Salby (Book 2): Salby Evolution (18 page)

Gora Lyavochorr rebel mountain stronghold, present day.

The scene before me reminded me of one witnessed many times in the annual repeats of
The Guns of Navarone
, every Christmas. Banks of radio receivers, attended by headset-adorned operators, flashed, beeped and crackled. On the far wall, satellite communications technology relied upon data decryption devices to decode and translate intercepted messages. In a nutshell, I was in the eardrum of the mountain. An air of professionalism and clinical efficiency crackled through the background noise. Nathan remained at my side as we approached Staff Sergeant Stewall.

“Any luck, Stewey?” Nathan queried.

“I’ve managed to raise Tenerife, filled them in on what we know, and what we’re planning. I tried Dr Shepherd’s satellite phone too, no response. It’s either not switched on or broken, sorry, Nate.”

I felt for Nathan in that instant. Not for the first time since I arrived had I wondered about how my ex-wife and children were. It was a relief to know they were alive. I could only hope we all lived to see our way back to those we held dear.

The numbers of armed personnel had increased tenfold in the past two days. A radio operator approached, a single piece of paper in her hand.

“Sergeant Stewall?” the young woman queried.

“It’s Staff! Yes, can I help you, sweetheart?” Stewall smiled.

He was flirting with her, and his boyish smile bolstered the charm despite the obvious age gap.

“You want to get a room, Stewey?” Nathan winked.

“Take no notice, he’s only jealous. What can I do for you?” Stewey asked again.

“Apologies, Staff. We have intercepted a radio message from Murmansk. It’s on VHF. We think it is from your people at the port.”

The two soldiers immediately switched back to military mode, all ears tuned to the pretty young operator.

“Go ahead, please,” Stewall urged.

“The message is for you, Staff Sergeant, and Sergeant Cross. It reads: Aslanov holds us captive. Portman is down. Viral samples acquired—use caution. We will await your signal before attempting escape or distract. End. The transmission was very brief, Staff Sergeant. We have received no other signal from that origin, and we were unable to respond before the connection was lost.

“Very well. Thank you. Keep monitoring that frequency, just in case, they may be able to transmit more intel. I’ll take the transcript to Viktor,” Stewall stated.

The operator handed the slip of paper over, turned and went back to her console.

“What are you thinking, Chris?” I asked, tentatively.

His eyes met mine as he contemplated his answer. “I’d like to roll down there and get our people back. I’d also like to drill Aslanov,” he said, simply.

I smiled at his to-the-point response, but Nathan saw things differently. I could feel it in him. “Nathan, your thoughts?” I pushed.

Nathan looked directly at his senior, Stewall. They were best mates, brothers-in-arms, and the bond between them was so strong. I could sense it in Nathan as he spoke.

“They have the viral samples, which means Aslanov has it. If he has it, we’re in a world of shit. He’ll use it, you know that, don’t you?” Nathan addressed both of us. “He’s itching for a war. We have more to consider than just our people, mate. This could go global and fast. You’ll get your shot at Aslanov, but we need backup and a watertight plan of action before we move on the port. Agreed?”

“Aye, agreed, mate,” Stewall conceded.

I watched Nathan’s expression soften. Clearly the worry over his partner, Evie, in the hands of a madman, caused him considerable stress.

“Okay. Let’s bring Viktor up to speed on the comms, get a heads-up on his plans, and meet with the troop commanders. We’ll need schematics of the port layout and aerials of the makeshift base there. We need to know how many ground troops they have, as well as any heavy armour. We’ll need a terrain assessment of the surrounding area,” Stewall stated.

“What do you want
us
to do?” I tilted my head towards Barbie.

A couple of days ago, you couldn’t tie your own shoelaces without the aid of a bottle. What? Now you think you’re some kind of hero? You forget you’re a freak of nature!
I felt my fists clench at my hips.

Nathan moved to my side, clearly aware of the situation. He spoke calmly. “You should get some rest if you can. If you want to help, here, monitor the radio just in case our team tries to get through.” He gave me a knowing smile, and passed over the portable VHF radio-scanner.

I was grateful for the opportunity to focus my mind on something other than my own battles.

“I’ll give you a crash course in it while Stewey meets with Viktor,” he added.

“Okay,” Stewall announced, “that’s the plan for now. We’ll meet up in the mess at 1900 hours.”

*****

From the panoramic two-way mirrored observational wall above the communications room, Janishka Seuchencko watched the two British soldiers. She knew them well, having studied them from intelligence reports and with her undercover work at the Dishforth base in the UK. Her cover, as Corporal Jane Simms, needed to remain intact. As far as the British Army was aware, she was on authorised leave after the outbreak had been brought under control.

Her father sat in an oversized, black leather chair, his posture relaxed in the presence of his daughter. “Jani? What troubles you?”

“I want in when we go for the port. Those people down there, the prisoners, I know them—at least, two of them. We can’t risk the two soldiers there discovering who I am. I mean, they know me as Corporal Jane Simms, and we need her, Papa,” she replied.

“Ah, Jani. Did I not teach you to be impartial, especially when it comes to people?” Viktor posed.

“Yes, Papa. You did, but without
those
people, and the two at the port, I may not have come back to you at all. We owe them. I owe them. The outbreak made you millions and was bigger than even we could have expected. The least we can do is balance the scales. Aslanov has the virus, one of the team is down, possibly dead. He will use it against our people and anyone who stands in his way,” Janishka stated.

“He will,” Viktor acknowledged and smiled, “and he has a debt of his own to repay.”

“Then I can go with the troops when we move on the port?” Janishka asked.

“I have that in hand, Jani. All in good time. Now, why don’t you go and freshen up. I think a change will do you good.” Viktor gave his daughter a single, knowing nod.

*****

Nathan showed Barbie and me the basics of the portable scanner-slash-radio. I was amazed at just how many frequencies it could tap into, let alone the other tricks this gadget was capable of. It seemed fairly simple, and Barbie grasped the concept of it with ease. How she came by such technical skills was beyond me. It was as if she had somehow morphed from the time I coerced her out of the wardrobe in the DIY store, to this point, acquiring a complete new skillset. With the dawn of each day, she seemed to gain more knowledge, awareness and abilities. My uncle once served in the army, though I forget exactly what it was he did. I was only young when he died.

“How does the heat scanner work?” Barbie pressed.

“You’d make a fine recruit, Barbara. Here, let me show you.” Nathan smiled.

This man, this soldier, his outward aura at contrast to the man inside, had the patience of a saint. He was worldly, which was the only way I can describe him. I felt his confidence, though it hid an underlying sorrow, deep-rooted and suppressed—not unlike my own feelings of loss.

Barbie exuded excitement as if she had waited her whole, short life for an opportunity like this to come along. In any other life, I’d have laughed at her dream, and yet, here we were. I was tuned in to both of them, their emotions and feelings streamed into my psyche like a downloaded MP3 file to my brain. I could only assume the connection was two-way, reciprocated between the three of us, though Barbie didn’t seem as acutely aware as I was.

Half an hour passed with radio instruction and demonstration. By the closing display, Barbie and I were confident about the operation of the new equipment we had been charged with. We agreed to manage the device in six hour stints, one on, one off. I sensed her desire to be with Petrov, and who was I to stand in the way of love?

Pity you didn’t think that way with Charley, isn’t it?

“Goddammit be quiet!” I yelled.

Barbie flew back from me with a start. Her eyes locked onto mine in a stare of pure panic.

Nathan turned me by the shoulders, his nose millimetres from my own. “We’re cool, right?” he whispered.

“What? Oh, yes. Sorry. Barbie I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” I attempted.

“Barbie, why don’t you go and see if Petrov needs a hand with anything,” Nathan offered.

“I, um, yes. Okay. Sir, are you okay? Simon?” Barbie asked nervously.

“He’s fine, Barbie. It’s just a little fatigue, that’s all. It happens to the best of us, right, Simon?” Nathan urged.

“Yes, Barbie. That’s right. What he said, fatigue. You go to Petrov. I’ll take the first stint on the radio,” I smiled.

Nathan waited as Barbie pulled on her jacket. He smiled at her in reassurance that everything would be all right, I could only offer her an apologetic shrug before she turned in search of young Petrov. I glanced back towards the Nathan, the furrows at his brow betraying his concern at my outburst.

“You and I need to talk,” Nathan stated firmly.

Laboratory of Dr Kazimir Aslanov, Russian Federation base, Murmansk, present day.

In full biochemical protection, Dr Aslanov began to isolate the virus from the residual jelly, which was once human blood. Several hours into his tests, driven by pure adrenaline, Aslanov breathed out a weary sigh, followed by a low, twisted laugh. The process seemed to be so easy, compared to the creation of the VX strain many years ago.

The groundwork analysis, blueprints for the virus itself, had been found on the laptop retrieved from Dr Shepherd. The initial test results of the first strain, type Y, indicated little or no cognitive skills within infected victims. More worryingly, the lifespan of a carrier appeared to be less than two weeks at best.

What confused Aslanov was not the formulae before him, but the evidence seated in the observation room just a few feet away. According to Dr Shepherd’s research, Dimitri should have been dead weeks ago, yet there he sat, very much alive and improving with each passing hour. Without original samples of the documented strain for comparison, the exact differences between it and what he had now isolated, couldn’t be fully known.

Aslanov began to culture the viral cells using a series of petri dishes, his plan was to introduce them to a carrier solution, which would evaporate in air to leave behind the deadly cargo. He would reproduce the agent into a basic aerosol form, and contain it somehow, with a view to mass release for the finale.

*****

An army of reinforcements arrived, despatched at the request of Political Officer Vadik, from Moscow. The troops, ranging in capabilities, proceeded to set up camp for the coming weeks. The arrival of the additional men saw stage two of the plan complete.

Vadik walked confidently to the laboratory of his associate. The sheer number of his newly acquired army gave him ever more bravado. “Aslanov? Is it safe?” Vadik’s voice crackled through the basic intercom of the lab.

“It is safe. You may enter,” Aslanov stated.

The airlock seal hissed as the door swung outwards. Aslanov approached with his hand outstretched, something he had never done before. Their subtle power struggle was common knowledge all over the base, and yet, it seemed as though Aslanov had finally accepted his place as second-in-command, Vadik thought.

“Andre,” Aslanov smiled, his grip firm as he shook his comrade’s hand.

“Aslanov, you are in fine spirits, I see,” Vadik countered, suspicious of the doctor’s mood.

“I have good news. I have isolated the viral cells and am cultivating them as we speak. In just a few days, I will be able to give you enough to assimilate our army. When I have the first prototype ready for testing, I will come to find you.” Aslanov grinned.

“You have done well,
our
army has just arrived, they are preparing now. I must say, I like the more amicable person you have become.” Vadik smiled.

“What do you mean?”

“It is just an observation, nothing more.”

“You know, Andre, my mother had the patience of a saint. She worked with the elderly for many years,” Aslanov mused.

“Da, comrade. I think you finally inherited some of her good qualities.” Vadik chuckled at his own jibe.

“What did you say?” Aslanov quipped, “about inheritance? Yes, that’s it! That’s the missing piece of the puzzle between the data and the reality. Come, let me introduce you to Dimitri.”

“What are you talking about? I meant nothing by that. Who is Dimitri, and what’s with the sunglasses? We’re indoors!”

“Come, come. You will understand soon enough,” Aslanov urged, heading for the observation room.

Dimitri sat on the only bed, his attention focused on the food before him. Since his recovery, it seemed that his appetite had no respite. Nothing he could eat would satiate the desire for more food.

“Dimitri, you look better each time I see you,” Aslanov began. “This is Political Officer Vadik.”

“Comrade Vadik,” Dimitri nodded, before turning back to the doctor. “Sir, I need more food.”

“I will have some brought as soon as we have spoken. Relax,” Aslanov stated.

“Yes, sir. Very well.”

“Now, Andre. Meet our first recruit. This is Dimitri, the only other survivor to come from the
Baltic Wanderer
. You will notice his eyes. He is infected with the virus and yet perfectly sentient, aware, and alert. You’ll also note that he has an ever-increasing appetite and will follow orders given to him without question.” Aslanov smiled, introducing Dimitri as though he were his latest pet dog, to be patted and made to roll over on command. “Soon, Andre, we will have an army of men like him. An army ready to fight for our cause.” Aslanov beamed.

“He’s infected, and you let him roam unrestrained. Is that wise?” Vadik asked with a hint of fear in his tone.

Aslanov stared directly at Dimitri. “Kill him!”

Dimitri sprang from the bed, the food scattering across the floor. His hands clamped around the political officer’s throat, an expression of surprise and sheer panic formed upon Vadik’s face as his attacker began to squeeze.

“Asla—aaah … what are you—?” The sentence was left hanging as Vadik struggled to suck in air and tried to plead for his life.

Dimitri pushed his victim backwards into the wall of the lab, his grip tightening as he began to lift Vadik by the throat clear of the floor.

“Enough!” Aslanov yelled. “Release him, now!”

Instantly, as if a remote control had been operated, Dimitri let go of Vadik’s throat and took a couple of steps backwards, his eyes locked on the doctor.

Vadik fell to his knees, gasping for breath. “You, you’re crazy!” Vadik spluttered.

“No, Andre. Not crazy. My men will be under my control entirely. They
will
do as commanded, as you have seen,” Aslanov sneered. “Now, you will remember
your
place and to whom
you
address.”

The anger inside the doctor had been perfectly disguised since Vadik arrived. Vadik had lowered his guard, fooled by the softer, more reasonable outward appearance initially exuded by the man.

Vadik stood, visibly shaken, he pulled the front of his military jacket downwards and straightened his tie. “I will address the reinforcements, Doctor Aslanov.”

“When the troops are settled, we will start the assimilation process. I already have one subject to begin with,” Aslanov lifted one eyebrow and glanced at his manicured fingernails as he sniggered. “Commander Rostok.”

Vadik’s mood darkened considerably as he left the laboratory. He began to question his own motives, to doubt the loyalty of his chosen associate, and to worry about what the future after the revolution might hold.

Once Vadik had left, Kazimir Aslanov returned to his work with the cultivation of more viral cells, having put the political officer firmly in his place. He would need enough to assimilate the entire base, or risk a revolution within the revolution before it truly began.

*****

Gladstone lowered himself back into the makeshift cell, greeted by the eager stares of Doctors Shepherd and Fitzgerald.

“You made it. Splendid, indeed.” Charles gave the operative a hearty handshake, simultaneously patting his shoulder.

“I managed to get a couple of messages out. Let’s just hope that they weren’t intercepted by the base comms here. For now, I suggested that we will wait for a signal back, before we try to get out of here. There’s a whole army out there. More troops arrived in the last few hours. It has begun,” Gladstone warned.

“Did you manage to contact Cross and Stewall?” Evie aske hopefully.

“I sent a message to their portable, Ma’am. The terrain and weather conditions could affect the ability to receive, though. All we can do is hope that someone, somewhere, picked up the distress call and that it wasn’t Federation ears,” Gladstone replied. “Any news on Portman, how’s he doing?”

“He’s stable. His vitals have levelled off and he seems peaceful. We will keep him under for as long as we can to aid his recovery. We’ve had no more intrusion from our captors either, though we have been busy making them a few surprises.” Charles tapped his nose with his forefinger.

“If the time comes, we will need to move fast. We should find a way to move Portman, even if he’s out of it,” Gladstone urged.

“We’ll get onto it right away. We could perhaps make a basic stretcher from the table. It would do the job for a short distance, at least,” Evie suggested.

The door to the lab rattled open. Two guards, one with his weapon aimed squarely at the occupants of the cell, entered with food and drink. They said nothing, simply leaving the small serving trolley just inside the door before retreating.

“At least they’re feeding us,” Gladstone quipped.

High up in the rebel encampment, preparations were well underway for the assault on the port below. Hundreds of well-armed, well trained troops stood ready to move, alongside two people in a world away from their own, yet equally willing.