by Jack Mars
He didn’t want to hurt her. He wasn’t sure he could even bring himself to hurt her. Every memory of everything his two daughters had been through because of him came swooping into his brain, colliding into one another like a traffic jam.
The girl, Mischa, bent slowly, not taking her eyes off of Zero. Even as crocodile tears formed in her eyes, she picked up the Beretta at her feet.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
Maria kept the stock to her shoulder and her finger on the trigger of the stolen AK-12 as she hurried out of the administrative building and toward the western facility. This group had been thorough; not only had they learned Russian, but they’d even made sure to acquire Russian-made weapons, and good ones at that. The AK-12 was a newer Kalashnikov model, based on the AK-400 prototype and only put into production in 2018.
But now was hardly the time to appreciate their choice in weaponry. All she’d heard from the static-filled partial message she’d received from Kent was that he’d found someone dead, which suggested he was on the right track.
“Todd,” she said urgently into the radio, “I’m en route to Kent’s location. He found something. You copy?”
“Copy,” Strickland replied. “I’ve got a survivor over here, but she’s in bad shape. Should I…?”
Maria could tell by the hesitation in his voice that he didn’t want to suggest aloud that he abandon the woman. “Do what you can there,” she ordered. “Then get here. Backup should be here any moment.”
“Roger,” Strickland confirmed.
She didn’t actually know if backup would be there any moment. Their nearest resources were in DC, and even by the speediest helicopter it would take at least twelve minutes for them to arrive. It had been no more than half that since she’d made the call.
With the AK-12 at the ready, Maria stole quickly along the smooth concrete of the one-story structure to the western side of the facility. She spotted a steel door with no handle and a keypad entry. It was closed. She grunted in irritation and rounded the corner, but there did not seem to be any other entrance point.
She cursed aloud, wishing Kent would radio in again. With no other recourse, she doubled back to the steel door, put a palm against it, and gave it a small push.
To her surprise, it gave way.
“Clever,” she whispered to herself as she noted the tiny pebble that had been lodged in the jamb. The door had appeared to be closed, but however Kent had gotten in, he must have had the foresight to prop it open in an almost imperceptible way.
“Steel door on the southern façade,” she told Strickland in the radio. “It looks closed, but it’s propped open. Get here as soon as you can.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. She shoved the door open and led with the assault rifle. The corridor was dimly lit and seemingly empty. After making sure the pebble was still in place, she headed quickly down the hall as quietly as she could, taking shallow breaths through her nose.
The corridor stretched on straight ahead, but there was a corner coming up on her left. She wished she knew which way Kent had gone, could track him somehow…
A shape flew around the corner mere feet away from Maria, startling her. She hadn’t even heard the footsteps—but she recognized in an instant the shock of blazing red hair.
It’s her. The Russian.
“Stop!” Maria cried.
The woman froze for an instant, her eyes as wide and surprised as Maria’s must have been—but the woman didn’t hang around. She sprinted for the straightaway beyond.
She didn’t know why she even bothered to shout. They never stopped.
As much as Maria wanted to take the woman alive, she couldn’t risk losing her again. She took careful aim and squeezed the trigger.
The woman sprawled forward as a burst of automatic gunfire tore the air. Her body fell roughly to the concrete floor. Maria’s ears rang; the shots sounded twice as loud in the echoing corridor.
I got her.
She advanced slowly, keeping the assault rifle aloft as she approached the body. The redheaded woman was on her stomach, arms and legs splayed akimbo, unmoving.
Maria frowned. The lighting was dim, but not so much that she couldn’t tell there were no bullet holes torn in the woman’s back.
She didn’t see the foot until it was too late. A heel came up, bending at an unnaturally flexible angle, and kicked at the barrel of the assault rifle. Maria’s torso twisted with the force of it, and before she could right herself the Russian woman flipped over and sat up, at the same time sending a fist into Maria’s right thigh. The blow buckled her knee and she fell down upon it, smacking her patella painfully against concrete.
She missed. The woman had flopped to the ground a mere instant before the bullets would have shredded into her.
The Russian rolled swiftly backward and sprang to her feet. Maria didn’t bother standing; she twisted back around as she brought the rifle up again. Not aiming, not even bringing the stock to her shoulder, just pointing forward and pulling the trigger—
Click!
The magazine was empty. A surge of dread washed over her as Maria realized she’d grabbed up a weapon that had only a few rounds in it. In her haste, she hadn’t even checked.
But it was still a weapon.
As the redheaded woman leapt forward, Maria stood and swung the assault rifle around like a club. But the Russian twisted with it, taking a weak slap across the chest and grabbing onto it with both hands. For a moment they struggled against each other for possession of it.
Then the Russian let go.
Maria staggered back a step, enough to put some space between them, and enough time for the redhead to deliver a chopping blow to her left supraspinatus, the muscle atop her shoulder. Her entire arm involuntarily went limp, and the Russian yanked the assault rifle away from her.
Before Maria could get her hands up, the stock of the weapon came flying at her forehead.
The strike knocked her flat on her back, but she barely felt the impact. Her brain rattled against her skull. Stars swam in her vision, and all Maria could do was wait for the next blow, for the stock to come down again on her head.
But it never came. Maria forced herself to sit up, pain throbbing in her head. Her vision was blurred, but she saw the flash of red hair sprinting away down the corridor.
The redheaded woman wasn’t interested in waiting around and killing her. She apparently had more important things to do—like melting down the reactor.
Maria staggered to her feet and gave chase. She shook the fuzziness from her head and commanded herself to focus. The hall turned to the right, and then opened into a wide, well-lit circular room.
The first thing she noticed was the Russian, with her back to Maria, at a control panel on the farthest side of the chamber. All around her, encompassing the entire round room, were control panels of hundreds of buttons and levers, monitors and keyboard, diodes and dials.
There were two bodies on the floor, both wearing white lab coats.
“Stop,” Maria demanded again, knowing it was a futile order.
The Russian had her hand on a black lever. She half-turned to Maria with a smirk on her lips. “You are too late. The coolant flow has been stopped. And now…”
She pulled the lever. The white lights overhead blinked out. For a moment Maria’s breath caught in her throat as they were plunged into darkness. Then red lights in the wall flashed on, throwing the room into an eerie glow.
“Backup power has been shut off,” the Russian told her. She brought the stock of the assault rifle up in both hands, and then smashed it down upon the control panel, snapping the lever cleanly off. “It cannot be restored. You cannot stop the meltdown. In two to three minutes, we will both be dead.”
Maria’s throat ran dry. If that was true, two to three minutes wasn’t enough time for any help to arrive. Or they would, just in time to experience the fallout firsthand. If there was any way to stop it, she wouldn’t have the first clue which of the thousands of keys an
d dials around her might do that.
Her first instinct was to run, to get out of there, get in the car and speed away. But she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t leave Kent and Todd behind.
She wished he was there with her. She wished she knew where he was. If they were going to die there, she could only wish that he would be in her arms when they did.
She still loved him. That much was clear. And that longing, along with the knowledge that she might never see him again, congealed into rage.
“Well,” said Maria. “In two to three minutes, one of us will be dead. The other will be sooner than that.” She balled her fists and charged at the Russian woman.
*
Zero watched as the girl bent and picked up the Beretta near her feet. Some part of his brain screamed at him: Stop her. She’s going to kill you.
Yet another part froze him into inaction. The part of him that was a father who had hurt his own daughters—not directly, but through his deeds, through his absences, through his lies.
He barely saw the girl’s face. He only saw Sara. And he could never hurt her.
Mischa took her time. She seemed to be fully aware that he wouldn’t stop her. He had the feeling she’d done this before, used this tactic. Without taking her eyes off of him, she leveled the Beretta. The gun looked comically large in her tiny hand.
“You don’t have to do this,” Zero told her. He kept his voice even and gentle. “You’re just a child. You’re not a killer.”
“I’ve killed,” the girl told him. She didn’t say it ruefully or boastfully; she said it as simply as stating that the sky was blue. Her accent was difficult to place, just barely tinged with Russian but also something else.
“You’re not a sparrow,” Zero ventured. “And that woman… your mother?”
“Not my mother.”
“You don’t owe her anything. If you listen to her, you’ll die down here with the rest of us. You do know that, don’t you?”
The girl’s gaze flitted away from him, just for an instant, but long enough for Zero to recognize a glimmer of emotion. She did know it, and she did not want to die.
“This is our purpose,” the girl said quietly.
“No,” Zero said firmly. “Your purpose is to be a child. To… to grow up, and have a life of your own. Not this.”
The girl sighed softly, as if she’d grown bored of the conversation. “Goodbye.” Her finger came to rest on the trigger.
Suddenly an earsplitting burst of automatic gunfire echoed through the facility. Zero winced instinctively. The girl whipped her head around to see if it had come from behind them.
Zero had a chance. He leapt forward and grabbed her wrist, shoving it and the gun upward. Mischa gasped in surprise as he wrenched the Beretta away from her. But she wasted no time twisting her arm out of his grip and responding with a swift back-kick to his abdomen. As he doubled over, she threw herself forward, rolled, and grabbed up the silver pistol that the redheaded Russian had left on the floor.
It was up in an instant, and this time the girl did not hesitate. She pulled the trigger.
The Russian hadn’t been lying. The gun was empty. Mischa frowned deeply at it as if it had personally offended her.
Zero trained the Beretta on her, though he kept his finger resting on the trigger guard. “That’s enough. Stop this.”
The girl tossed away the useless pistol. “Or you will shoot me? I am, as you said, just a child.”
Zero’s heart pounded in his chest. If he didn’t do something, she would come at him again. He could see in her eyes that she knew damn well he wouldn’t shoot her. And all he could see in her face was…
Wait a second.
He stared at the girl. A moment earlier he could only see his daughter’s face in hers. But now, he just saw a stranger, a passive-masked girl who had tried to kill him and wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
It had happened again. Just like with Kate’s name, just like with Maria’s face… he couldn’t see Sara anymore. He tried to conjure her to his memory, but he failed. He’d forgotten what she looked like.
And while any other time that might have induced panic, he actually felt something else.
Relief. At least for the moment.
The girl let out a shriek and leapt at him. Still Zero did not pull the trigger. Instead he brought the gun straight up, not bothering to deflect the blow that was coming. When Mischa was within arm’s reach, her small yet powerful fist struck him straight in the gut. At the same time he whipped the Beretta down.
He doubled over and grunted, taking the full impact of her strike, as he brought the grip of the gun crashing down on the top of her head. The girl’s body went rigid for a moment, and then crumpled in a limp heap at his feet.
Zero panted, catching his breath. He quickly knelt to confirm that he hadn’t cracked her skull. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Then he sprinted out of the room as fast as he was able. His body was sore; his muscles screamed in protest. His insides still hurt. But the Russian woman had run off in a hurry, and someone had fired that burst of gunfire.
The only person he’d seen with an automatic weapon was Maria.
Zero made his way to the steel staircase and bounded up them, not caring about the loud clanging of his footfalls. He was halfway up when the lights suddenly went out. He sucked in a breath as he stumbled forward, nearly falling but catching himself at the last second. A moment later, red lights in the walls clicked on.
That can’t be a good sign.
He picked his way quickly but carefully up the rest of the stairs, down the concrete corridor and past the dead guard. He didn’t know where they might have gone, Maria or the Russian, but he didn’t dare call out.
He didn’t have to. From down the hall came the telltale sounds of a struggle. Female grunts. A shriek of pain. A cry of attack.
Zero sprinted toward the sounds, turning another corner and finding himself in a wide, round room surrounded on all sides by control panels. On the floor were several bodies. It took him a moment, in the dim red glow, to recognize that two of them were dead, and the other two were locked in combat.
The contents of Maria’s gear bag were spilled across the ground. The Russian had the strap of the bag around Maria’s neck, her teeth gritted as she pulled back with all her might. Maria writhed, struggling to pull the strap free with one hand while clawing at the Russian’s face with the other. But her flailing arms were weak, quickly losing strength.
Zero lurched forward and kicked at the redheaded woman. He planted his foot in her side and she tumbled away, rolling twice and coming up on her knees. She stared up at Zero with unadulterated hate in her eyes, accentuated by the red glow of the lights. She reached for something on the floor near her—a thick black shard of plastic, it looked like, broken off of something. It had a nasty jagged edge to it that she wielded like a knife as she rose to her feet.
Maria coughed and sputtered as Zero trained the gun on the Russian.
“Don’t,” he warned. “I will shoot you.”
“If you were going to,” she sneered, “you would have by now.” She held the jagged piece overhead in a stabbing position.
She’s going to make me do it.
Three things happened at once. The Russian rushed at him, a primal scream on her lips. Something else rushed past him from the left, through the circular room’s entrance.
And Zero pulled the trigger.
In the thunderous, echoing boom that reverberated through his head, Zero realized in horror that the something else was Mischa. She hadn’t stayed down long, and she threw herself in front of the Russian as he fired.
The girl fell. The redhead stood.
No!
The Bosnian boy came back into his mind. He smiled, and stooped to pick up the coin from the dirt in the moment before his death.
The redheaded woman’s mouth fell open. A rivulet of blood, black under the red glow, trickled from the small round hole in the left side of her forehead. Her jaw
worked up and down slowly, as if she was trying to say something. Then she fell to the floor.
Mischa rolled over and got to her hands and knees. She looked down at the dead woman before her, her face as impassive as ever.
He didn’t hit the girl.
Your aim tracks to the right.
He’d forgotten to compensate for his injured hand, and missed Mischa by what couldn’t have been more than an inch.
Maria grabbed a zip tie from the spilled contents of her bag and forced the girl to the ground. Mischa did not fight back as Maria tied her small wrists behind her back. Then she stood and faced him.
“Thanks.” Her voice was raspy and hoarse from nearly being choked to death. “But… we’re out of time, Kent. The reactor is melting down. We can’t have more than a minute left. Not enough time to get far enough away.”
Zero stared at the girl on the floor, lying on her stomach with her hands zip-tied behind her. Even if they had the time to flee, he wouldn’t leave her there to die. The girl could not take her eyes from the dead Russian woman beside her, the pool of blood slowly creeping toward her fuzzy green sweater.
Their plan had worked after all. Even if they couldn’t frame the Russians, they could still cause the biggest nuclear disaster in US history. They could still kill millions.
“There must be something…” he started to say, but even as the words tumbled out he knew they were useless. They were surrounded by equipment the likes of which neither had ever seen. It was futile.
“Hey.” Maria took his hand in hers. “There was never going to be a happy ending for us, you know? Not in this line of work. But… as weird as it sounds, I’m glad you’re here.”
He nodded slowly. His brain felt numb, only barely aware that he would never see his girls again. That they had still failed to stop the meltdown in time. That the little girl on the floor was still going to die.
Yet he understood. It was some solace that Maria was there. He knew a lot about a lot of things, and one of them was that at this proximity, it would be quick. They’d be dead in seconds once the radiation began leaking from the core.