The Kremlin Phoenix (35 page)

“Command: Medical emergency,
inject pain killer, maximum dosage.”

A small needle penetrated the
back of his neck and pumped nerve suppressant into his spinal cord. He sighed, instantly
relieved as his hand steadied, allowing him to continue. When he finished, the
entry screen vanished and thousands of rectangular pages of data – numbers and
currencies – began flashing across the screen.

“We’re in,” Wilkins croaked
feebly, knowing Zikky’s computer would do the rest.

The radiation sensor was flashing
a continuous warning that the suit was now soaking in toxic levels of radiation.
He turned and looked down at the suit’s metal hand lying on the floor. He knew
it was already too late, but he bent down to pick it up anyway, getting a
glimpse of his blistered hand. Before he could slide his hand into the metal
glove, he lost his balance and fell forward onto the floor.

“L-2 Control, do you have
access?” he wheezed as he rolled sideways to see the signal repeater in the
corridor outside. Static hissed as Zikky tried to speak to him, but the
radiation inside the suit was interfering with its systems.

“Say again,” he whispered.

He thought he heard Mariena
screaming hysterically at him through a storm of static to get back to the
lander where he’d be safe.

“No time,” he whispered as the
blue standby light on the relay turned green and data began to flow. He tried
to focus on the green blur, to force his degrading brain to confirm he’d
succeeded, but he lost consciousness and rolled, face down, onto the floor.

Two minutes later, the Captain of
the
Solar Explorer III
was dead.

* * * *

Present Day

“Is she coming back?”
Valentina asked.

Before Craig could answer, Mariena
reappeared. Her eyes were red from crying, her hair uncombed and her uniform
crumpled. Craig thought she looked tired, and for the first time, realized how
much she’d aged since he’d first seen her. “Craig Balard? Are you there?”

Yes
, Craig tweeted.
What happened?

“I have your account number,” she
said in an exhausted voice.

OK, give it to me.

“I can’t.”

“What?” Craig said aloud.
Why
not?

“We discovered the computer you’re
using is being key-logged by your own government,” Mariena said. “That’s how
they got the money. As soon as you type in the password, they’ll have it.”

Well how am I going to do
this?

“Find another computer.”

Craig glanced at the locked door,
certain Dale Tagitt was waiting outside. “Not possible.”

“We have another computer,”
Valentina said.

Craig stood up, looking around.
“Where?”

“In your pocket,” she said. “My
phone’s got global roaming. It should work here.”

Craig dug Valentina’s phone out
of his pocket and called up the bank’s website. “Damn, you’re right!”

Dale Tagitt banged on the door. “Open
up. Who’s in there with you?”

Craig looked up, wondering how he
knew Mariena was there, then understanding flashed across his face. “That bastard’s
got us bugged!” He turned to the computer and tweeted,
Give me the number
now, quickly. I’m not using their computer.

Mariena read the account number from
a small rectangular device while Craig carefully typed it into the tiny phone’s
screen, followed by the password that only he knew. In a moment, his account
balance flashed up on the screen. “I’m in! Valentina, where do you want it?”

“Hurry,” Mariena said, “You don’t
have long.”

I’m doing it now,
he tweeted, then hesitated as he recognized the tone in her voice.
He’d heard it before, each time she’d saved his life.
How much time do I
have?

“Twenty two minutes,” she
replied.

Craig glanced at his watch. It
was 9.05PM.
What happens at 9.27?

“That is your time of death.”

A heavy blow sounded on the door,
as a soldier tried to smash it in with the butt of his rifle.

But we’re safe!

“You’re not safe. Please do the
transfer now, while you still can.”

Desperate to understand what she
was talking about, he tweeted,
How will I die?

“You will be shot, twice,”
Mariena replied. “One bullet will penetrate your heart. It will be a very
public death, seen by the entire world.”

Valentina ran to Craig’s side and
handed him a piece of paper. “This is a Federation bank account. The Prime
Minister will be able to access the money as soon as you transfer it.”

“Mr Balard,” Dale Tagitt called
through the door, “Don’t make this more difficult than it need be.”

 “Did it work?” Mariena asked in
an old, tired voice, unaware Craig had not completed the transfer.

Craig copied the Federation bank
account into the transfer screen, then entered the entire balance. “Oh well, I
was the richest man in history, for a few days,” he said, then hit enter.

Mariena instantly disappeared as
a temporal shockwave shattered the timeline, magnifying in intensity with each
passing century. No mere reset, it was a fundamental remaking of the symmetry
of time, which created an entirely new unfolding randomness that reached
forward from the instant Craig had pressed enter.

It’s done,
he tweeted.
Now tell me, who’s going to shoot me? Where will it
happen?

He waited expectantly, but
Mariena did not reappear.

The door burst open and two
Japanese soldiers ran into the room, guns leveled. Craig and Valentina raised
their hands as Tagitt stormed into the office. He snatched the cell phone out
Craig’s hands, saw the balance was zero, then glanced at the computer screen incredulously.

“Twitter?” Tagitt said. “You idiot!
The world’s falling apart, and you’re on Twitter?”

Craig smiled. “Like it or hate
it, it’s the future.”

“Where’s the money?”

“Gone. All gone.” He glanced at
Valentina. “What will they do with it?”

“Exactly what the hardliners
would have done: bribe, reward, buy loyalty. It’s how my country works.”

Craig felt a great weight lift
off his shoulders. He’d never wanted the money, and now that it was in the
hands of its rightful owners, he was glad to be rid of it.

“Come with me, Mr Balard” Tagitt
said. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“You better hurry, I’ve only got
twenty two minutes.”

Tagitt gave him a puzzled look,
then scooped the Zamok Branka file up off the desk and flicked through the
pages curiously.

“Hey! That’s mine!” Craig said.

“This is a classified document,
and unless I’m mistaken, you have no security clearance.” He motioned for the
guards to take them back to where the others were being held.

“I guess you’re not really the
welcoming committee after all?” Craig asked wryly.

Tagitt pursed his lips. “No, Mr
Balard, I’m not. Damage control is my specialty.”

They were escorted back to where
the survivors were gathered. Craig and Valentina were allowed to rejoin General
Sorokin and Colonel Balard. The two older men sensed their somber mood.

“Something we should know about?”
his father asked.

“This isn’t what it appears,”
Craig said.

All around them, an air of quiet organization
had settled over the room. The names of the escaped pilots had been gathered
while paperwork and medical checks were completed. A microphone on a stainless
steel stand now stood in front of the food table beside a small public address
system. There was a relaxed air of homecoming among the pilots, who laughed and
joked quietly as they thought of seeing their families again.

Dale Tagitt stood in front of the
microphone. He no longer held the Zamok Branka dossier, and there was no sign
of it with any of the other civilians.

“Bastard!” Craig whispered as he
realized he would never see that file again.

“Excuse me gentlemen,” Tagitt
said, “could I have your attention please?”

Silence settled over the assembly
as the pilots drifted towards several rows of plastic chairs set up in front of
the microphone. When all were settled, except for Craig and his companions who
chose to stand at the rear, Tagitt began slowly.

“On behalf of the US and allied governments,
I would like to formally welcome you back. You’ve been gone a long time and I
know you’re in a hurry to get home.” He cleared his throat.

“Why do I have the feeling we’re
about to be screwed?” Colonel Balard whispered uncomfortably.

“And that’s where we have a
little problem,” Tagitt continued. “You see, you men are not supposed to exist.
Considering the changes in the relationship between Russia and the West, your
existence has the potential to complicate relations. That’s something both
sides would like to avoid.”

Disgusted whispers rippled
through the room. One man called, “Well we’re not going back!”

Tagitt nodded diplomatically. “I
admit, mistakes were made. But you need to appreciate, this is a new time. Things
are different, and you are all still commissioned air force officers.”

“Wow! My back pay must be worth a
fortune!” one officer said, followed by laughter from a few of the others.

“And you’ll get every cent!”
Tagitt reassured him. “Gentlemen, I’m here on behalf of our respective
governments to offer you a very attractive proposition.”

“You’re not my type, sweetheart!”
Someone yelled, triggering more widespread laughter and a few wolf whistles.

Tagitt lifted his hand for quiet.
“No one expects you to re-enlist. Our people over there,” he motioned to a
group of civilians to the left holding folders full of papers, “have documents
for each of you to sign. As serving military officers, you are bound to secrecy
on matters of national and military security. These documents reinforce that
secrecy.”

Murmurs of confusion sounded from
the pilots.

“We don’t know anything!” an old
man called.

“You know where you’ve been, and
that is a secret you must keep for the rest of your lives. It is essential for
maintaining a peaceful and positive relationship between Russia and the West
that not a single word of your captivity ever gets out.”

“Screw that!”

“Fuck you.”

“In return for your cooperation,”
Tagitt continued, “you’ll each receive all your back pay plus interest and an
additional million dollars tax free. You’ll be given carefully prepared cover
stories to tell your families. The details will vary, but it will go something
like this: you were injured, you suffered memory loss – amnesia. You’ve
recently recovered and have no recollection of what happened after you were
shot down.”

“Yeah right! We made no attempt
to contact our families in all that time!”

“The truth is gentlemen,” Tagitt
said gently, “most of your wives have made new lives for themselves, but your
children will think you are heroes. Your communities will welcome you back with
open arms.” Dale Tagitt paused, waiting for the murmurs to die down. “Gentlemen,
I realize there may be some hostility toward this offer, however, you don’t
have a choice. We know you all revealed highly sensitive information about
allied air capabilities.”

“They tortured us!”

Tagitt nodded. “We understand. No-one’s
judging you. You endured the unendurable, and if you sign, any irregularities
will be expunged from your records. If you don’t sign, you’ll be charged with
treason, tried in secret in a military court, and will spend the rest of your
lives in a military prison. Your families will never know you are alive. You
have fifteen minutes to decide.”

 A stunned silence descended over
the group, then the old pilots began whispering among themselves.

Craig glanced at his father. “Will
they go for it?”

 “It doesn’t look like they have
a choice. They won’t like it, but they don’t want to spend another day in
prison.”

“If we could just get word out. Once
your existence is public knowledge, all this secrecy crap is out the window.”

“It’s not word that you want to
get out,” Valentina said, “It’s him!” She pointed at Craig’s father. “As soon
as his face is on television, there can be no cover up.”

“Nice idea,” Colonel Balard said,
“Except, we have no chance of getting a TV crew in here.”

“We don’t need to!” Craig said. “There’s
a dozen news helicopters out there, and God knows how many news crews in the
terminal.”

Colonel Balard glanced at the
closed doors, sealing them inside the emergency services garage. “What did you
have in mind?”

Craig looked thoughtful.
“General, do you think you could distract our hosts for a minute or two?”