“On behalf of the US and allied governments, I would like to formally welcome you back. You’ve been gone a long time and I know you’re in a hurry to get home.” He cleared his throat.
“Why do I have the feeling we’re about to be screwed?” Colonel Balard whispered uncomfortably.
“And that’s where we have a little problem,” Tagitt continued. “You see, you men are not supposed to exist. Considering the changes in the relationship between Russia and the West, your existence has the potential to complicate relations. That’s something both sides would like to avoid.”
Disgusted whispers rippled through the room. One man called, “Well we’re not going back!”
Tagitt nodded diplomatically. “I admit, mistakes were made. But you need to appreciate, this is a new time. Things are different, and you are all still commissioned air force officers.”
“Wow! My back pay must be worth a fortune!” one officer said, followed by laughter from a few of the others.
“And you’ll get every cent!” Tagitt reassured him. “Gentlemen, I’m here on behalf of our respective governments to offer you a very attractive proposition.”
“You’re not my type, sweetheart!” Someone yelled, triggering more widespread laughter and a few wolf whistles.
Tagitt lifted his hand for quiet. “No one expects you to re-enlist. Our people over there,” he motioned to a group of civilians to the left holding folders full of papers, “have documents for each of you to sign. As serving military officers, you are bound to secrecy on matters of national and military security. These documents reinforce that secrecy.”
Murmurs of confusion sounded from the pilots.
“We don’t know anything!” an old man called.
“You know where you’ve been, and that is a secret you must keep for the rest of your lives. It is essential for maintaining a peaceful and positive relationship between Russia and the West that not a single word of your captivity ever gets out.”
“Screw that!”
“Fuck you.”
“In return for your cooperation,” Tagitt continued, “you’ll each receive all your back pay plus interest and an additional million dollars tax free. You’ll be given carefully prepared cover stories to tell your families. The details will vary, but it will go something like this: you were injured, you suffered memory loss – amnesia. You’ve recently recovered and have no recollection of what happened after you were shot down.”
“Yeah right! We made no attempt to contact our families in all that time!”
“The truth is gentlemen,” Tagitt said gently, “most of your wives have made new lives for themselves, but your children will think you are heroes. Your communities will welcome you back with open arms.” Dale Tagitt paused, waiting for the murmurs to die down. “Gentlemen, I realize there may be some hostility toward this offer, however, you don’t have a choice. We know you all revealed highly sensitive information about allied air capabilities.”
“They tortured us!”
Tagitt nodded. “We understand. No-one’s judging you. You endured the unendurable, and if you sign, any irregularities will be expunged from your records. If you don’t sign, you’ll be charged with treason, tried in secret in a military court, and will spend the rest of your lives in a military prison. Your families will never know you are alive. You have fifteen minutes to decide.”
A stunned silence descended over the group, then the old pilots began whispering among themselves.
Craig glanced at his father. “Will they go for it?”
“It doesn’t look like they have a choice. They won’t like it, but they don’t want to spend another day in prison.”
“If we could just get word out. Once your existence is public knowledge, all this secrecy crap is out the window.”
“It’s not word that you want to get out,” Valentina said, “It’s him!” She pointed at Craig’s father. “As soon as his face is on television, there can be no cover up.”
“Nice idea,” Colonel Balard said, “Except, we have no chance of getting a TV crew in here.”
“We don’t need to!” Craig said. “There’s a dozen news helicopters out there, and God knows how many news crews in the terminal.”
Colonel Balard glanced at the closed doors, sealing them inside the emergency services garage. “What did you have in mind?”
Craig looked thoughtful. “General, do you think you could distract our hosts for a minute or two?”
General Sorokin’s eyes narrowed. “I think that would be possible. Now?”
Craig nodded.
“Good luck,” General Sorokin said, then strode past the seated pilots to where Dale Tagitt was speaking to the other civilians holding the secrecy agreements. “I demand to be released immediately! I am a General in the Russian Air Force! I refuse to be treated like this! Your President will hear of this from my government.”
All eyes turned towards General Sorokin while Craig, Valentina and his father slipped quietly towards the nearest army truck. Craig climbed in to find the keys in the ignition. He started the engine as Valentina and his father climbed in beside him, then put the truck into reverse and stamped on the gas. The heavy truck shot backwards, silencing the argument between Sorokin and Tagitt and crashing through the wooden doors. Outside, startled police and military scattered as the truck broke through their ranks. Craig slammed on the brakes, shifted into first gear and sent the truck rumbling forward.
“Where to?” Craig asked, as he switched on the lights.
“There are choppers over the plane,” his father said, pointing to news helicopters circling the wrecked airbus.
Craig swerved toward the runway where the downed A320 lay, narrowly missing an unusually tall JTSB officer.
Nogorev rolled sideways, as the truck sped past, then he saw a Japanese police officer running to his squad car. He jumped to his feet and sprinted to the car, catching the policeman as the engine came to life. Nogorev pulled the officer from the car, clubbed him in the head with his gun, and pushed his unconscious body aside. Before any of the other police realized what was happening, Nogorev had the squad car racing after the fleeing lorry. Behind him, three more police cars started after the truck, their sirens and lights drawing the attention of the circling helicopters who began transmitting the chase live to the world.
The truck had a head start, but was slow compared to Nogorev’s police car. He closed the distance quickly, drawing his machine pistol and firing at the truck’s rear wheel. The first few bullets struck the wheel hub and the side of the chassis, narrowly missing the tires.
Inside the truck’s cab, they heard the ricochets. Craig saw the police car through his rear vision mirror, and a dark form firing at them.
“The police are shooting at us!” he said, surprised.
Valentina leaned forward, caught a glimpse of the car and the form with the dark cap, then yelled, “It’s not the police!”
She drew her gun and fired out of the passenger window as Craig swerved away from the police car. Nogorev accelerated after them, closing the distance and fired from point blank range at the tire. The truck shuddered as the tire blew, but didn’t slow, then one of Valentina’s bullets punched through the windscreen, passing above Nogorev’s shoulder.
The Spetsnaz assassin flinched, slammed his foot down hard on the accelerator and fired a carefully aimed shot at Valentina. She groaned, dropping her gun outside the truck and fell back into the cab. Colonel Balard caught her and pressed his hands against her shoulder, stemming the blood as Craig swerved sharply towards Nogorev, trying to ram him. The police car slammed into the side of the truck, driving it onto its side. The car careened off the trucks heavy suspension, flipped tail up and somersaulted over the truck, landing on its roof.
When the truck skidded to a halt on its side, Craig blinked blood from his eyes, dazed from striking his head. He kicked the shattered windscreen away and crawled out, dragging his father and Valentina with him. When they were all clear, he tur
ned toward the wrecked police car. It lay on its roof, facing the overturned truck. A fire was burning at the rear where the gas tank had ruptured, silhouetting Nogorev’s dark form as he struggled to free himself.
He’s still alive! Craig realized as he staggered toward the police car. He drew his gun as Nogorev’s head and shoulders appeared through the driver’s window, desperately trying to crawl free of the car before the flames consumed it. Blood and glass fragments covered the left side of his face, and his left arm hung limply by his side.
“My leg is pinned!” Nogorev wheezed desperately.
“Show me your hands!” Craig yelled, wiping blood from his eyes, trying to see clearly.
Nogorev winced. “My arm is broken!”
“Both of them!” Craig yelled, remembering Valentina’s warning never to give them a chance.
“I can’t move it! Help me! Please!”
“Let me see your other arm!”
“I can’t move . . . “ Nogorev said, shaking his head weakly, on the brink of unconsciousness, yet pushing weakly with his unseen right hand to escape the burning wreck.
“Show me your other hand, and I’ll help you!” Craig stumbled closer to the police car.
“I’m trapped,” Nogorev groaned, making a show of trying to free his right hand.
The sound of helicopters filled the air. Through bleary eyes, Craig glanced up, seeing five news helicopters circling above, transmitting the scene live around the world. He watched them puzzled, wondering why they were filming him, then he remembered Mariena’s warning, that he would suffer a very public death, seen by the entire world!
He glanced at his watch: it was 9.27 PM
“Twenty two minutes!” he whispered to himself.
Craig raised his gun unsteadily and fired, again and again, robotically squeezing off bullet after bullet. Nogorev shuddered as poorly aimed bullets struck his chest and shoulders. He spasmed and dropped the Skorpion machine pistol from his right hand.
When Craig stopped firing, Nogorev’s head turned toward him. “Who . . . are . . . you?”
“Huh?” Craig said, not understanding.
“CIA? . . . NSA? . . . You screwed up . . . everything. . . . Who are you?”
Craig lowered the gun, surprised. “I’m nobody. I do mergers and acquisitions,” he said, dropping the gun on the ground.
Nogorev’s face filled with confusion and anger. “Liar,” he wheezed, coughing blood, then his head rolled sideways as he died.
The car’s fuel tank exploded, spewing flames through the upturned car, and knocking Craig to the ground. He lay dazed as three police cars pulled up with lights flashing. Police jumped out and ran towards him, yelling in Japanese.
Overhead, a swarm of news helicopters circled while other news crews were running towards them from the terminal building. A few meters away, a spotlight from one of the news helicopters focused on Colonel Balard, kneeling on the ground, still holding Valentina’s shoulder with one hand as she lapsed into unconsciousness. He raised his other hand towards the helicopters, holding it steady for the cameras to zoom in on.
Craig squinted as he tried to see what was in his father’s hand.
Colonel Balard held the dog tags Craig had given him when they’d first met, and the timeline reset for the last time.
* * * *
Prime Minister Gundarovsky neared the end of his speech, the first he’d given since the collapse of the coup and the arrest of the Emergency Committee members. His office was crowded with TV cameras, lights and news crews. Unlike those who had led Russia in previous centuries, he was comfortable with cameras and photographed well. In his Russia, the media had a new found power that would be hard to destroy.
It was the money that made it possible. Bribes to key army officers had lifted martial law. Other payments to internal security leaders had caused the lifting of controls on the media. Before the Emergency Committee could react, he paid the armed forces and the police all the back pay they were due, assuring their loyalty. Once in control, he guaranteed the bureaucracy their jobs were safe and presented proof he’d repaid many of the foreign loans crippling Russia’s economy, and promised the populace that the coup leaders would be punished. Only Defense Minister Tarkovskoi would escape trial, because he shot himself to avoid the humiliation of arrest.
Standing well behind the cameras at the far end of the office, Bill Corman watched the Prime Minister’s speech with mixed feelings. President Tokarev had been released, but had not yet returned to the Kremlin; the Zamok Branka survivors were now making global headlines, proof that the old Russia was gone and a new, free Russia had been born; and America had backed the winner, which meant closer relations in the future. It had all inspired a strange optimism, but he knew Russia was still a basket case and the threat of a hard line revolution would haunt the country for years to come.
Alexander Karmanov whispered, “What will you do now?”
“I’m heading back to the States. There’ll be congressional inquiries, senate hearings and a god awful media circus, but it’ll blow over.”
“What will happen to the Zamok Branka men?”
“They’ll go home, wherever that is. They won’t recognize it, a lot has changed. And there’ll be bridges to mend.”
“People will go on,” Karmanov said. “They’ll forget, and perhaps, there’ll be no more secrets.”
Corman gave him a dubious look. “There’ll always be secrets.”
“What will happen to Craig Balard? We owe him everything, yet he is wanted for murder in your country.”
“He’ll be exonerated, and who knows, maybe the media will make a hero out of him – once the full story gets out.”
Karmanov smiled. “He’s an unlikely hero, but he’s given us a chance for peace.”
“Peace in our time,” Corman agreed. It was what he’d wanted all along.
* * * *
“I’m not a pretty sight,” Nikki said a little sadly over the phone. “But give me a few months, and I’ll be as good as new.”
“I won’t need a few months,” Craig assured her. “I can’t wait to see you again, no matter how you look!”
“You sweet talking shyster.”
“And I have a surprise for you.”
“What kind of surprise?” Nikki asked, intrigued.
“Actually, two surprises.” He hadn’t bought a ring yet, but his mind was made up. The other surprise he wasn’t sure about it. He’d checked his Swiss account that morning, to discover the interest payment for holding over a trillion dollars for even a few days had made him a wealthy man. He figured they’d both earned it, one way or another, but he’d let Nikki decide if they should keep it to pay for a new house, perhaps in the Hamptons.
“Two surprises?” she said. “Any hints?”
“They both relate to the future, but I’ll keep you in suspense until I see you in person. Got to go. Bye,” he said, and hung up.
He walked over to where his father sat with General Sorokin and Valentina in the departure lounge of Tokyo’s Narita international airport. Valentina had her arm in a sling, and was still weak, but she’d insisted on checking herself out of hospital to see Craig and his father off.
They didn’t hurry to join the line of passengers passing through immigration control for the flight to Los Angeles. Most of the Zamok Branka men had already flown out on earlier flights. Only a few remained for medical reasons in Japan. Within a couple of days, all would be home, adjusting to changes wrought by decades of absence. Any thought of secret cover stories was forgotten in the blaze of publicity now surrounding them. Most were being bombarded by lawyers seeking to represent them in class actions against the government or with offers of film and book deals. It seemed a bizarre contrast to the ultimatum they’d received only a few days before.
“I hope you’ll come back some day,” Valentina said, giving Craig a departing kiss on the cheek. “Come to Russia when things have settled down. There is a whole side of the country you haven’t se
en yet.”
“I might just do that,” Craig said. “I’ll bring Nikki. You’ll like her, she’s very . . . single-minded.”
General Sorokin shook hands with Colonel Balard. “When you tell your story, don’t be too hard on us. Things were different back then.”
Colonel Balard nodded. “I know.”
Craig and his father were the last to board the aircraft, settling in for the long flight across the Pacific. After the 747 was airborne, Craig noticed his father lying back in his seat staring vacantly ahead.
“What is it?”
His father was slow to answer. “I haven’t seen your mother in a long time. We’ll be strangers.”
“She never remarried, even though she thought you were dead.”
“In that case, I guess I better buy some flowers on the way home,” he said with a grin. After a while, his father said, “You haven’t seen that woman again, have you?”
Craig had told his father all about Mariena, her pleas for help and her warning about the future world. “No. I’ve sent several messages, but I don’t think she’s listening anymore.”
“Do you think it worked? Did you change the future?” Colonel Balard asked.
Craig shrugged uncertainly. “Only time will tell.”
* * * *
September 16, 2276
The lander’s robotic arm lowered the camera onto the frozen surface of Pluto and began transmitting to the Solar Explorer III in orbit high above. The ship immediately relayed the signal to the Lagrange-2 Station via its Tachyon Communications Array as the two crewmen in orbit watched enviously. Even though the array was operating at the extreme edge of its range, the signal reached the station instantly, and was immediately relayed to Earth.
The dome-shaped lander’s outer air-lock door slid open, revealing a white bulbous metal suit. After a moment, the suit stepped out onto the landing platform.
“Commencing EVA”, Captain Tom Wilkins said in a level tone as the elevator platform lowered him to the surface. He took a breath, preparing himself, then said, “I’m exiting the landing platform.”
The Kremlin Phoenix Page 26