'Advance to Contact' (Armageddon's Song)

by Andy Farman

  As expected, his computer was running perfectly, so dialling the telephone exchange he ordered them to test the line. He would have to check that the lines in his own building were operating correctly, so after taking a look at events in the general’s home he elected not to walk around the console to check the sockets where the feeds were arriving, the soldier and the beautiful whore were still discussing money but the action could begin at any moment. Of greater importance was the problem of finding what was screwing up his reception, if it wasn’t a fault on the line then he would eventually be able to cleanse the downloads of any jamming interference.

  Leaning full length across the work surface he reached down, using his fingertips to probe for the cables and trace them to the sockets he could just about reach, but couldn’t see, intending to check that none had come loose.

  He heard the bottle of illegal beverage fall on its side when he inadvertently knocked against the monitor, its contents gushed out, finding the vents that allowed heat to dissipate from the unit, and the electrical circuitry within. There was a loud bang and the monitors screen went dark.

  Timoskova scrambled upright, grabbing at the bottle but the damage had been done. With an oath he banged the side of the dead device, realising he was going to be in deep shit if he wasn’t careful. Swapping the piece of drowned equipment wasn’t a problem; there were several unlocked and unattended offices on this floor with identical monitors at workstations there. The system was still downloading the feeds, unaffected by the mishap that had befallen one of its peripheral devices, but simply plugging it into his terminal wouldn’t make it work, the computer would need to be restarted first for that to happen. He would have no option but to report the strange gathering, and if the data had a big chunk missing, caused by a restart then drinking on duty would be the least of his worries, they might suspect him of collusion. His best hope was for the line to be faulty, but then the telephone rang and the exchange supervisor dashed that same hope on the rocks.

  He looked at the wall clock and came to a decision, the individuals at the dacha were not likely to be staying there indefinitely, and they had to get back to their posts before too long, so he would give it until 4am and then attach another monitor, restart the system and get cracking on filtering out the jamming. His boss would want to know what the hell he had been doing with his time if he had a report of suspicious activity, and nothing usable to give to his boss!

  Caroline watched the Russian girl disappear and checked her watch, allowing fifteen minutes to elapse before leaving the car also, she noted that she could see well enough to follow Svetlana’s tracks in the snow, which aside from small animal tracks was almost pristine; apparently no one was going for strolls in the woods these days.

  It took ten minutes for her to reach a spot where the Russian girl had obviously paused for a few minutes to listen, before moving off again at a tangent. This new course went around almost in a complete circle, and it wasn’t until she saw a tiny speck of light that Caroline noticed the dark outline of a two-storey building. Svetlana had circled the building as a precaution should a trap be awaiting her instead the promised meeting.

  The American pilot had gotten as far as the far side of the house when she froze in her tracks. A door had opened and then shut, briefly illuminating the snow, but with the outline of a man silhouetted within it. She hears footfalls on the steps and the crunch of snow underfoot but they did not come toward her, a car door opened and closed, followed after a few minutes by the engine starting, no doubt to keep the occupant warm.

  Whoever was in the vehicle left the headlights off and after waiting for two minutes, Caroline backed away until the building was between herself and the vehicle, before screwing up her courage and leaving the trees, to cross the open ground to the dacha’s rear wall.

  Working her way around, keeping close to the wall she looked for some means of seeing or hearing what was going on inside the building. Heavy drapes were at all the windows and music was being played which drowned out all other sounds from within, but at one the curtains had not been closed with the same care as the others, the chink of light that Caroline had seen from the trees allowed her a very limited view inside.

  There was no one in sight, but a mirror on an internal wall across from her allowed her to see that an open staircase ran above the window she was using, it was hardly a prime surveillance post that she had found for herself and she was about to move on when a movement in the mirror caught her eye. It was so quick that she had to think hard on what she had seen, it was a man in an unbuttoned uniform jacket she decided, coming down the stairs and then the door opened and she heard him go to the car and join the other man inside it.

  Short of climbing up to an upper window, which would be noisy, or trying the front of the house, where she would be seen by the car’s occupants, this was her only option, so she stayed where she was.

  The cold was making inroads into her feet through the soles of her borrowed boots before something again happened indoors; another man in uniform descended the stairs and went to the car.

  Whatever was going on, she had seen no guns or attack dogs, no torture chamber or heard any screams from within, but she kept her promise to Constantine and stayed beside the window, her hand in the coat pocket fingering the pistol.

  It was a full twenty minutes later before a, by now thoroughly chilled, Caroline saw anything else, but it made her start; she saw the thigh length boots and her long tanned legs. No one followed behind with cattle prod or firearm so Caroline backed off before Svetlana descended the stairs, withdrawing to where she could just see through the trees, and waited. After a few minutes the door open and Svetlana emerged, wrapped in the fur coat and with hat firmly in place. Caroline saw her wave girlishly toward the car and then hurry off the porch toward the trees, so she too made rapid tracks back to the car herself, arriving five minutes before the Russian, and about thirty seconds before the deadline set by the Russian girl expired.

  Svetlana walked slowly up to the car when she did appear, and stood for a moment looking at Caroline through the windscreen; the Americans footprints had been very evident, following the Russians as they had. When she open the door and slid inside she continued to look levelly at the pilot before speaking, and there was tenseness, an air of apprehension about her when she did. “You followed me…why?”

  Caroline shrugged.

  “Con asked me to keep an eye on you, he thought that there was something you weren’t telling him.”

  “And?”

  “He said that you seemed to think you were the bionic woman, and he thought that this meeting was more dangerous than you let on.”

  “So how did it look to you?”

  “I’m not expert at clandestine plotting, from what I could see it was you and a bunch of military types. No one was waving heated irons and wearing hoods, so I guess you read it right……….how did it go anyway?”

  Svetlana relaxed visibly, almost letting out a gasp of relief but caught herself in time.

  “Well, they wanted more than Scott thought they would, but I knew better so I was ready for it. I’ve got the location of the premier’s present location, and the next one he will be moving to, if he hasn’t already. All we need now is for the contact to let us know he is there…ok?” Svetlana paused before continuing. “So what else did my knight in shining armour tell you about me?”

  Caroline laughed.

  “Nothing, he was just worried that you would get in over your head, and that he wouldn’t be there to ride shotgun.”

  Constantine knew, or rather feared a lot more than that about the people she was dealing with. So Svetlana held out her hand, palm upwards.

  “Hand it over!”

  After a moment’s hesitation Caroline brought out the small handgun, extracted the magazine and worked the slide. An exasperated Svetlana took the items and then checked the chamber was clear.

  “Jesus Caroline, it’s bad enough that we’d have been shot out of hand
had we run into a road block, and they’d found this…but it wasn’t even cocked?”

  “Sorry, but I’m a flier not a spook.”

  Svetlana opened the car window and tossed the pistol and magazine out into the night.

  “Caroline, and I am speaking from some experience here, a good looking female body and a pretty face will get you out of most situations that a gun never could, because once a guy has a stiffy, then things get blurry in his head. What he sees will bypass his frontal lobe and logic centres, before taking a radical turn and heading straight south.”

  Caroline laughed aloud.

  “Well let’s hope whoever stops us isn’t gay.”

  The Russian girl reached into a pocket and withdrew some US dollar bills, handing across $500 to Caroline who raised a questioning eyebrow, so she explained.

  “It’s camouflage, you have just ridden a balding general to heaven and back…and I was pretty damn nasty between the sheets too,” she added with a wink. “It would look a bit odd if we came away empty handed, don’t you think?” before starting up the car and getting them on the service road again towards the city. “Open your coat and show those great legs of yours, just in case we are less lucky getting home than we were coming here.”

  The cash was her own but the curfew pass had been handed over in the dacha. The general in question was still otherwise engaged several miles from the other dacha, and would never know his name had been taken in vain.

  Five miles down the road a pair of elderly yet functional BTR fighting vehicles of the militia were sat blocking the road in such a manner as to force vehicles to slow to a crawl in order to negotiate the chicane they had formed. Tonight however, all vehicles would be stopped and searched for draft dodgers and curfew breakers before they could proceed.

  The young militiaman stood out front with the task of flagging the cars down, saw the light from the cars main beams before he heard its engine. His colleagues further ahead even than he was, faded into the trees, ready to provide cover as he turned on the red lamp he carried and began to swing it side to side in a clear signal for the driver of the oncoming vehicle to stop.

  He did not like being so exposed, stood out in the centre of the road and so far from the protection afforded by the BTRs armoured sides, but the cars headlights dipped and the engines tone altered as its driver slowed and eventually brought it to a halt before him.

  The driver reached up to switch on the internal light allowing him to relax when he saw the occupants of the two-seater were not only female, but what females!

  The passenger had deep blue eyes framed by eyelashes that matched the colour of her blonde hair; she was beautiful but rather haughty, not deigning to look his way at that time. The driver on the other hand was just as gorgeous but she was looking directly at him in a very bold fashion, a smile playing on her lips. The side window had been wound down but he was just staring instead of getting on with the business of the night, and the auburn haired driver leant out the window and smiled widely.

  “Hello soldier, see anything you like?”

  With something of a start he realised he was still stood by the front of the car and stepped quickly forward, bending at the waist to look in. The driver and passenger both wore expensive Sable, and the militiaman took a long look at what he believed must be the most expensive hookers he had ever seen, looking chic and elegant in their expensive, yet revealing outfits.

  “Ladies…good evening, I must ask you for your papers please.”

  When they were passed across he tried to scrutinise the documents and still ogle the long legs of both driver and passenger, but from behind him he could hear someone pacing about impatiently, and knew his officer was in an irritable mood so he concentrated on the curfew pass.

  “And how is the good General tonight Madame?”

  “Snoring away softly with a smile on his face, when I last looked.”

  “The, er, General is not a young man………yet he managed you both?”

  The driver wet her lips.

  “The General likes to watch…if you know how I mean soldier?” She reached across to the passenger side as she spoke, one hand stroked her friends’ knee, and the legs parted a few inches, allowing the hand to caress along the blondes thigh and disappear from view beneath the hem of her filmy, silk mini skirt. The blonde turned to look him directly in the eyes, her expression still one of quiet arrogance, but she deliberately allowed him to see her part her thighs wider still.

  He gulped, and a collage of erotic images filled the young man’s head, but then the moment was spoilt by an angry voice from behind him.

  “Stop gawping at what you can’t afford, get them out of the car and searched…I’m freezing my balls off here!”

  Word that there were two attractive females in the car had spread to all in the patrol, and driver’s hatches popped open to allow a better view. The blonde had exited the car into the chill night, but the long fur coat remained open as she lounged against the side of the red sports car with her hands in the pockets, whilst the militiaman searched inside. Her companion who was leant with her elbows on the car roof, smiled and waved to their audience.

  On the other side of the roadblock, another car that had been stopped was cleared on through, and it wound itself between the APCs before accelerating past the Mercedes. Svetlana bit back a giggle as the breezed caused by its passage lifted the other young woman’s skirt, but rather than prudishly try to slap the wispy material down, the American allowed the militiamen to cop an eyeful of flat belly and minute black G-string, whilst still appearing aloof. An appreciative cheer sounded from somewhere in the darkness, much to the annoyance of the officer who plainly thought that hidden sentries should be both silent as well as invisible.

  As it was patently obvious that neither woman was hiding a weapon under their inner clothing, only the coat pockets received the young man’s attentions once he had finished searching the car.

  At last the papers were returned and the red Mercedes negotiated the chicane with the auburn haired driver waving to the grinning men, before she gunned the engine and left them with just a pleasant memory and a story to be told back in barracks.

  Svetlana was as effervescent as ever drove on towards Moscow, talking animatedly without realising the American was withdrawn. The incident at the roadblock and the simulated groping by the Russian girl had suddenly brought back to her mind something that had happened before they had come to Russia. She found herself staring at Svetlana’s legs and the generous expanse of exposed thigh, and blushed deeply before looking out of the side window, and she stayed like that for most of the return journey.

  It was almost 2am by the time they arrived back at the farmhouse in the old van, having returned the sports car to its bay in the storage site. They said farewell to their contact and he drove away, leaving them to head toward the building where a single light still burned.

  Patricia had been dozing in a chair until the sound of the vans engine awoke her, and she was pouring vodka into three glasses when they came in. Hugs were exchanged and then Patricia was filled in on the night’s events. It was seven hours before the next satellite pass so it was time to get some sleep, and Patricia had to leave for another maintenance run on the Nighthawk.

  Svetlana yawned and stood, removing the long sable and heading for the stairs but an oath from Caroline stopped her in mid stride.

  “Shit…I don’t believe you could have done that ‘lana!”

  Patricia was as taken aback as the Russian girl, but Caroline pointed at the flesh revealing sides of Svetlana’s outfit. “You fucked him didn’t you?”

  Caroline marched past Svetlana, her frame rigid with anger.

  Pat realised that the Russian was no longer wearing the G-string and raised an eyebrow questioningly, not just because the girl was pantiless, but at her colleagues reaction, however Svetlana just shrugged and added an “Ooop’s.” before heading off to her own room. She owed no explanation to either American as to what had be
come of the item and was too tired now to care anyway.

  The moon was sending its silver light to illuminate the countryside, and Svetlana kept the light off on reaching her room, allowing the moonbeams to show her the way to the bed, where she stripped off quickly and was asleep soon after climbing between the sheets.

  The creak of a hinge awoke Svetlana two hours later, and she opened her eyes to see the American pilot stood in the doorway, looking somehow fragile in a wool shirt a couple of sizes too large for her. Moonlight still shone through the open curtains and long shadows fled away from the furniture’s dark sides towards the door.

  She propped herself up on an elbow before asking what was wrong.

  There was a tinge of the indignant in Carolinas answer.

  “I wanted to say sorry for snapping…but I do think Con deserves a little more loyalty from you.”

  Svetlana was quiet for a moment before speaking.

  “So you don’t think that my going in wearing panties and coming out without them, could have been due to a combination of forgetfulness…and having had to strip, in order to prove I wasn’t wired for sound then?”

  That the American hadn’t considered that possibility was written on her face once Svetlana finished.

  “Look, I’m sorry…I just assumed………” But Svetlana cut her off before she finished her sentence.

  “Yes you did, didn’t you?”

  Caroline half turned to leave and then stopped.

  “It was you, wasn’t it…that night at the dinner party up at the house?”

  “I’m sorry, but now what am I supposed to have done?”

  “At the dinner table someone touched my leg; I thought either Scott or Max had allowed the wine to override their inhibitions. But when you put your hand on my leg at the roadblock…I suddenly realised that it wasn’t a hand I’d felt that night but a foot, and you were sat directly opposite me.”