“Shall we go?” Mr. Kiryanov said, hauling a pair of suitcases.
“Let’s,” I said.
“What’s the plan?” he asked.
“Follow me.”
Two blocks away we hailed a cab to the Voykovskaya Metro station. After we arrived, we killed time walking around the station and then boarded the train to Volokolamsk.
It was going to be a long ride. We clustered near the exit of the train. The adult Kiryanovs understood the gravity of the situation; they were tense but watchful, helping us scan for threats. Anya seemed to treat it like an adventure, squirming restlessly about in her seat, settling only when Mrs. Kiryanova began reading a story to her.
Out the windows, I saw the urban jungle surrender to the countryside. The ravages of WWIII had left most of Rhosia untouched. There were sabotage operations, deep raids and the final clashes between the reformers and the loyalists, but otherwise, the countryside and the cities had remained pristine. The particle beam defenses ringing Moskva had kept away ICBMs and long-range bombers. Half of the Alliance command was afraid that destroying the defenses might have triggered an apocalyptic nuclear exchange; the other half thought that with the capital exposed the Soviets might sue for peace or at least back down.
Fortunately, the New Year’s Revolution had made that matter moot.
The Volokolamsk train station was situated at the south of the town. After we got off, we meandered our way around, partly to stretch our legs, partly to sweep for surveillance and partly to buy jackets.
When I was sure we were clean, we headed south again. We caught a bus to the town of Pagubino. It was the very definition of a backwater; it was so tiny and insignificant we couldn’t find any information about it on the Net.
After a hearty dinner at a local restaurant, we walked the streets, waiting for nightfall. As darkness swallowed the world, most of the town lights went out, and the people retreated indoors.
The temperature dropped quickly. We donned our jackets, stuffed our hands into our pockets and headed for the edge of town.
I said, “It’s going to be a long walk. Hope you’re ready.”
We were, but Anya wasn’t. The Kiryanovs took turns carrying her, switching off every so often. Eve volunteered to help, but Anya fussed whenever Eve picked her up.
“You couldn’t rent a car?” Stepan asked.
“We don’t want to leave a paper trail,” I said.
This was an unofficial mission. The local NISA station wouldn’t clean up after us. The simpler we kept things, the better.
“Where are we going?” Mrs. Kiryanova asked, cradling Anya to her.
“Not far from here,” I replied.
The lights of the town faded behind us. Ahead, the streetlights washed the highway in amber, their light spilling from the road to illuminate the woods lining the road.
We followed the tree line, striking north. Lonely cars streaked past us, but none stopped for us. Halfway between Pagubino and Volokolamsk, I led them west into the woods.
I navigated by flashlight, picking out a path between the ancient trees and around fallen logs and shrubs. Every so often, I checked my compass and my digital map. Eve stayed behind me, making sure the Kiryanovs could catch up and ensuring they stayed hydrated from the water bottles we had bought in town.
The woods parted, revealing a vast plain. Tall stalks, heavy with grain, swayed gently in the night breeze. Harvest season was coming. We didn’t need to flatten some poor farmers’ crops. That would be rude and, more to the point, lead to unwanted questions.
“We’ll take a break here,” I said. “I’ll check the plain; keep an eye on the Kiryanovs.”
“Okay,” Eve said.
Anya yawned and rubbed at her eyes. Her parents were weary, but Eve whispered reassurances to them. After emptying my water bottle, I stepped out of the woods.
There was a stretch of empty land between the woods and the crops. I paced off the distance, estimating how much room I had to play with. About two hundred meters. More than enough.
I powered up my phone and called Pete.
“Yo,” he said. “Everything’s cool?”
“Yup. We’ve got the package and am at the primary LZ. What’s your ETA?”
“About ten mikes. Start flashing when we’re two mikes out.”
“Gotcha.”
As we waited, we finished the last of the water. With two minutes to go, I fitted an infrared filter to my flashlight, pointed at the sky and flashed away.
A moment of light. Pause. A longer burst. Pause. Two short flashes.
I kept the signal going to the tune of Here comes the bride. With my other hand, I held my phone to my ear and called Pete again.
“See my strobe?” I asked.
“Yup,” he said. “We are inbound.”
I continued flashing. Moments later, I heard a loud buzzing cut through the air. An enormous bulk appeared in the sky, darker than the rest of the night. It grew closer, louder, more defined. Past treetop level, red anti-collision lights switched on.
I turned off the flashlight and got out of the way. The Kalypso inflated her landing cushions and slowly descended.
“Eve! Stepan! Our ride is here!” I yelled over the rotor noise.
Eve and the civilians trudged out of the woods. Anya stared at the airship in naked wonder, her eyes glittering. Tugging at her mother’s sleeve, she babbled in rapid-fire Rhosian. Her mother smiled and patted her head.
The entrance ramp lowered. Pete stepped out and waved us forward.
The Kiryanovs boarded first and then Eve. I was the last up, checking we had left no trace of ourselves behind. When I entered the drawing room, Pete whispered into a headset. The ramp raised and the airship ascended.
“All good?” Pete asked.
“Peachy,” I said. “We didn’t have any trouble.”
He grinned. “Looks like we just pulled off our first covert extraction.”
“Hey, let’s not go celebrating until we’re out of here.”
“Is this… your airship?” Stepan asked.
I nodded.
“It’s… amazing,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“Who are you?”
I smiled. “Don’t worry about that just yet. We have a ways to go before we’re safe. There’s a free cabin upstairs. Eve will show you there. Let’s put Anya to bed and discuss the details in the morning. Okay?”
Stepan nodded. “Okay. And… thank you. For saving us.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s what we do.”
***
We still needed to close the loop with the Rhosians. It would not do for the Rhosian Air Force to see an airship depart Rhosian skies without clearance, and in the future if I had to return, I didn’t need a Rhosian immigration official to wonder why I hadn’t officially left the country.
We continued northwest to Novgorod. Eve and I got off on the outskirts of the city and caught a cab to the airport. Everyone aboard, sans our guests, passed through Customs without a hitch. A couple of hours later, we were airborne again.
In the morning we had breakfast together in the dining room. Stepan was the guest of honor and regaled us with stories of his work. He spoke about interviews with reformers and journalists and policemen, tidbits about daily life in Rhosia, his frustration with the government and the Mafiya. We listened intently, feeding him questions and non-classified tidbits of our own. He was a journalist, and journalists thrived off information and human interaction.
After breakfast, Mrs. Kiryanova tended to Anya while Stepan and I headed to the war room. Pete had sanitized the room last night. There was no classified information, no active computers or displays, just an office worthy of a CEO.
I prepared a cup of tea for him and coffee for myself, and we sat at the table. He sipped at his tea, savoring the taste.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“This feels so… unreal,” Kiryanov said. “I’ve never been aboard an airship before, much less
a luxury ship like this.”
“I had the same feeling,” I said. “Still getting used to it.”
He smiled. “You’re not Hexenhammer, are you?”
“Oh?”
“We’re not so rich that we can buy an airship, much less one as magnificent as this. And you and your team speak with Hesperian accents.”
I nodded. “Guilty as charged.”
“Hah! Where are you from?”
“My team and I are representatives of Hesperian intelligence.”
“NISA.”
I smiled and said nothing.
“No? Who else could it be?” he wondered.
“Let us simply say it’s a team effort. The important part is that we are Eve’s friends, and we’d like to be your friends, too.”
“Is this where you recruit me?”
He wasn’t the type to beat around the bush. Fortunately, neither was I.
“You and I are professionals. Allow me to lay out the situation for you.”
He nodded. “Very well.”
“You and your family are refugees. Any moment now, the Rhosian government and intelligence services will realize that you are gone. They will hunt for you. If they do find you, you can bet they will be tasked to bring you back. They will not show mercy. You cannot go back home. Your old life is over.”
Stepan nodded solemnly. “Yes. We accept that. Eve said she could help.”
“Yes. That’s where I come in. Do you have any backup identities?”
“No, nothing of that sort. We’re not operatives like Eve or yourself. We are civilians. We don’t have access to that kind of training or resources.”
“I understand. Our organization can protect you.”
“How?”
“In the short term, you can stay here with us. Once the danger has passed, our organization can offer you Hesperian citizenship and expedite the naturalization process. Once you’re a Hesperian citizen, even Rhosian intelligence will hesitate to touch you. Who knows? You might even be able to return to your old life.”
I knew there was a slim chance of that happening, and, quite likely, so did he. In Rhosia, journalists, politicians and dissidents who asked too many wrong questions and had too many fans of the wrong political orientation were regularly arrested and jailed on trumped-up charges. And that was what happened to those who weren’t simply assassinated or disappeared outright. The same ruthlessness extended to overseas dissidents—even defectors ostensibly living under government protection. No matter what happened next, he and his family would have to live the rest of his life on the run or in the shadows.
He sipped at his tea and nodded gravely. “Is that all?”
“So long as you’re aboard this airship with us, we will protect you. With our lives.”
He looked pensively into his tea. “Anya is five years old. This is no life for a child. Once this is over, how are we going to live our lives? Where is she going to go?”
“That isn’t my field of expertise. But my organization has plenty of people with the experience and skills to help you transition to a new life.”
“I don’t know how much of a new life it would be.” He sighed. “We’ll be permanently separated from our friends, our families, our home. If I start up my webcasts elsewhere, I’ll be placing myself on a hit list. I can live on the run, but not the rest of my family. If I do something else… I don’t have much in the way of marketable skills outside my job. I don’t know how we can live from now on.”
“Our people can help you with all that,” I said gently. “It will be a difficult period of adjustment, but it’s far better than rotting in Lubyanka, yes?”
He smiled. “Yes. I suppose you’re right.” He sipped at his tea and sighed. “You’re not doing this out of the kindness of your hearts, are you?”
“We would like your cooperation with an operation.”
“Is that your price?”
“Yes.”
For now.
He sighed. “Very well. What do you want from me?”
I smiled. “Not much. Your presence alone has helped us greatly.”
“What do you mean?”
On cue, Eve knocked on the door.
“Come!” I said.
She stepped in, a triumphant grin on her face.
We had arranged for the entry. Not for the grin.
“I’ve never seen you so happy before,” I said.
She sat next to me and laid a slate on the table. “I know who the traitor is.”
“You found him?” Stepan asked. “How?”
Eve woke her slate and typed away.
“We compromised a slate used by a known enemy agent and told our suspects we were coming to pick you up,” she said. “We told each of them we were going to meet you in different cities across Rhosia. This is what we got.”
She turned the slate around, letting us read the mail.
K is in Saint Petersburg. M is flying into the city and will be there by 1400 tomorrow. She will meet him at the Corinthia Hotel at 1800. She has requested assets to provide security for the meet.
Send a detail of four units. Once you have K and M’s location, terminate them as you see fit. You may terminate any other HH operatives M may have with her. If necessary, you may also terminate K’s family. No other collateral damage is permitted. Most importantly, do not be discovered: we must not have media attention for this operation.
K for Kiryanov, M for Martel, HH for Hexenhammer.
“Who is the traitor?” Stepan asked.
Her good mood fell away. Her eyes grew dark and stormy. Her face tensed, her lips tightened, her hands clenched into fists.
“Hans Brandt.”
Her voice was filled with venom. Heat radiated off her. She was furious—angrier than I had ever seen her.
“Who’s he?” I asked.
“He’s an agent of FIS,” she said.
“Swiss intelligence?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your history with him?”
She folded her arms, leaned against the chair and sighed.
“Three years ago, I asked my… friends if they knew anyone in the military or intelligence services who was willing to discuss terrorism with a former journalist. I was mad at DW for attacking the Examiner… but I was even madder at the Pantopian governments for not doing anything about DW or the people who support them. I wanted to see what I could do.
“Among the names I received was Hans Brandt. I discussed DW with him, trying to understand what made them tick and why Pantopia didn’t do anything about them. He said the governments were weak, and they didn’t want to offend their voter base. There was only so much he could do in Switzerland, but if no government would do anything about DW, the people of Pantopia would.
“We kept in touch for the next few months. I settled my affairs in Anglia and wondered what I could do next. We were facing a clash of civilizations. A war, but the governments of Pantopia weren’t treating it like one. I couldn’t just sit back and pretend it wasn’t happening. I couldn’t let DW attack me again. I floated the idea of Hexenhammer to Brandt as a hypothetical question: if you knew a vigilante group was hunting terrorists and gangsters around Pantopia, what would you do? He said he would support them.
“And that’s exactly what he did. I identified and brought in recruits. He trained us in tradecraft. When we brought Hexenhammer online, he fed us intelligence on targets and kept us updated on attempts to investigate us.
“He was one of our founders… and our greatest betrayer.”
She cursed bitterly under her breath.
“Why did he have a change of heart?” Stepan asked. “Why turn around and betray you?”
“I don’t know…” Eve said, her eyes hard as flint.
“Perhaps he was blackmailed?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “We’ve been reading his other emails. He doesn’t sound like a man under duress. He sounds like someone comfortable with commanding his subordinates to do his dirty wo
rk.”
“I imagine you’ll need to talk to him to find out why,” Stepan said.
“Indeed. We’re not just interested in him. He is part of a larger organization—the same organization that framed Hexenhammer and is stirring up chaos all over Pantopia. We need to know what they want. Eve said you have some insight into them.”
She chuckled. “Here we go.”
I blinked. She was exuberant when she walked in, enraged a few moments ago, and now she was… amused. I’d never known a woman who cycled between moods so fast. A sane woman, anyway.
Stepan crackled his knuckles and drank his tea. “I’m sure you’ve asked yourself who benefits from the chaos, yes?”
“Yes,” I said. “We didn’t get anywhere from there.”
“It seems strange, doesn’t it? They’re not terrorists: terrorists want people to know their name. They’re not state actors: no one country benefits from terrorism.”
“So what are they?” I asked.
“Globalists.”
I blinked.
“Globalists?” I repeated.
“Yes. Think on it. Since the fall of the Soviet Union, the elite of the First World have been pushing for globalization. After the war that nearly ended the world, there was a push for one world, one people. Beat swords into plowshares, for the lion shall lie down with the lamb. Peace and prosperity for all time.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Whose peace? And whose prosperity? You see, globalization only truly benefits those in a position to reap the rewards. The free movement of labor drives down costs for multinational corporations and allows impoverished people the chance to earn higher wages… but at the cost of local workers who are displaced from their jobs. The oligarchs enjoy greater profits. Their foreign workers enjoy some profits. Everybody else? Peanuts.”
Any other day and I would have called it ludicrous. But who else had the money and power to stand up a death squad of daimonic supersoldiers, outfit them with cutting-edge equipment, and cover up the trail of blood they’d left behind?
“This sounds hard to believe,” I said.
“It does, doesn’t it? But listen: the Pantopian Union was created to form a single market and a political union across the continent. The Union is not run by its feckless Parliament but by the unelected and unaccountable bureaucrats. The Pantopian Commission, the Central Bank, the Council, the Court of Justice. They can impose their will on the entire Union, and no one has the right to object. This is how they rammed through their single market, their single currency, and now their refugee quotas.”
Hammer of the Witches Page 41