. The revelation that he was once infected, also suffered voices, in both awakened and unconscious states, implied at least some of the original strain remained ingrained into his system. Of course, I could be just plain delusional, but the building blocks were beginning to add up. The fact that I could feel his presence, attune to his and Barbie’s moods or certain thoughts, couldn’t be coincidence. I was never so aware of others before.
No, you only thought of yourself didn’t you, idiot?
Sergeant Cross fixed his gaze upon me, a subtle nod as confirmation that he knew what was going on inside my head. It was enough to tip me back to reality, this time.
*****
Midway through the meeting, a young female radio operator whispered to Viktor as Stewall spoke. I observed Viktor’s subtle nods and body language, as he digested the updated information, before he thanked the operator, her cue to return to her station. When Staff Sergeant Stewall had finished his report on strategy, Viktor stood to inform us of the latest news.
They had received contact from the fortified base at Murmansk, apparently from one of the four personnel being held there. It was good news that they were all alive at least. Sergeant Cross jumped at the mention of the names, particularly that of Dr Evelyn Shepherd. More worrying was confirmation of the arrival of almost two thousand additional troops with heavy armour—enough to start a small war. The commanders broke into a cacophony of jumbled Russian, their voices growing louder and louder echoed from the granite walls.
“Comrades, enough!” Viktor spoke deeply, his tone commanding order.
The room fell silent once more as he stood, his hands clasped at his buttoned jacket, his demeanour perfectly calm.
“Comrades, listen to me. Our duty on this mission is to rescue those captured, they have significant importance not only to us but to the rest of the world. Yes, we face a much larger force than our own, but do we not have the best fighting men in Russia? I have already despatched my elite special forces units to recce and lay mines. Our role in this conflict is not one of attack, but extrication. We will not fire unless fired upon. Understood?” Viktor surveyed his commanders as each nodded.
“Our colleagues, Staff Sergeant Stewall and Sergeant Cross, will be our eyes and ears on the ground. You are to follow their orders as if they came from me. As soon as we have the prisoners, we pull back. Do not engage Federation troops unless it is absolutely necessary. That’s all. To your men, gentlemen,” he concluded.
The troop commanders began to leave, set to purpose. I only hoped that what Viktor had said would be enough. Two thousand up against maybe five hundred seemed like pretty tall odds to me. The two British soldiers approached Barbie and I.
“Right, we’re about good to go. You two sit tight and we’ll be back before you know it.” Stewall smiled.
“What do you mean “sit tight”? We’re not going?” I blurted.
Stewall locked my narrowed eyes, then glanced at Sergeant Cross. “We’re not going for a Sunday stroll, Simon. This is going to get messy and could go tits up quite easily. You’re no soldier, with all due respect. You would be a liability we can ill afford.”
“Perhaps. But I’m coming with you. Inside me might just be the one weapon that will get us through this,” I offered lamely.
Growing a pair finally, are you? What are you doing, Simon? You ran from a schoolboy, remember? Yes, you remember. You’re good at running from children. Some fool gives you a gun and you’re an elite warrior now, oh come on!
I gritted my teeth against the seething inner voice, the comments raw because I knew they were the truth.
“I’m bloody well coming,” I blustered.
“Stewey, a word mate?” Cross interjected.
The two soldiers took a few paces towards the back wall to speak in private, before Staff Sergeant Stewall returned.
“Okay, Mr Lloyd. But only you. Barbie stays here. You will stick to Nathan like glue, do you hear me? If I find you within ten feet from that man, I’ll shoot you myself, got it?” Stewall imposed.
“Understood, Staff Sergeant,” I grinned. I caught the wry smile which crossed his lips as he spoke. The man knew.
I could see the hurt in Barbie’s eyes. I felt the anger inside her, the frustration, the eagerness to follow me—moreover, to
protect
me. It was odd sensation to have someone so young at my back.
Your wife protected you, idiot. You were just too pig-ignorant to notice. Sure, she didn’t strap a gun to her side and run off to fight the hordes, but she would have done. All you could do was do what you’ve always done, place it between your legs and run!
“Hey. It’s okay. You’ll be safer here, and I’ve Cross and Stewall to look out for me. You’re best off here. Keep an ear to the radio in case any new information comes in which we need to know about. The lads have headsets you can reach us on. I’ll look out for that young man of yours, Petrov,” I smiled to Barbie.
“It’s not fair. I should be going with you. You will watch him, though, won’t you?”
“I will. You go on now. I have to get ready to move. I’ll see you later when we’re back.”
Barbie threw herself into my arms, a daughter/fatherly hug which filled me with emotion and warmth. We had already been through so much. I only hoped I
would
be back.
Laboratory of Dr Kazimir Aslanov, Russian Federation base, present day.
The chemically induced coma of Commander Vladimir Rostok was about to be lifted. Just one final solution to administer. Dr Aslanov stood over the prone officer, the smile upon his face matched by that of Dimitri. Both men were eager to welcome a new member of their kind into the world. The contents of the small glass vial, clutched tightly in the sweaty, trembling hand of the physician, began a short, intimate relationship with the hypodermic needle.
Dimitri pulled back the covers from the comatose patient. He lifted the limp, slightly pale arm and turned it by the wrist, palm down. Dr Aslanov flicked the glass syringe to free a trapped air bubble before pushing the plunger just slightly to eject the unwanted air. It didn’t matter to either man that the contents of the syringe would fall over the patient; he was, after all, about to be injected with the very same.
Through paste-white skin, blue veins criss-crossed their way up Rostok’s forearm, arterial roads and byroads carrying vital supplies of life. Aslanov patted an area just above his patient’s right wrist, the radial artery rose slightly, as if eager to accept a gift. With practiced precision, Aslanov inserted the hollow-point needle, and a satisfying outward breath confirmed his direct insertion into the vein. Slowly, he depressed the plunger to unleash the newly isolated strain directly into Rostok’s bloodstream.
Once the syringe had delivered its payload, Aslanov offered Dimitri a lingering smile. “Dimitri, it is done. Now, we shall bring our brother from his slumber and see what we have created.”
Aslanov removed the fluid lines connected to the unconscious man. He flicked off the beeping heart monitors, which fell eerily silent, and removed the taped sensors adorning Rostok’s bare chest.
“Now, we wait. It will take a good hour for the anaesthetic to wear off enough to allow him to regain consciousness. In the meantime, we have work to do preparing more of the formula. Come, you can assist me, Dimitri. We will need to create a means of mass delivery, and I have just the solution. My uncle, on my father’s side, was a fitter, you know,” Aslanov announced.
For the next hour, the two men worked diligently. Dimitri located three spare fifty-kilogram butane canisters and proceeded to drain two of them of their compressed contents. Next, Aslanov sought basic tools in the form of an adjustable wrench, hammer, and self-sealing tape, easily obtained from the base stores. As a high-ranking member of the temporary installation, no one dared question his requisition for such things. A Bunsen burner provided heat to enable Dimitri to remove the valves from each canister easily, and the heavy wrench freed the tight threads with little effort. In the meantime, Aslanov prepared more of his creation in a concentrated liquid form.
Only when a murmur pierced the otherwise quiet recovery room did the two men snap their attention in that direction. In their haste to get to the bedside, the two men almost collided. Were it not for the seriousness of the situation, it would have been a true comedy moment. Aslanov narrowed his eyes at Dimitri, an ignition of pure rage imminent.
“Remember your place, soldier!” he snapped.
“Yes, sir. Apologies. After you, please,” Dimitri conceded.
Aslanov approached the bed and carefully lifted the eyelid of the commander. Sure enough, the black, mottled effect inside the pupils became clearly apparent. Next, he checked the wound to the left shoulder. It appeared noticeably less raw than it had the previous day. He pinched Rostok’s earlobe hard between his thumb and forefinger, intentionally using the thumbnail to invoke pain.
Rostok flinched, his eyes fluttered briefly as consciousness returned to him. He smiled as the recognition of the man who had saved his life filled his vision. “Where am I?” he muttered.
“You are in the recovery room of my lab, Vladimir. Good to see you awake, my friend. How do you feel?” Aslanov pried, eager for the response.
The commander gazed around the room, his eyes wide with confusion. It took him a few seconds to focus upon Dr Aslanov, but when he did, he offered his hand. Aslanov smiled at the gesture.
“I feel—better. Stronger than I have felt for a long time. My shoulder doesn’t hurt, not now. How long have I been asleep, sir?” Rostok queried.
Dimitri stepped forwards to greet the officer, and Rostok again raised his hand, palm up.
“It has been a couple of days. You needed to heal, Vladimir. This is Dimitri. He was a survivor from the ship, do you remember the ship?” Aslanov asked.
“The ship? Yes, I remember, vaguely. Dimitri. You were lucky, sir. My memory is a little sketchy and I’m hungry. Is there any food?”
Dimitri turned to Aslanov, confused by the officer’s address towards himself.
“Dimitri, go and get food for us all. You are not to interact with anyone. Is that clear?” Aslanov ordered.
“Yes, sir. Clear,” the sailor responded.
“Vladimir, come. Let’s see if you can stand after so long at rest. We have much work to do and so little time to complete it,” Aslanov sneered.
The officer slowly pushed himself up, and then swung his legs out over the edge of the bed into a seated position. He flexed the stiff limbs, bent at the knees, and rotated both ankles. In a movement befitting a man half his age, Rostok vaulted from the bed and landed squarely in front of the doctor.
“I think that means you’re good to go,” Aslanov acknowledged.
When Dimitri returned with a trolley laden with food, all three men ate as if it was not only their first meal but also their last. The hunger that burned within each of them appeared almost insatiable as they attacked the offerings. Food depleted, crumbs and plates all that remained, Aslanov’s focus returned to the task at hand. The completion of the vessels to distribute the virus now became priority number one.
With the two empty gas canisters, minus their valves and nozzles, Aslanov poured a measured amount of the viral agent into each cylinder. Given the highly accelerated form of the new viral strain, dilution with water would make up the required quantity once the cylinders were pressurised. Reliant upon the acquired engineering knowledge of his relation, Aslanov attached an open valve to the first viral cylinder.
Rubber hosing and clips provided a tight seal between the full and half-empty canisters, allowing gas to be pumped at high pressure into the contaminated cylinder. The butane gas would act as an accelerant, mixing with the viral solution until dispersal, upon which point the butane would evaporate into the air to leave the fine mist particles behind. In other words, aerosol.
The same procedure, meticulously repeated with the remaining cylinder, resulted in a dispersal system capable of covering up to eight times the area in aerosol form as opposed to plain liquid. One hundred kilos would easily blanket the immediate area in which the ground force barracked. As a secondary plan, Aslanov produced smaller vials of the toxic serum for use in the base water supply lines. That task would be handed to Rostok to complete, his rank serving to aid the neutralisation of suspicion as the execution of the plan took shape.
With the two completed cylinders mounted atop the serving trolley, this would enable easy transfer to a small vehicle—one of the off-road military 4 x 4’s already on site.
“Gentleman,” Aslanov announced, “it is time to build a new army. It is time to build a new Russia. It is time to build a new
species
.”
The two men stood fast as the doctor laid down the plans. Timings, positions and locations had all been drawn up on a map of the dockland site. Rostok would drive the 4 x 4 working from the perimeter of the camp inwards. The breeze blowing in from the breakwater would aid dispersal to even the most sheltered of areas. Since the bulk of the troops were barracked in tents, there should be no issues with air-locked doors. No means of protection. As a safeguard, the viral contaminant would be introduced into the water supply tonight. By sunrise, a new generation would be born, and Aslanov would be there to greet them.
*****
Inside the second laboratory, now a prison cell, Gladstone took notes on the changing of the guards. He listened intently as people came and went through the corridors of steel. People had loose tongues when they thought they were safe. The sounds from outside were amplified by the metal containers from which the base had been formed. From a couple of hours of listening, Gladstone had already noted an air of tension between Aslanov and Vadik, raised voices between the two, as well as confirmed numbers of troops that had already arrived. In any hostile environment, listening can sometimes mean the difference between life and death.
Charles raised a beaker of water to his lips.
“Stop!” Evie shouted.
“What? It’s water. Thought I’d wet the whistle a little, it’s so dry in here, my dear,” Charles replied.
“Fitz, think about it. If you wanted to infect an entire army, what’s the very first method you would use that no one would suspect?”
A light came on in Charles’s mind as he stared at the clear liquid inside the beaker.
Evie reached for a bottle of water, found on the floor after the search for useable objects. “Here, drink from this, and only this,” Evie smiled.
Gladstone turned from his eavesdropping. “We need to get ready to move. Something is in the offing and it doesn’t feel good. By morning, we’re going to be in a whole heap of trouble, far beyond what happened to Phil,” he warned.
Being a spook was more about gut instinct than ability. The unlikeliest of candidates made the best special ops agents, in Gladstone’s experience. You could pass a rain-coated guy on the street, his face immersed in the
Financial Times
, and think him nothing more than a stock market trader, yet in reality, the same man could kill you using only the paper he read.
“I bow to your judgement, Gladstone, my good man,” Charles exclaimed. “Evie, what say you?”
“There does seem to have been a lot of activity in the last few hours, I mean, besides our own. I concur, Gladstone. We should prepare to move as soon as darkness comes. We will need to allow time for the main bulk of ancillary staff to eat and go to rest. That’ll be fewer eyes to spot us,” Evie stated.
Gladstone smiled at her evaluation.
Rare to find someone so forward thinking
, he thought—and that was before the creation of the chemical weaponry now at their disposal.
“We should ease Portman—
Phil
—out of his induced coma. It’ll take a few hours for him to come around fully, and we’ll need him as alert as possible. It’s going to be a tough journey out of here. With luck, he’ll be able to at least defend himself if we can give assistance to move him,” Charles added.
“Okay, let’s assemble the weapons we have. Dr Fitzgerald, would you make a start bringing Portman back to the land of the living?
Dr
Shepherd, I need you to explain to me what exactly each of those weapons do.” Gladstone smiled.
*****
In his office, Political Officer Andre Vadik, had finally managed to calm himself down from the earlier encounter with Dr Aslanov—and his new pet.
The man was insane
. His brow harboured beaded sweat, and a pudgy, shaky hand grappled for a cotton handkerchief to wipe away the moisture. For more than hour, he had evaluated his options. To stay would be certain contamination, possibly even death.
There is no glory in the premonition of one’s own death, only nothingness devoid of reason, especially if the cause no longer holds meaning
, he mused.
The words echoed in his mind as he carefully packed his possessions, followed by the files and folders containing reports of his meetings with Dr Aslanov. It would be better to face the Federation than to remain here, stuck between a madman and the wrath of Mother Russia. As the sky outside the small window adopted a titian hue, signalling the approach of dusk, Vadik made his way to the nearest military 4 x 4. He didn’t look back as he drove towards the main gate, simply flashing his security clearance and identity badge, emotionless as the guards waved him through.
Vadik couldn’t possibly have known what awaited him beyond the safety of the gates. He drove hard as fast as he could, far away from the madness of the port, straight into the arms of waiting rebel soldiers.