Salby (Book 2): Salby Evolution (14 page)

“You are free to go at any time. My forces will assist you back over the border and will protect you while you remain with us. On the other hand, you could help us. It is your choice ...” Viktor left the thought hanging.

I wished we could turn back time, I wished it would all go away, back to the comfort of my normal monotony. Little did I know that south of my position, holed up on the outskirts of the small town of Chudo, forces were already preparing to put their plans in motion. Those plans would have a domino effect upon our immediate future.

Chudo, south of the Port of Murmansk, present day.

The day passed by without incident. At the logger’s cabin on the outskirts of Chudo, Yaromir had returned with ample supplies to see them to their final destination.

As the sun began to descend behind the mountain range, the three men packed their kit into the pick-up truck, ready to move.

“We should keep weapons at the ready, just in case we come across factionalists,” Yaromir advised.

His rebel comrades had spoken of activity in the foothills, skirmishes between the People’s Resistance Army, and ill-equipped, poorly organised splinter groups. That was nothing new in Russia. It happened in most parts of the country. If the different factions weren’t up in arms against the government, they were shooting each other. The Federation knew of the existence of the PRA, but so far, they had chosen not to act upon it after the initial slaughter and imprisonment. Now it was inevitable, only a matter of time.

All three men were dressed head to foot in black, and any potentially reflective areas were either taped or camo-creamed.

“Treat this journey as combat exercise.” Yaromir grinned. “My comrades know that we come, tonight. The trouble is, so could others. Be on your guard. When we approach stronghold, keep your weapons down.”

“How far out are we?” Stewey asked.

“Is maybe twenty minutes by road, then we go on foot another twenty. That’s if no trouble,” The Russian advised. He knew there would be.

The three men checked their kit, fitted two-way radio headsets and checked for frequency reception. Weapons were loaded, safeties on, ready to fire. As the town of Chudo faded behind them, swallowed by the blackness of night, rocky outcrops and expanses of coniferous forest claimed the terrain. From the main road out of Chudo, Yaromir took a little-used pass heading up the mountain. Only the vehicle sidelights were used to navigate the often twisted, serpentine track, and the pick-up’s suspension took a battering.

Up ahead, a plateau created a mid-point outpost between the stronghold and the rest of civilisation. Steel gates prevented further access up the mountain road. Numerous warnings adorned the heavy metal barriers and it was clear that a lot of effort had gone into keeping unwanted visitors out of what lay beyond.

Yaromir parked the pick-up, popped his door, and scanned the surrounding trees. “Come, this is as far as we go by truck. Now, we walk.”

Nathan and Stewey nodded, collected their kit from the back of the truck, and waited as Yaromir dug deep into his bag. He laid out a Russian sniper rifle equipped with an aged infrared scope, Glock sidearm, and rounds for both weapons.

“Toys,” Nathan smiled. “We have some toys of our own. Stewey, take a look over the surrounding woods with the thermal scanner. Let’s see if we have company.”

Nathan flipped the IR Gnome spotter scope over his main sight, adjusted the position on the mounts, and pulled his rifle into a firing position to check suitability. The barely audible, high-pitched whistle from the Gnome as it powered up resulted in a green, hazy hue illuminating the woodland slopes in invisible light. Stewey scanned the trees with the high-tech black box heat-seeker. Aside from a couple of small heat source indications, no bigger than small animals, it looked clear.

“We’re good to go. No significant contact,” Stewey announced.

“Da, good. We go. Five-metre spread, I will lead.” Yaromir stepped in front of Nathan and Stewey.

On either side of the gates, a corridor of razor-wired fences, far taller than any of them, stretched as far as the eye could see. Yaromir took a fork to the right of the barrier and they began to climb once more. Nathan and Stewey held back as instructed to form a five-metre triangular spread. Their formation gave them overlapping arcs of fire, should the need arise. It wouldn’t be long before the theory would be put to the test.

In such terrain, noise carried much farther than that of any built-up area. When nature claimed the landscape, it did so with a set design. Night creatures roamed, day creatures slept, and only the trees oversaw both realms. Noises not indigenous to the forest could only mean one thing.

Yaromir stopped in his tracks and dropped to the ground. Nathan followed suit as a sharp crack, followed by metal-on-metal contact, travelled down the slopes to their positions.

Stewey took cover behind a small rocky outcrop, which afforded him protection and a clear view either side. He pulled the heat scanner silently to bear upon the source of the sound. Yaromir and Nathan looked towards his position for a confirmatory signal, followed by signed instructions.

Stewey signed a thumbs-up – contact. Four fingers—four confirmed. Stewey indicated two high and left, two high and right. Nathan and Yaromir took defensive positions, the lead man low to the ground behind a thick fallen tree trunk. Nathan broke slightly left, to take cover behind a minor enclave in the otherwise steep incline. Another series of foliage cracks followed by the loading of a weapon pierced the night air—the sound less than a hundred yards from Nathan’s position. The three men held, silently waiting for their opponents to make a move. With their night vision scopes, Nathan and Yaromir had the advantage. Each picked out a target. Through his scope, Nathan could just see the top of a cloth-wrapped head. These were not regular soldiers, perhaps partisan or bounty hunters—a scouting party.

A flurry of cracks and pops over twig-and leaf-stricken mountainside decided the outcome. An animal, spooked by the foreign invaders to its homeland, made a dash between the opposing forces. The men on the higher ground opened fire, which confirmed their positions thanks to the muzzle flashes of their weapons. In the affray, rounds churned up the ground close to where the night creature fled. Nathan targeted the scarf-clad opponent and fired. The sound of his shot, muffled by the un-moderated fire of the aggressors, would barely have reached the ears of the insurgent before the bullet took away the top of his skull. One down.

The woodsman waited for the break in the onslaught of random, untargeted automatic weapons fire from above. When it came, Yaromir took out his intended mark with a single, hiccupped announcement from his rifle. Stewey rolled to his right and peppered the position of the soldier he’d marked closest to him with the aid of the night scanner, the AK-102 spitting rounds effortlessly. With no night scope, his best guess was sustained fire, and would at least create a distraction. His actions drew immediate retaliation from the two remaining combatants, opening a brief window of manoeuvre for his colleagues to gain ground. Bullets pinged past him, a few too close for comfort, though it was clear that the shooters had no night vision technology. Clumps of earth and leaves were kicked up in the volley, and tree bark splintered as the rounds kept coming. Only after two successive, muffled exhales did the onslaught of weapons fire cease.

Serenity returned to the mountain forest. Radio silence was broken for the first time.

“Four down. Hold for scan.” Stewey announced. After a short interlude, his familiar Scottish twang graced their headsets once more. “We’re clear. Proceed with caution.”

*****

The three soldiers cautiously approached the first of the enemy positions. Stewey stood guard covering the second known position, as Nathan and Yaromir attempted to identify the source of the skirmish. Of the two bodies, the first missing a large portion of his skull, both wore different arrays of military-style clothing. Nathan guessed these men were poorly trained guerrilla fighters, probably one of the many militia outfits operating inside the Russian Federation. The initial outburst of tell-tale
clack-clack-clack
fire confirmed the use of AK-47 weapons, not the most accurate but favoured by such forces because of their reliability and ease of maintenance. None of the dead men carried formal identification.

“These men, they were young. Likely wanted to take us alive as trophies,” Yaromir stated.

“Well, they won’t be going home tonight. Gather the weapons and ammunition, we’ll hide the bodies. Reckon you could have some of your comrades pick them up tomorrow?” Stewey asked.

“Da, we can do that. For now, we go to the base.”

The three of them collected the automatic weapons, sidearms, and ammunition from the four deceased soldiers. Nathan and Stewey cut foliage enough to cover the bodies from view. With a final sweep of the immediate area, they began to head back up the slope, along the winding mountain path towards the stronghold. No more than ten minutes into the hike, Nathan pointed to a flash signal from up ahead. Yaromir instructed them to stop and take cover, yet he remained standing in his forwards position this time.

Nathan and Stewey took defensive positions to the left and right of Yaromir respectively, low to the ground, covered by overhanging foliage. Soldiers approached from the top of a ridge some way in the distance, and they were moving fast. In mere minutes, they were within speaking distance of Yaromir. He seemed to know them.

“Privet moy drug, Petrov,” Yaromir boomed.

A striking, young, blond soldier approached the bulky woodsman, his hand lost in the big man’s palm as he shook heartily, welcoming him.

“My uslyshali vystrely i prishli tak bistro, kak my mogli by,” the youngster replied.

“Nathan, Stewey. It is, how you say … all right? These men are our friends. Petrov said he heard shots from the compound and came as soon as he could. Come, let me introduce.” Yaromir smiled.

The two hidden operatives broke cover, weapons lowered as previously instructed upon reaching the soldiers of the rebel army. Yaromir continued to smile, glad, it seemed, to be in familiar company.

“Hi, fellas. I’m Stewey, this here’s Nathan.”

“Dobro pozhalovat—welcome, my friends,” Petrov announced, his hand outstretched to the Scotsman.

Yaromir gave the young soldier a brief description of the skirmish and instructed the men to recover the bodies of the dead. It seemed that this was nothing new, just another day of localised war and ultimately, death.

The men set about wrapping the bodies and building makeshift stretchers to move them back to the base. Yaromir explained the presence of two British soldiers to Petrov in more detail.

In the far distance, the lights of the Port of Murmansk twinkled through the trees. Nathan thought of the few miles separating him from the woman he loved, of the danger she was ultimately in, and of the urge to see her once again.

At the Federation port base, the situation was about to get much worse for the occupants.

Russian Federation base, Port of Murmansk, present day.

Commander Rostok lay stable, his breathing rhythmic and calm after the operation to remove the bullet. Aslanov smiled. Next, he would look in on the other casualty, Political Officer Vadik. He changed from his scrubs, bagged the bloodied garments, and tossed them into the yellow chemical waste bin outside the makeshift theatre.

“Take our patient through to the recovery area. See that he does not wake—he needs rest,” Aslanov instructed a junior assistant.

“Yes, Doctor. Right away,” the young woman replied.

Next, Aslanov scrubbed. The ritual before and after surgery was akin to breathing to any surgeon of note. The melodic swirl of the water as it drained brought him back down from the dizzy heights of world domination in his mind. First, the business of the virus, the key to his success. Much work lay ahead to formulate and decode the samples, he thought.

“Da… the samples. But first, Vadik,” he grinned.

As he dried, dressed, and eyed the reflection of the man in the mirror, Aslanov saw not that of a highly talented viral biochemist in servitude to the Federation—no, he saw the leader of the new world order. He winked at his own effigy, turned with vigour to his step, and went to check on his wounded comrade.

*****

Evie sat with Charles in the canteen, the space limited due to the time of day and amount of staff present. As Charles spoke, her mind drifted towards Nathan. Was he okay? Had he found the missing passengers from the ship? If only she could speak to him directly, warn him of events unfolding just yards from where she sat.

“Charles? Is there any way to talk to Cross and Stewall?”

“We’ve been trying to reach them. The spooks tell me they picked up a trace on their position. There’s a mountain range several miles from here called
Gora Lyavochorr. Stewall sent an encrypted status update an hour ago, from Chudo, at the base of the mountains. It seems they encountered some resistance—relax, they are both alive and well. They have also found allies. The base is known to us as that of the People’s Resistance Army, a well-funded military operation opposed to the government. Stewall believes our missing people were taken there, either by force or they went by their own choice,” Charles concluded.

“Do they know Aslanov has viral samples?” Evie’s brow furrowed.

“No, not yet. We’re hoping that they can secure the release of the couple without conflict. The less they know about Aslanov right now, given their imminent proximity to the rebels, the better.” Charles continued, “So far, they’ve not come across Federation men. Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“I need to go back to the lab and finish up. I’ve more to pack away.”

“I’ll go and inform Commander Rostok that we are about ready to depart. Funny, I haven’t seen him around for a little while,” Charles recalled.

“Be careful, Fitz.”

“I’m sure everything will be all right. We’ll be out of here in two hours, back to familiar ground. Try not to worry, my dear.”

Charles stood and escorted Evie to the corridor outside the canteen. A final, endearing squeeze of her arm saw Evie go left to her lab and Charles right, for a meeting with Commander Rostok.

*****

Aslanov breezed into the examination room as if gravity itself held no grip. “Comrade, how is that arm? You fared better than Rostok.”

“Is he alive still? We took fire from rebels, there must have been four or five of them, I didn’t get a clear enough view in the chaos,” Vadik explained.

“Relax, my friend. Rostok lives, for now. Let’s take a look at that wrist of yours. You are lucky, an inch to the left and you would have lost it at the joint. He could have killed you, you know, the shooter,” Aslanov sneered.

“Vengeance will follow swiftly. How bad is it?” Vadik winced.

“Well, let me see. This may sting a little,” Aslanov warned. He carefully took the mangled left hand in his own and attempted to straighten the clawed digits one by one.

“Ahhhhh! Ahhhhhhheeech!” Vadik screamed.

“Hmm, that’s not good. I’ll give you a mild sedative, it’ll help you relax. Combined with some stronger painkillers, it should allow me to take a better look in an hour or so, and see what can be done to save your fingers. The bullet seems to have severed tendons. For now, rest. I have work to do on the samples you obtained. Hold still, this will pinch for a moment,” Aslanov advised, as he inserted a syringe into the forearm of the political officer.

He swabbed the point of entry on Vadik’s arm, smiled, and left instructions for the patient to rest. Until the sedative and pain relief kicked in, nothing besides covering the wound could be done. He left Vadik cradling his shattered wrist.

The samples lay where he left them upon his desk, two vials retrieved from the
Baltic Wanderer
, one of which had set his pulse racing. Aslanov picked up the vial containing the unidentified jelly, intent on solving the mystery. He conducted a number of tests and microscopic analyses, documenting the initial results. His work would see him occupied well into the night.

*****

Evie closed the door to her lab. She entered a code on the electronic pad to seal herself inside. The warning beacon on the outside changed to red to alert potential visitors of the risk within.

Gloved, masked, and suited, she pulled the vial from her pocket. Evie carefully applied a minute amount to a swab and transferred the sample to a slide. Re-sealing the vial, she placed it back into her pocket for safekeeping. Through the microscope, the black-flecked substance, though no longer active, clearly bore the signs of her creation. She noted significant differences. Further magnification revealed that the individual cells had merged, something she’d never seen before in the testing of the original strains.

Without delay, Evie began to run basic tests, emulating those of her nemesis, Aslanov. Various machines spewed forth extended tongues of paper offerings, numbers and graphs that to Evie were as simple as reading a book. Such was her immersion in her task that all concept of time eluded her. The intercom buzzed, the monotone noise startled her from her mission.

“Yes, what is it?” Evie snapped.

“Dr Shepherd. We really must be going. The chopper has arrived, Evie,” Charles informed.

“Oh, yes. Sorry, Fitz. Hold on, I’ll release the locks, maybe you can help me finish up and carry some equipment?”

As the locks disengaged, Evie grabbed the printouts from the machines, hastily stuffing them into her laptop bag, along with the computer. Charles entered with his usual warm smile, curious to know what had kept his colleague from being ready to move.

“What on Earth have you been doing all this time?” Charles queried.

“I’ll fill you in when we’re on the helicopter, far away from here.”

“Come. We have to leave, now.”

*****

At his desk, Aslanov began to tremble once more. This time, it was not the prospect of infinite power, nor the vision of an unbeatable army which piqued his emotion. No, the results of the initial tests upon the unidentified jelly had been confirmed. Hair softener. His fisted hands slammed into the desktop with such ferocity that numerous items fell to the floor at his feet. A stack of papers fluttered in crazy flight to the ground.

“Arghhhh, Net! Vadik,
nekompetentnym durak!” he cursed.

His chair clattered across the floor, propelled as he stood. Swift strides to the door of the lab saw it bounce from the metallic wall, a dent indicating the sheer force of his exit.

“
Vadiiiiiiiik!
”

From his bed, Vadik pushed himself up from the pillows, his elbows on either side to support his weight. Aslanov grabbed the man’s uniform at the chest and pulled his face towards his own. Close enough to the patient that the spittle ejected with his words to spatter Vadik, he vented his anger.

“
Vadik! You arrogant imbecile! You’re an ass—an incompetent ass!”

“What? Hold your tongue, Aslanov. You forget to whom you address,” Vadik snapped.

“I address a fool. The samples, the ones you brought from the ship. Hair softener, you idiot!” Aslanov ranted.

“That cannot be. The team swabbed and collected from all over the vessel. They took everything with potential. You are sure?” Vadik babbled.

“You question me? You question
my
abilities?” Aslanov hissed.

“Someone must have switched them. I saw the samples with my own eyes. I oversaw the very collection when the substance was found. We have a traitor inside the complex,” Vadik offered.

Aslanov paused. The statement of the political officer may yet hold weight. It wouldn’t have been impossible for someone to gain access to his lab, someone with clearance, seen to have been there before. That someone would have to know the significance of the substance found. His mind began to churn. With as much haste as his entrance, Aslanov whipped around and left.

“Aslanov! Aslanov, my hand—” Vadik called after the doctor, in vain.

The biochemist flung open the door to his laboratory for the second time in under an hour. The hollow boom, created by the metal-to-metal contact, reverberated throughout the corridors.

He focused first on the remaining papers which adorned his desk, tossing the various documents in his haste to find just one. His temper began to rise again as he checked the drawers and cabinets and emptied the contents of his briefcase. There, on the floor at his feet was the document he sought. He knelt, analysing the page, the signature at the bottom denoting its creator. He stood slowly, his gaze now upon the two vial samples that remained upright on his desk. As both sample and paper were placed side by side, the similarity dawned. The slight variance in the colour of the ink confirmed his suspicions—Dr Shepherd must be spoken to.

“You men, follow me!” Aslanov barked to the guards, as he stormed from his lab.

The door to Evelyn’s lab shook in its frame, finally buckled at the top hinge, and hung at a crazy angle to reveal the empty laboratory.

“Search it!” Aslanov bellowed.

His men tore the place apart. Machines fell from the desks, disintegrating upon the metal floor, and papers flew as drawers were ripped from cabinets.

“Find the two English doctors. Immediately!” Aslanov screamed.

The guards jostled from the ransacked laboratory, set to task. Aslanov made haste to the
Baltic Wanderer
, which would be the most likely place to find the two treacherous doctors. He approached with his rage barely held in check. The guard glanced at his pass and waved him through.

Aslanov stopped and faced the guard. “The two British doctors, male and female, have they been here today, soldier?”

“No, Sir!”

“What do you know of them?” Aslanov persisted.

“We have orders that they are no longer to be granted access, sir. They are due to leave soon if they haven’t already flown. A helicopter touched down an hour ago to take them. If it’s still here, it will be at the landing pad, Chief Science Officer, Sir.”

“Ah! Good. Thank you. You have been most helpful,” Aslanov sneered.

The soldier quivered beneath his uniform as the doctor turned on his heels in the direction of the helicopter pad.

*****

Gladstone and Portman, the two spooks sent as backup to escort Doctors Shepherd and Fitzgerald, packed their kit into the sleek, black helicopter. Ground crews of the Federation attended fuel and servicing as the pilots completed their pre-flight checks. Charles and Evelyn arrived at the pad, laden with yet more boxes for the flight back to the Tenerife base.

“I’m sure we didn’t have this much when we arrived,” Charles smiled. “I’m looking forward to a decent meal.”

“Yes, me too. I’ll be glad when we’re away from this place, I have to say,” Evie commented.

“It looks as if we’re ready to do just that. I couldn’t find Commander Rostok or Political Officer Vadik, come to think of it. Our friend, Aslanov, was nowhere to be seen either. I left word with the guard Captain of our departure.”

The pilot pushed various switches in the cockpit as the engine began to whine. A double thumbs-up from the ground crew told him they were ready to fly. The rotors turned lazily, unwilling to leave behind their rested state. Operatives, Gladstone and Portman helped their charges into the aircraft and closed the doors with an okay signal to the pilot. The whine from the engine kicked up a notch as the power to the whirling blades increased, spinning them ever faster. Portman drew his sidearm, and Gladstone soon followed.

“What are you doing?” Charles demanded.

“Sir, look.” Portman gestured with his Colt.

Through the dark tinted windows, soldiers circled the aircraft, weapons aimed in the direction of the pilot and occupants.

Evie looked through the window. “What the hell—?”

*****

Aslanov stood at the front of the helicopter, his gun aimed at the pilot, guards on either side of him. “Pilot, stop and turn off your engine, now!” He demanded.

The pilot turned in his seat. “Sir, what should we do?”