by Allan Burd
“You can’t judge Russia by the actions of a few bad men.”
“Why do you still defend them? Haven’t you seen enough corruption to last ten lifetimes?”
“It could still work.”
“Most people aren’t like you, Nikolai. They use the power given to them for their own selfish needs. That is why it does not work. In your heart, you know this to be true. Yes, there was a time our country needed you, but that time is long past. That war is over, and your family needs you more.”
“I won’t betray my country, Katrina. You know that.”
“AND HOW WILL YOU BE BETRAYING THEM?” she screamed in frustration. “By failing to steal alien technology which will be used by our government to restart the Cold War. Think what would happen if one of the rebel factions got a hold of this. Do you think you can prevent that?”
Nikolai hesitated. “Vaskev is a good man. He will not let that happen.”
“No, he wouldn’t. But do you really believe that there won’t be at least one corrupt power broker who would sell these to the highest bidder, making billions, while the good people of our country die in a horrible bloody war? What would be so bad if the Canadians kept it? Sure they will use it to build weapons, but they won’t be aggressive with them, and they won’t use them against us. The only way you will truly be betraying your country is if you bring these weapons of death to them.” She stopped there, sensing she was finally getting through his patriotic armor.
All the while Rebecca stayed still, listening and analyzing, looking for the best strategy to take advantage of their conflict. How she could use this woman’s weakness against her? This woman who gave up everything she had for one slim chance at real happiness. Then the full weight of the human drama being played out before her sank in. For a second she found herself thinking about what she truly wanted out of life. Her undercover assignment took up so much of her energy, her thoughts always focused on the intrigue and glamour of her actions. She never wondered what it would really be like to have a family. To be able to come home every night to someone who loved her unconditionally. She always dreamed about returning home, but never thought about what she had there.
The truth hit her. Aside from the material possessions and praise that would be heaped upon her for her success, she had nothing. No real family. Her parents died long ago, and she hadn’t spoken to her siblings for years. No true friends. Her assignments kept her so entangled she never got close to anyone she didn’t plan to betray. Those things were always secondary to her quest for power. But she knew they would never give that to her either. Soon after the commendations came, she would be reassigned to another vital mission, the stakes equally as high.
For a fleeting moment she saw how empty her life really was. She glimpsed the future and realized her return to her homeland might not be as glorious as she had thought. Sure the initial admiration of her achievement would be wonderful. But what then? What would she have five years from now? Would her life be just as lonely as Katrina’s? Would she ever find a man to love? Strangely, her thoughts turned to David. She began to wonder how much the role she played was real. What part of her subconscious allowed her to be so convincing at the role? No. That wasn’t possible. She never cared for him.
She immediately pushed aside the awful thoughts and replaced them with good ones. Life in Russia would be as wondrous as she always believed. She would make sure of that. “Don’t listen to her,” she said defiantly.
Katrina ignored her. “Stay with me Nikolai. I need you. Our son needs his father. We can start over anywhere we want—live like we always dreamed. No more small apartment. I have millions of dollars stashed away. We can own a farm. We can buy that ranch you’ve always dreamed of.”
“It’s not true, Nikolai,” Rebecca shouted. She grew worried. Over the last five years she had built relationships with many people, and in minutes, she irrevocably cast them all away, never realizing how truly important they were. She had killed a man. There was nothing left for her here now. There was no turning back. If Nikolai defected, she was finished. She couldn’t allow him to be swayed. “I know these people. These westerners are warmongers. I lived with them for five years, bathing in their filth and greed. I know. They’ll use this technology to slowly destroy us, like they did before.”
Katrina had heard enough. “Shut up.”
Rebecca continued. “They’ll build better weapons in the name of democracy and try to infest us with their selfish beliefs.”
Katrina raised the butt of her Uzi, ready to silence her with a hard rap.
Just as Rebecca hoped. Her goading had just the desired effect. She blocked Katrina’s thrust with her left hand and grabbed the gun with her right. With practiced ease, she rose, twisted the weapon in and up, and stole it from her grasp. A split second later, she placed her finger on the trigger and fired at Nikolai, whom she considered the greater of the two threats.
To her surprise, only one bullet sprang from the chamber. Still, it was enough. It hit Nikolai in the shoulder, driving him back and down to the ground.
Katrina reacted swiftly. Before Rebecca could figure out the selector switch was set to single fire, she knocked the weapon from her hand with a front crescent kick to her wrist.
Her weapon lost, Rebecca responded with a wild left hook.
Katrina blocked it, while simultaneously hitting Rebecca with a sharp jab to the ribs. Then before Rebecca could recover, she grabbed her wrist, twisted it inward and up, and turned counterclockwise into her, flipping her over hard.
Rebecca slapped the ground with her free arm, as she was trained to, spreading the impact evenly over her body and cushioning her fall. As Katrina’s finishing blow sped toward her, she lifted her arm, deflected it, and then brought her leg up into Katrina’s face with enough impact to make her release her hold. Then she rolled away, got up, and charged.
Katrina felt the impact even through her thick jacket as she was slammed into the front grill of the truck. Instinctively, she locked Rebecca’s arms, rotated her torso, and threw her around. Rebecca did the same, but this time they fell as the grill wasn’t there to stop their violent dance. Together they tumbled off the road and onto the snow-coated grass.
Rebecca rolled on top. She clawed at Katrina’s face, digging her nails into her skin, drawing blood before Katrina could grab her hand. Her other hand still free, she slid her thumb into Katrina mouth and grabbed onto her cheek, stretching it violently and forcing Katrina’s face into the cold wet snow. “You dumb bitch. I’m going to take these weapons back to Moscow with your husband. Then I’m going to make him fall in love with me the way you couldn’t.”
Katrina struggled to push her off, swiping at Rebecca’s face. Rebecca leaned back, avoiding the slap. “Look at you. You are weak and pathetic. No wonder he never came home—“ Katrina jabbed her thumb into Rebecca’s neck, cutting the words off at her throat. With Rebecca stunned, and the pressure reduced on her cheek, she turned her face toward Rebecca’s thumb and bit down hard.
Rebecca screamed.
“QUIET,” Katrina yelled, as she punched her in the throat again, killing the scream. Then using her legs, she threw Rebecca off her. She sprang up and kicked Rebecca in the gut, feeling her tender ribs buckle beneath her boot. She followed with a right to the jaw. Then another that cost Rebecca a tooth. “Maybe on your next assignment, your contact will be a dentist,” Katrina said.
Rebecca stumbled back. Blood ran down her chin. Her throat felt raw with pain. If she had a snappy comeback in mind, she couldn’t express it. She quickly moved into a defensive stance, hoping to fend Katrina off. When the next punch came, she ducked underneath and only had the strength to respond weakly with a side kick.
Katrina blocked it, moved in, and swept her other leg out from under her, sending her sprawling to the ground. She stood over her, her long fingers balled into a fist. “I’m not done with you yet. Get up.”
Rebecca hesitated, trying to buy time. Katrina was much better than she
expected. She had trained for years, and still this pathetic housewife was kicking her butt. But then again, what did she expect from the wife of Nikolai Rasputin? She knew she was beaten unless … She spit. A mix of blood and saliva dripped from her mouth and drooled on her chin. She wiped it with her left hand, looking as defeated as possible, while her right hand stealthily reached behind and grabbed a handful of snow, dirt, and rocks. Rising slowly, feigning surrender, she waited until she was on her knees. Then she lashed out, throwing the handful of dirt she gathered into Katrina’s face. Though Katrina ducked, the scree spread wide and flew into her eyes. Taking advantage of Katrina’s temporary blindness, Rebecca charged furiously, tackling her onto the edge of the road.
When they hit the pavement, Rebecca swiftly punched her in the face. Then she reached back for more dirt and rubbed it in her eyes again. “How does it feel to be blind?” she said, the words so hoarse they barely escaped her throat.
Katrina groped wildly and grabbed a handful of hair. She yanked Rebecca’s head hard to the side, bringing her face closer to hers. Then she reached up with her opposite hand and pressed her thumb into Rebecca’s right eye socket. “You tell me,” she barked.
Rebecca pulled away before Katrina fully gouged her eye. But her backward momentum was enough that Katrina managed to roll her over onto her stomach and get on top, still maintaining a hold of her hair.
Her head forced to the left, Rebecca spotted the Uzi. She glanced up at Katrina, noting her eyesight hadn’t yet returned and she was fighting only by touch. Katrina didn’t even know the gun was there. Rebecca reached out with her left hand, fighting Katrina off as best she could with her right. The gun was only inches from her outstretched fingers. She squirmed closer to it, letting Katrina think she had the advantage, until she reached out and touched the gun.
Katrina tried to hold tight to Rebecca’s hair. But her grip was slipping. Quickly, she reached down and grabbed Rebecca in a choke hold.
Rebecca clutched the gun, just as she felt Katrina’s grip around her neck tighten. But her risky gamble paid off. She wrapped her finger around the trigger and eased her hand around so it was aiming in the right direction. She just needed to aim a little higher. She raised the barrel up by balancing the butt of the gun against the road for support.
The sound of metal scraping pavement alerted Katrina to the danger. She knew what Rebecca had found. With her free hand she grabbed Rebecca’s chin and yanked it up and to the side. She heard Rebecca’s neck snap, a dying gasp, and metal clanking down on the concrete road. She released Rebecca, slowly stood up, and wiped the dirt from her eyes.
Her vision hazy, but clearing, she looked down at Rebecca’s lifeless body. The gun was still in Rebecca’s grasp, her finger firmly around the trigger. She turned and saw Nikolai lying on the ground next to the truck. She ran over to him and held him in her arms.
Nikolai stirred and groaned in pain. “Please, don’t squeeze me too hard.”
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He looked over to his blood soaked shirt and touched the wound to his shoulder, wincing at the sharp pain. “I’ve been better, but I’ve also been a lot worse,” he grunted.
She kissed him long and passionately. Nikolai reached around her with his good arm and held her tight. After a long emotional minute, she pulled away. “So what is your decision, my beloved? Do you want to be with me or your country?”
He looked at her face, recalling all they had shared through the years, all she did for him. His choice was clear.
80
Logan hunkered down. He held a gun to the alien’s head and shrieked as loud as he could in his best imitation of their unusual speech pattern. He failed miserably, but he got his point across. The aliens halted their advance and lowered their weapons. Slowly, he moved the gun away from the alien’s head, held it out in front of him in a non-threatening manner, and placed it sideways on the floor. Then he released his grip and let the alien go free. It was time for the negotiating to begin.
“What the hell are you doing?” said Chase in an angry whisper.
“No more killing,” Logan said. He raised his hands and kicked the gun to the side, all the while staring directly at the lead alien.
“So how in God’s name are we supposed to get out of here alive?” Chase asked.
“Win-win. I know what they want, and we’re going to give it to them. And everybody lives,” he said softly.
“Then they’ll make it back home to their race and tell them what happened today.”
“That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.”
Logan walked forward. He opened his arms wide to show them he wasn’t concealing any weapons, showing them how he had willingly made himself vulnerable and placed the aliens in control. The scarred alien thrust forward to attack, but the bulky one Logan sized up as the leader turned and stopped him with a few spoken words. Logan had read them right, and if he continued to do so, they were all going to live. That is, if Stacy didn’t kill him for what he was planning to do.
The bulky black skin with the dark hair approached. Logan stood his ground, consciously trying to keep himself from shaking. If he could just remain calm, everything would be all right. The alien reached out and touched his cheek, a cold, slippery caress, but a caress nonetheless. He stayed still as long fingers slid down to his chin, leaving behind a wet, secreted film that made his skin crawl, as if a slug was oozing across his face. Dark eyes, once thought vacant, filled with intent as they bore into his. Then it spoke, a rapid torrent of short, high-pitched sounds that made his body tingle and itch.
Don’t you dare move, Logan. The slightest movement might be misinterpreted and ruin everything. But what wouldn’t? His mind raced, searching for the one sign that would see him through—the one gesture that would bring this “conversation” to the next step. He thought about an up and down nod, but then nixed it knowing in certain parts of Eastern Europe it meant no instead of yes. Besides he had no idea what a nod might mean to these aliens. He needed something universal, something not ingrained in any culture. He needed something that would translate inherently to all species.
Then he remembered the simplest one. He smiled, a simple sincere gesture of respect and friendship. The alien paused, jerking its head back. Then it smiled back, showing its crooked yellow teeth as its nose slits wiggled humorously.
Logan spoke softly, without turning his head or moving in any way. “Stacy, I need you to come towards me.” He heard no movement from Stacy. “Don’t be afraid. I need you to trust me,” he said quietly, wondering just how badly he was betraying her.
She didn’t budge, but was wise enough to speak calmly. “I don’t trust them. These bastards ruined my life.”
The aliens recoiled at her tone.
Logan kept his smile. “I can end that pain once and for all, if you just trust me. If you want all your nightmares to end, you have to confront them and get past the fear.”
She approached slowly, growing more fearful with each step.
The lead alien gazed at Logan—and Logan took it as a hard questioning stare. His smile disappeared, a serious expression across his mouth as he waved his arm towards her, palm open, as if he were offering her to them.
And he was.
The lead alien turned quickly to Stacy and a high-pitched whine erupted from its throat. This was the darker side of their ability to echolocate. Using high frequency sound bursts, they threw off Stacy’s equilibrium and cut off all electrical impulses to her brain, effectively paralyzing her. She collapsed, but worse, her conscious mind still registered the activity and her eyes exploded with terror. It was an effect Logan hadn’t anticipated.
“You bastard!” Chase ran towards her.
An alien, agitated by Chase’s unexpected advance, bolted forward.
Logan stepped between them both, his back to the alien, his face to Chase. He placed his hand on Chase’s solid chest, backing him off. “Let this play out. You have to trust me.”
T
wo aliens encircled her. One held her forehead and turned her head to the side. The leader tore off its thin chest pouch, unfolded it, and pulled out two items. One was square and shone bright purple. The other looked like a small cutting tool, one edge sharp, the other serrated.
“Goddamn you, Logan,” Chase swore. “If you’re wrong, I’m going to kill you myself.”
Logan didn’t respond. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but his every instinct told him he was doing the right thing.
The alien shone the flickering purple ray on her eyes until she was in a trance. It took the knife, which emitted a blue pulsing ray upon her skin, and made a tiny C-shaped incision behind her left ear. It pulled a thin cylindrical tool from its pouch and sprayed a substance on the knife, cleaning it, then put both away and pulled out a small silvery semicircle. It placed the semicircle over the incision. Four miniature prongs descended from the bottom and went into her neck. A few seconds later, the prongs extracted a small sphere the size of a ball bearing that was etched with remarkable detail. The alien folded Stacy’s skin flap back in place, then ran the purple light over it. It adjusted the top of the tool and the light turned aqua. Before their eyes, Stacy’s skin healed itself, barely leaving a scar when they were done.
The alien took the small sphere and placed it in the pouch with the other tools. The leader looked at Logan. It spoke a series of incomprehensible clicks that lasted around thirty seconds.
Logan just listened, fairly certain the alien meant well. It placed its webbed hand on Logan’s forehead, leaving a line of damp, odd smelling secretion. Then, in unison, the four aliens turned and scampered out of the garage. They leapt gracefully into the trees and vanished into the night.
As quickly as they first appeared, they were gone.
Stacy stirred.
Logan lifted her in his arms, carried her up the stairs, and laid her gently on the couch. “Can you get her a glass of water? I’d like to be the first person she sees when she wakes up.”