by James Somers
I smile. “Believe me I won’t forget.”
I’m about to comment further when I hear thunder rumbling over the building. Only, there isn’t a cloud in the sky and the noise is way too rhythmic. I have a feeling we’re in trouble.
“What is that?” Cassie asks, when she notices.
“I think it might be a helicopter,” I say warily.
Cassie breaks into a smile, turning to run for the stairs that lead toward the roof.
“Cassie!” I call after her.
“They might be able to rescue us!” she shouts back.
“Cassie wait!” I say, running after her. “We don’t know who they are.”
I don’t believe Cassie is listening to me at this point. The helicopter is very near, almost overhead. Its thunderous wave rolls through the incomplete power station, amplified by the bare walls and open construction. I can barely hear myself now, let alone Cassie being able to comprehend my warning.
When I finally reach the roof, where Cassie has gone, I find the helicopter hovering over the portion an outdoor market would have sat, had the plague not halted this construction. As it is, a large empty space lies beneath the massive flying machine. Ropes trail down from the behemoth to the roof and soldiers are beginning to repel down to the power station.
Cassie is nowhere to be found.
Russian Roulette
Hearing the beating of rotor blades, Cassie ascends the wooden stair cases set temporarily into the power station building for use by construction workers. Had the project continued uninterrupted, these would have ultimately been replaced by either escalators or grander staircases. Jonathan shouts behind her, but she knows he’ll catch up in a moment. This is an opportunity for them to be rescued, and she doesn’t want that helicopter to pass them by before she can get to the roof and signal them.
The helicopter itself is far more than what she expects. Cassie saw the smaller nimbler type, where inside snipers had been strapped, firing upon crowds of zombies below. The news reports shown during their time at the pub had featured some of them.
This massive vehicle looks like a building flying through the air. As the helicopter nears, Cassie notices a large red star upon the side. Instantly, she recognizes the symbol denoting the Russian origin of this military craft.
Fear, rather than hope, rises inside her mind. Why would the Russians be here in the middle of London? Could this possibly be a rescue vehicle? Has the Russian Empire come on a mission of mercy to the very place where she and Jonathan happen to have hidden themselves?
A hand closes over her mouth, as powerful arms whisk her out of sight again. Cassie attempts a scream, but the hand muffles the sound. No one nearby would have heard her anyway. The approaching helicopter’s rotor beats are almost deafening by now.
For a brief moment, Cassie believes it is Jonathan who has spirited her out of view before the approaching Russian helicopter. Then she notices the arms and the suit, the hands that appear much too large for the boy she’s been paying particular interest in throughout the day. She held his hand briefly and these are not the same.
At this realization, Cassie attempts to scream again. Jonathan must be very near; if only she can alert him. Her captor’s strong arms jerk her hard in warning not to do what she is attempting. This unknown assailant wants complete compliance. He wants her to stop struggling and remain quiet.
Cassie prepares to utilize her power, but she feels a sharp object brought to her throat. An icy chill runs through her as his whispering words slither into her ear. “Do exactly as I say, if you want to live.”
They retreat further from the roof back down another stair, Cassie barely managing to keep her feet under her. She fears a stumble might cause this man’s blade to cut her throat. Whether by accident or not, she would be just as dead.
“You’re going to stay here for a while,” he says. “Those soldiers are not supposed to be here. They’ve come for your friend.”
The man releases her, allowing her to turn. His blade retreats to some secret place inside his suit. He’s so quick Cassie doesn’t notice where it’s gone. Instead, he retrieves two identical pistols from beneath his suit jacket.
“Agent Smith?” Cassie asks, at once relieved that it’s him and bewildered by the fact that he took her from the roof at knife point. “What are you doing?”
“That’s a Russian helicopter, in case you didn’t notice,” he says. “Those soldiers want Jonathan. Sorry about the knife, but I couldn’t risk you screaming and causing trouble.”
The sounds of soldiers coming down onto the roof in heavy combat boots resounds through the unfinished space.
“You must stop them from taking Jonathan,” Cassie pleads.
“That’s my intention,” he says, “but I need you to remain here. It will only make my task more difficult, if I have to worry about your safety in addition to Jonathan’s.”
Cassie nods a promise to comply.
He turns toward the stair that will take him back up to the roof where the soldiers and likely Jonathan, are.
Cassie calls to him before he can go. “How could Russian soldiers have possibly found us here?”
The agent pauses, thoughtful, before proceeding. “I have a sneaking suspicion,” he says, more to himself than her. Then he hastens up the stair toward the roof, Jonathan, and the soldiers.
Major Bingham stands braced against the wall of the Russian Mi26 helicopter, watching as one of Colonel Minsk’s computer technicians as he tracks the signal they hope will lead them to Vladimir Nesky and Patient Zero. The Mi26 is a virtual flying fortress with room to spare. His meager team sits at the head of the cargo area while Minsk’s commandos occupy the seating near the cargo door where they will repel down to street level and retrieve Jonathan Parks.
Colonel Minsk stands on the other side of the tech and the monitor, assessing the data. “We’re getting very close,” Minsk observes. He’s stopped moving. Do you recognize this place?”
Bingham nods. “The Battersea Power Station,” he reports. “It’s still under construction, but we can repel down to the roof. I’m concerned about Nesky. Will he comply?”
Minsk smiles. “Of course, Major, we are his countrymen.”
Bingham returns the Russian commander a wan smile. “I understand, Colonel, but what I meant was will he be accommodating when he is told the boy is to be returned to GCHQ?”
Minsk’s smile fades, his expression becoming serious. “Nesky will do whatever I tell him to do.”
Bingham decides to leave it at that. After all, it’s not going to matter much anyway. The only reason he even asked Minsk was to gauge the colonel’s reaction to our directive to return to Sayers and her team of virologists at Gloucestershire. Bingham doesn’t believe they will comply. He doesn’t know exactly what, but he expects Minsk to have a plan of escape.
“When we go down after the boy, my men will cover me while I capture him,” Bingham says. “I trust your men will be watching my men.”
His honesty prompts a smile from Minsk. “Of course,” he says. “However, what if the boy resists? It is unlikely he will want to be apprehended by soldiers descending from a Russian helicopter, even in a city filled with the infected. Surely, you do not intend to kill him?”
Bingham pats a Tazer at his belt. “This will bring him down,” he says. “I have no intention of letting him get away from us again.”
Minsk gives Bingham a grim nod of approval and then speaks into his headset, addressing the pilots. “Do you have the coordinates?”
He receives a reply that is indistinct to Bingham with all of the rotor wash.
Minsk nods; satisfied with what the pilots have relayed to him. “We drop in sixty seconds,” he says to Bingham and the waiting soldiers.
A large side door begins to open, pulling back along the side wall of the helicopter. Cool air washes throughout the cargo area. Commandos move into position attaching nylon ropes to anchors to either side of the door. Bingham motions his men to join t
he Russian soldiers, preparing them to take their turn and be among the first to reach the roof of the renovated Battersea Power Station building.
The Mi26 flies at speed over London. Bingham watches the streets below—the abandoned streets below—setting his jaw firmly in resignation. This plague has robbed them of the greatest city on Earth, taken thousands upon thousands of people and turned them into monsters, and destroyed the hope of a generation. He cannot fail to get the boy that might turn this tide.
In moments, the four steam stacks of Battersea Power Station become visible. Another moment later, the Mi26 is descending upon the roof. They can’t land here—not this behemoth—the structure could never support it. However, their commandos can repel down to the roof and enter the unfinished building project that was promised to become one of London’s new affluent neighborhoods.
“Go, go, go!” Minsk shouts to the soldiers already waiting to descend upon Battersea.
Russian commandos, as well as Bingham’s own team, launch themselves out the side door of the Mi26 now hovering over the power station. Bingham latches on to a steel anchor just inside the door. He looks down to find a young man standing near one of the roof access doors.
This is not Nesky, but the boy Sayers had shown him in an image before sending him on this mission. Bingham throws himself down from the Mi26, only braking his descent along the nylon rope at the last moment. The other soldiers are moving cautiously toward the boy.
Bingham calls out to him. “Jonathan Parks!”
The boy, in his mishmash outfit with various makeshift weapons and one MP5K submachine gun he’s procured somewhere, nods to him, looking a little relieved. Bingham approaches, motioning the other soldiers to stand down their weapons. He tries to look unthreatening. After all, the boy is only fifteen-years-old.
As Bingham approaches, Jonathan looks at the other soldiers. He’s becoming unnerved. Bingham can see it in his eyes. His hands move slightly toward the machine gun. He’s going to try and stop them, hold them off, something. He can’t allow that.
Bingham whips the Tazer from his belt, turning it on Patient Zero. The boy attempts a reaction, but too late. Bingham fires the Tazer. The leads hit Jonathan in the chest before he can do anything to stop it. The charge lights him up a moment later, causing his muscles to go rigid in tetanus. He jerks hard to the side and falls over as the soldiers move in.
Minsk shouts orders from above. He’s still standing in the door of the Mi26, holding the nylon rope attached to his harness in preparation to descend. The words are inaudible to Bingham, but he can see the man speaking through his headset to his men. Moreover, he understands when Minsk’s commandos react, turning their weapons on him and his team. The betrayal he and Sayers expected is now coming to pass.
Bingham isn’t angry. After all, this is what they had expected. He and Sayers have played this game many times before. It simply is the way things are done. In the harrowing world of international espionage, no one is above reproach and none can be trusted.
The only real crime is to not understand that this is the way things work. He and Sayers planned ahead. He won’t have long to wait. Now, it is just a matter of keeping Minsk occupied.
The colonel repels down to the roof, joining his commandos where they surround Bingham and his men. Patient Zero, Jonathan Parks, lies unconscious at his feet. Minsk smiles as he approaches.
“Put down your weapons, Major,” he says in a friendly, if not somewhat condescending tone. “The boy is ours. Don’t waste your lives foolishly.”
“You’ve betrayed our trust,” Bingham growls. “I should have known.”
“Yes,” Minsk agrees easily, “You should have. Nevertheless, we are in control here. The boy will come with us. You and your men may wait for your beautiful director Sayers to provide you some means of transport out of here.”
“As soon as she realizes you’ve gone astray from your course, she’ll send gun ships after you.”
“By the time she realizes anything is amiss, we will be out of her range,” Minsk says confidently. “Besides, we both know Sayers doesn’t have the resources to spare on us when your country is fighting desperately for its life against these plague victims.”
A man dressed in a suit—somewhat ragged in appearance—steps onto the roof from one of the far stairwells. The commandos already have submachine guns trained on the man. However, his hands are raised in a non-threatening manner and he is approaching cautiously. Both Bingham and Minsk recognize this man immediately. Vladimir Nesky, the Russian assassin sent by Ivanovich has finally made an appearance.
Bingham offers the man a grim stare, but Minsk almost laughs with joy, opening his arms wide in greeting as Nesky approaches with a smile on his face. They embrace as comrades and speak to one another, mouth to ear, trying to hear over the rotor wash coming down upon them from the massive, hovering Mi26 overhead.
The boy begins to stir as Nesky and Minsk come closer. Minsk motions one of his men forward. The soldier removes a syringe from a small kit on his belt, and Bingham realizes this man might serve as a medic on Minsk’s team. The soldier approaches the boy where he lies on the ground next to Bingham. The commandos move closer with guns raised, warning Bingham and his men of the futility of fighting them.
“It’s going to be a long trip back to Moscow,” Minsk says merrily. “It is best if the boy sleeps while we travel. We wouldn’t want to damage our prize before we see him safely in the hands of our scientists back home.”
“What about the virologist you left with our team?” Bingham asks curiously.
“Ha!” Minsk blurts out. “A young upstart, but not a scientist of any real importance. I brought him along for effect only. Keep him, or kill him. It makes no difference to me.”
The soldier with the syringe kneels next to Jonathan Parks and administers the medicine with the kind of elegant care only a medical professional can provide. He nods to Minsk when it is done, and several soldiers move in to take the boy. Very soon, they will have him loaded onto the Mi26 and they will leave London and England behind to wallow in its misery without hope of a cure. Already, the team aboard the helicopter is lowering a litter that will hold the boy secure while they pull him up.
Bingham watches the exchange between Minsk and Nesky—Bosom companions it would seem. He depresses the contact in his fingerless glove in a sequence reminiscent of old style Morse code. Within the palm of the glove is embedded a simple transmitter which broadcasts directly to Director Sayers back at the Doughnut. She, in turn, relays directions to their contingency. Colonel Minsk and Walter Ivanovich may have supposed they could simply send in their team and retrieve the boy out from under British noses, but their mistake will prove costly.
Within seconds, Bingham sees a small, fast moving object leading another larger, fast moving craft. Bingham knows exactly what he’s looking at, even though the Russians on the ground have yet to realize—that is until the pilots in the Mi26 overhead receive a proximity warning.
Minsk reacts to calls coming through his headset as the Mi26 attempts an evasive maneuver. However, the lumbering behemoth is no match for the highly maneuverable Longbow Apache helicopter sent by Sayers as part of their contingency plan, should the Russians attempt to deceive them. The Apache comes in fast, firing laser-guided Hydra 70 rockets from its Advanced Precision Kill Weapons System.
The Mi26 lurches out away from its hovering position over the power station. Bingham throws himself at Jonathan Parks, pulling the boy toward the access stair as soldiers, both Russian and British, throw themselves to the ground seeking cover from the attack. However, he simply doesn’t have time to get the boy off of the roof before the first rocket impacts with its target.
To the credit of the Russian pilot, he does manage to maneuver the massive Mi26 in such a way that he places one of the Battersea steam stacks between his craft and the approaching Apache. One of the Hydra rockets detonates upon the surface of the brickwork, shattering a huge section of the masonry. Bricks
and mortar rain down upon the opposite end of the roof from the group of stranded soldiers.
Two more Hydra rockets pass by the steam stacks and find the Mi26 attempting to evade. One rocket slams into the armored hide of the helicopter, creating a tremendous bang, but doing little to stop the behemoth flying. The other rocket plows into the hull near the side door, killing several soldiers locked to anchors there.
The Mi26 rears back, as the pilot tries to find his attacker and discern which direction to run. However, the Apache is simply too well-armed and nimble. Using the Longbow’s 30mm chain gun directed by visor movements, the pilot carves out the Russian helicopter’s cockpit canopy, cutting the pilot and co-pilot to ribbons in an instant.
Out of control now, the Mi26 begins to counter-rotate. The brute craft lurches sideways as it descends. Bingham realizes the worst just before it happens. He grabs hold of Jonathan in a death grip, using his carabiner clip to attach himself to one of the leather belts slung across the boy’s torso to hold his weapons.
The Mi26 plows into the side of the Battersea Power Station a moment later, impacting not far below the roof where he and the other soldiers are. As the supports beneath give way to the crashing helicopter, Bingham steals a glance at Colonel Minsk and Vladimir Nesky. Both men leer at him as the roof collapses beneath them all. Gravity drags them downward as fire and smoke and a thunderous cacophony overwhelm them like a great wave battering a child upon a sandy shore.
All that Remains
Cassie opens her eyes again. Something—possibly the helicopter she saw minutes before—has hit the power station. Much of the building has collapsed because of the massive impact. As the floor gave way around her, Cassie’s natural defense took over. While fire and debris whirled around her, she remained safely shielded by her telekinetic abilities—a kind of bubble enveloping her long enough to deflect the effects of this cataclysmic event.