by Alex Gore
He was falling asleep. He made an effort to stay awake, but his lids were heavy as lead.
Then he saw a flash in the darkness on the left!
Something was moving, probably someone’s watch, although the shining was too bright like coming from a table mirror.
He saw the pretty Romanian lady with sexy bottom to come out of the ammunition warehouse. She was carrying two bags, from which the barrels of several machine-guns were sticking out. She was walking slowly, seductively, as if she were dancing and inviting you to pinch her ass… Hell, what was she doing there? And how could she enter without him seeing her?
He was startled. He did not know whether he had napped for a second or for a few minutes. He was not sure if this was a dream or it was really happening.
If it was true, he had to report to the Major right away.
No, there was no way such a slender young woman to take out the heavy weapons out of the warehouse.
He looked at his watch. It was almost eleven. Someone would come to relieve him soon.
Watchtower, Day 5, 11:31 p.m. .Ivanov bent down and started digging. He could not possibly go to Norman and ask him for a spade and he also wanted to avoid making noise by all means. He needed to go at least three feet deep in the base of the support tower. If he did not reach deep enough, this would be a failure.
An explosion in the air or at insufficient depth would just be fancy and too expensive fireworks. And he had not come here to organize festive events.
.He had come to destroy the damned submarine, the damned Cube, the damned military base and to rub the Americans’ condescending noses. He did not have much time, since the storm was approaching. He need to place the explosives at six spots around the base. First, the watchtower, to ensure there would not be enemy fire from above. Then, the control room and the dormitories, and last – the ammunition warehouse. If by once pressing the button he could succeed blowing up the watchtower, the command room of the entire base and the military warehouse, they would not stand a chance. If there happened to be survivors, he knew he would find no problem to eliminate them himself. With his own hands and means. That boring scientist Sergey would only be an obstacle. He had no special instructions about him, but a true soldier like Colonel Ivanov was aware that in a dangerous operation there is always collateral damage. Sergey was just going to disappear.
The Libyan Desert, 19 miles Northwest from the camp, Day 6, 00:01 a.m. The camel stopped.
Usually it was not scared of small snakes or mice, but this time it was stubborn and refused to make even a step forward. Poking in its hips or slashing with the whip were of no use.
The Bedouin dropped the reins and stepped forward in the darkness. His two companions got down from the animals and tried to illuminate the path before him with search-lights.
Out of nowhere a man and a woman appeared before them, looking rather unusual for the place. The man was plump, not very tall, with plaid jacket and was smoking a pipe. The woman was an attractive slim brunette with a white shirt under which her breasts were half-visible.
“Hey, you, what are you doing here?” the Bedouin called them in Arabic, then switched to English: “Are you lost, where are the others?”
Surprisingly for his weight the man made two quick jumps ahead and stuck the stem of his pipe in the Bedouin’s eye.
His two companions could not react, one took a gun out, but the woman was already all over him and bit hard his throat. A fountain of warm blood gushed and splashed on the ground.
The plump man raised his glance towards the third Arab, dashed at him, brought him to the ground and stuck his thumbs in the man’s eyes. The screams of the dying stopped after a few seconds and the dead silence of the desert engulfed in its embrace two retreating silhouettes.
The desert around the base, Day 6, 3:57 a.m. The sand was pouring like a raging waterfall over their heads. It was like a rain of little pebbles, but thicker and hitting at each point. It was as if the devil was pouring all the sand in the desert on the punished sinners.
“Sergeant, close the windows!”
The Sergeant’s answer was carried away by the storm. “Yes, Sir, but the canvas is torn and collects sand! We can’t lift
it, Sir!” The strong wind took the words some place high. “A sand devil, Sir”, the soldier next to him added. “What?! I didn’t know it was called this. A very appropriate
name, by the way.” The Sergeant caught the canvas and helped them cover the window with it.
It was the first time he saw a tornado.
A sand devil.
It was a fascinating phenomenon, but also ugly and scary.
Their eyes and mouths were full of sand. Sunglasses or scarfs did not help.
After they managed to find shelter in the dome next to the military warehouses, the Sergeant took down the scarf from his head and shook the sand from his hair.
“What is it, for god’s sake?”
“The locals call it ‘fasset el ‘afreet’ or ‘wind of ghosts’. It is formed when warm air climbs up in a pocket of cold air and whirls as a small tornado. “
“It really is a devil’s doing.”
“It is caused by vertical air movements just like the tornado. It can be rather big and strong.”
Marcela threw herself on the bed with the full force of her slender body, feeling exhausted to death. She thought she was too tired to take a shower even. She barely managed to take off her cramped t-shirt, then she removed her bra and threw it towards the other bunk but missed and it fell on the floor.
Nothing mattered any more, even if the world stopped turning around, she would not care but would want to sleep and then gather her thoughts. To hell with the Russians and their patriotic passion. To hell with Norman and his strict orders.
The most important issue was her doctor’s thesis. The Chancellor would not be pleased with her inexplicable absence. What would she tell him upon returning back?
Would those military men be willing to vouchsafe that they almost kidnapped her, so that she could take part in this madness? She needed to complete the chapter about flaviviruses and fuck the dumb militaries with their dumb submarine. Her life was more important, wasn’t it? Nothing else mattered or at least in this moment, she tried to convince herself.
If she did not take this last step in her professional development, all her efforts so far would have been wasted. The long years of night and day work in the laboratory and in front of the computer. What if it had all been in vain?
What would she do? Was there anything else in her life? She was scared. She was weak.
As much as she strived to demonstrate power and determination,
she was torn inside with memories and contradictions. Was she good enough, was her career worth the price to be left alone and without a family? How much normal life cost and was it not better to be moderately happy than chase the peaks of science?
She was lonely. She had never admitted it to herself before. Of course, nobody considered her lonely. She was a beautiful, sexy woman, coveted by every man in Bucharest to hold her in his arms.
But she did not want just anybody. She felt lonely with each one of her partners so far. They were either self-indulging egocentrics with expensive sports cars or collapsing workaholics, too idealistic and naive to provoke any interest in her.
Money was an argument, that powerful men were pointing out all the time, but after a week they became trivially boring. She found dull their ambitions and the things that amused them and saw no sense in playing a role. She preferred to be alone and work.
She graduated in Biology as if it was a joke, she loved animals.
She did her first doctor’s thesis at 27, too late for her ambitious nature. But early enough to attract the attention of the scientific community with her work on virology and most of all on applied Biology in closed systems.
Now she was 37 and still irresistible.
In any restaurant she entered, all the glances were pinned on her. No man cou
ld avoid imagining her naked under her clothes of a working, emancipated professional.
And she never stopped provoking them. She loved short skirts and see-through tops. She found interesting how primal and oversimplified men were and how easy it was to make them crawl. She provoked them with arrogant behavior or light flirting and elegant smile.
The entropy of creation made her go on believing in great love.
She opened her eyes startled and looked at her watch, placed on the dresser. It was almost half past six. She remained lying, staring with an empty glance at the dark ceiling, not thinking of anything, just unwilling to close her eyes again.
Her phone gave a sound. It was the alarm.
The music of ‘Deep Purple’ sounded.
Control room, Day 6, 8:16 a.m. “Impossible!” Norman could not believe his eyes.
“I have no doubt whatsoever, Sir!” The Lieutenant was pointing at the lighted screen. “Those are from the National police service, those – from Interpol, and those – from the Civil protection organization.”
“And they match?” “Absolutely, Sir! I double-checked them five times, there can’t be any mistake.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“See, these on the left are the fingerprints of the perpetrator on the body or what was left of it, we found them on a part of one of his shoes, on a piece from the rims of the glasses and particularly on the grinding device. And those on the right are his.” The Sergeant slipped them with the mouse to the left and overlaid them one on the other. “There is a 100% match.”
“Yes, these are for sure the fingerprints of the murderer.”
“Beg your pardon, Sir, I’ve been in military police, homicide department, I’ve seen all kinds of butcher scenes, but never anything like this… I don’t know what to call it, Sir.”
“Yes, I myself have never imagined that such savagery could exist and I’ve been on six missions. I’ve witnessed distressing pictures.”
“But how can he be capable of this? He seems the kindest man on earth.”
“I agree, but we need to detain him”, Norman said decisively. “Take two men and arrest him.”
“We are talking of the murderer, aren’t we, Sir?” The Lieutenant needed to be 100% sure.
“Of course, who else? Arrest Hans immediately.”
Dome 3, Day 6, 8:58 a. m. Alan was going to his room to fetch his sunglasses, when he saw her, standing with her back to him just in front of the door to his dome.
She was squatting and was picking something on the floor, her behavior seemed a little strained and unnatural, but the sun was shining so bright in his eyes, that he could not see clearly. He squinted, wrinkling the skin of his face.
He hated forgetting his glasses, because it was hard to see, his eye-balls started aching from the tension and moreover unwanted wrinkles formed at his temples. He did not want to provoke extra wrinkles. The botox he had been using for several years now was quite efficient but needed care.
“Hey, Marcela, what are you doing here? Do come in, I’ll show you my modest adobe.”
She just turned her head to him and stared. He was unable to see her eyes behind the enormous sunglasses, but he felt now was the moment to tell her.
“Look, March, come inside and let’s talk. I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a long time.”
She looked around as if to make sure they were alone and nobody saw them.
“No, no, there’s nobody here, everyone is at the central dome, I’m sure, I myself was there just a second ago… You know, I really like you very much and… err… I’ve been thinking for some time that I have to confess…”
Marcela stood up, turned and started walking slowly towards the fence.
“Hey, March, please, don’t be like that, I never meant to insult you. Where are you going?” Alan caught with her and took her by the hand – it was ice-cold, he felt like he was touching a corpse. “There is nothing in this direction, please, come back. I just wanted to invite you as a guest in my new show when this is over. Because I can guarantee after what’s happening here I’ll be back in the game.”
She released her hand coldly and went away without a word.
Alan remained motionless, looking at her.
The Canteen, Day 6, 9:07 a.m. The smell of fresh coffee refreshed them and took them away in their thoughts. It was pleasant just to stay quiet, while drinking from real china cups. It seemed there were suppliers with taste in that base. Michael, Marcela and Hans were up earlier than the rest, and they enjoyed being able to talk, free from the military, the Russians and Alan, about whom they joked that at nights, when he was alone in his room, he had started writing a script for a Hollywood blockbuster.
“How did you sleep?” Marcela sipped a large gulp of her coffee. “I dream a lot and wake up startled all through the night. Frankly, I haven’t slept at all since we came here.”
“I sleep well”, Michael replied. “Especially since Norman has lifted the ban on vodka.”
“I don’t sleep, I work, but in my opinion all mathematicians are like me. When there is a logical problem to be solved, we don’t find peace till we find the solution.”
“Hans, I don’t think the rest of the mathematicians are like you”, Marcela said, addressing him with one of her winning grins and the three of them laughed. It was quite obvious that at this moment they did not miss the rest of the group.
“Michael do you have a girl back at the University?” Marcela always found the right moment for the right question.
“No, nothing serious. There is Mary Ann, but so far we’ve only been loitering.” Michael remembered their last night together, her gorgeous gentle skin, as smooth as velvet.
“What about you, Hans?”
“You know that I don’t have anybody. I was never much interested in affairs. I have more important things to do with my time.”
“One should not skip amusement”, Michael noted with a smile.
“Mathematics can be quite amusing, actually. Didn’t you enjoy the Theory of subjective numbers?” The very thought made Hans smile. “If I have to be really serious, a man just needs two things in his life.”
“Just two?” she asked surprised.
“That’s right.”
“Probably the first is to live forever, which in your language is ‘plus infinity’, did I guess correctly?” Michael was very proud to be able to predict Hans’s mathematic terms.
“Hmm… immortality could be quite boring and lonely.”
“What then?”
“Just two things.”
“What are they, Hans, please…” Marcela was dying of curiosity.
“The first one, of course, is to find out the answer to all questions, how and why the Universe was created, what’s beyond it and what is a man in his or her essence. What is the point of our existence.”
“You are very philosophically minded this morning, Hans”, Michael said.
“Our Hans is a deep and vulnerable soul.” Marcela was not at all surprised by the deep sensitiveness of her closest friend in that ordeal. “What about the second thing, Professor?”
“The second, after you find the answer to the big question, is to have someone to share it with. Otherwise sublime knowledge leads to sublime solitude. Glorious minds have proved it through the centuries.”
“That’s right, Professor, love is the greatest thing in the Universe.” Michael looked outside the window with misty eyes. “But now, I guess, we just need to survive in all that mess, don’t you think?”
“Do you believe them?”, Marcela sipped her coffee, interrupting the silence. “Oh, not a bit.” Hans’s answer was quick and unhesitating. “We are all going to die here.”
“How did you come to this conclusion?”
“Well, think about it… This ship was constructed and launched into exploitation in the future. There are Russians here with us. You don’t doubt, I presume, that they report everything to Moscow.”
“So what?”
> “Why have they launched it after two years, if they would know it ended with catastrophe? There s only one explanation: that we will all die here and nobody will find us.”
“That sounds very encouraging, Hans. You are always super optimistic, aren’t you?” Marcela said, her spirit fallen.
“Look, you understand that there is general relativity and all of this might not be happening.”
“I wonder what happened to the people on the ship,” Marcela could not stop thinking about the sailor, who had written the short and lonely sentence in his notebook.
“It might have come from there”, Michael suggested.
“Yes, they might have taken it on board unaware, it might have crawled on the ship and is now out hunting.”
The door opened and three armed men with grave expressions and bad yes rushed into the dining room. The Lieutenant and the two Sergeants stopped their military pace and stood at attention.
“Professor Rosenstein, you are under arrest.”
“What?” Hans stood up a little from his chair, unable to believe it.
“Please, gentlemen, this has to be a mistake!” Marcela was almost shouting.
“I am sorry, Major’s orders. Come with us, you will be placed under custody in your room.” The Lieutenant took Hans under the arm and dragged him to the door.
Control room, Day 6, 10:21 a. m. “Sir, the messages haven’t stopped at all”, the Lieutenant reported to Norman.
“Can you decode them yourself?”
“Of course, Hans left the code and the program… Actually, they come directly as words.”
“What do they say?”
“It’s in plain English, Sir, no coding whatsoever. Yet, I can’t make anything of it, Sir.” The Lieutenant looked confused.
“Go and bring me the scientist!” Norman literally shouted to the Sergeant at the door.
“Can I be explained what’s going on?” Hans said, coming into the room, handcuffed and accompanied by the Sergeant. “What kind of insanity is this?”
“You will answer before the law for what you did, Professor Hans! Did you know Greg? Why did you kill him?”