by Niles Kovach
I hobbled, painfully, trying to keep up with Louis as he led me, and sometimes dragged me, through the cellar labyrinth. We found Vasily standing on a six-foot crate, calmly dismantling six small oblong packages of yellow plastic. He worked quickly, his face expressionless. He removed the detonator, the primer charge, and then the explosive, jumped off the crate, and stuffed the bomb into a sack that once belonged to Ahmed.
Louis lifted the sack and we followed Vasily to the next charge. This was in a more sheltered area where we surprised two building security guards who surrendered their guns to Louis immediately. When this bomb was safely in the sack, there was a short discussion about the guards. Vasily glanced toward me. There seemed nothing available to tie them, but Vasily dug into the sack and came up with some wire. Louis snorted derisively as he helped Vasily tie their hands and arms. He kept his gun on them and dragged them along on our quest. At each stop, I slumped to the floor, trying to breathe without pain, not succeeding, and finally distracting myself by watching, fascinated, as Vasily worked. As did the guards.
Misha joined us eventually. He gave the remote to Louis who took it apart before putting it in his back pocket. In a short time, though it seemed long to me, Vasily announced that we had come to the last one.
This one was high on a wall behind a pair of crossed girders across a small space from the tied up guards. The girders crossed each other halfway up the wall, each rising in the opposite direction at a twenty-degree angle. The bomb had been placed at the ceiling above the right-hand girder.
I was in a puddle on the floor, still trying to breathe, grateful that this was the last one.
"Hold this, please," said Vasily.
He stood over me, handing me the holster that held his gun. I guess he took it off as a precaution. He pulled himself easily up to the last bomb, unencumbered by the weapon, and dismantled it. The immobile guards watched until Misha’s sharp look made them turn their heads.
The last charge in hand, Vasily slid down, took his gun, and put it back on. He held his hand out to me, helped me to stand, and supported me on his right arm.
We stood under the girders, finished, but not relieved. Misha looked at me. "Will you be coming with us?" he asked me.
I knew what he was asking, and I had an answer. He did not say, "Are you coming?" but "Will you?" He wanted to know if I would go with them to whatever lair they might slink to in whatever country that might harbor them.
I had seen enough death, felt enough pain, and shared enough guilt to last my lifetime. I loved Vasily, but I could not have just one part of him. If I wanted him, I must take all of him, as he was, and there was a great deal of him that I did not like. I remembered Boris. Vasily was made of the same fabric as the men who had hurt me that night.
Guilt was another problem. It was overtaking me. I had actively and willingly taken part in killing. I could not console myself with the thought of the hundreds who would live that day, I could only see the awful reality of death in the bodies of those who died that night, evil though their intentions had been. I did not know if I had done the right thing. I only knew that I wanted no more decisions like it. Give me moral neutrality, no more questions I cannot answer, no more choices I cannot discern. I am a child of this world, and I am bound to it by chains I cannot break.
I said, "No."
Misha gestured with one hand, with just two fingers of one hand. A minimal gesture. Vasily raised his eyebrows, questioning, as his left hand reached for his gun. He shot the security guard on the right, just above the nose. Louis, who stood to our left, shot the man on the left. Both guards fell at the same time.
I was sick again. This horror was complete. My only comfort was that I would soon be rid of these men. We trudged to the exit, where we stepped over Ahmed's body, slipping in his blood.
The Mercedes was parked some distance away. Our progress was slowed by my condition and we had not gone far when I could go no further. I collapsed on a green space and begged to rest against a tree. There was a brief discussion before Vasily and Misha left to get the car. Louis sat beside me.
"It was a trap for us, you know," said Louis.
"Yes. So I understand."
"We were lucky to have you."
"Pardon me?" I did not really want to talk. It took too much breath.
"The sensor you swallowed picked up all their sensors. We knew every wire they used and had to find a way around them all to surprise them. That is why it took us so long." He looked at me. "I'm sorry."
For what? For taking so long? Or for dragging me into this in the first place? Waste no apologies on me. Just take me home.
"You have been a very great help," said Louis. "Thank you."
Apologies and thank yous. Just take me home.
"Misha thinks they were greedy, but I think they were merely cowards."
I could only register my puzzlement in my expression. I had no breath to spare.
"They waited ten days for the lasers," Louis explained. "Misha thinks they were too intent on completely destroying the building as well as us, but he is wrong. Achim needed accuracy so that he could trap us and detonate at precisely the right moment. He did not want to fight Misha, just kill him. He was a coward."
He paused. "Misha won, anyway," he said.
I nodded at the obvious.
"He did not win easily?"
I shook my head.
"It is always that way. It is always decided in a moment of chaos."
He paused again, then continued, picking his words carefully. "You are important to Vasily. This..."
That was all I heard before I fainted. I woke again in the back of the Mercedes, next to Misha, who stank with a vile odor. It was almost dawn, and we were heading south on the Dan Ryan Expressway. Louis drove, Vasily sat next to him up front.
Misha's hand was under my shirt, exploring my bruised ribs. "I am sure I broke a few," he was saying.
I pulled away from him.
"You will be all right," he said. "We will take you to your parents' home. Your father will know a doctor to call."
I kept my eyes on the lightening sky outside, fighting the urge to be sick.
"Look at me," said Misha.
I did not. He took my chin and turned my face toward him. I glared at him, telling him exactly what I thought of him without wasting the breath to say it.
"Listen." He was glaring back at me. "Frank will ask you all about it. You must tell him nothing. Do you understand?"
I defied him.
"You will be in great danger if you tell him anything. Do you understand that?"
"What will you do to me?" I asked.
"I will do nothing," he answered. "Frank is a good man, but his organization is like a sieve. Nothing is secure. You do not know what is dangerous to you and what is not, so say nothing."
"I don't know or I won't say, is that it?"
"They will not hurt you. Just say nothing."
Vasily turned and said something I did not catch.
"And burn these clothes before you see Frank," Misha said. "Do it immediately."
Gladly.
Vasily supported me as I struggled up the walk to the front door of my parents' house. We did not speak to each other. He picked the lock and I entered without looking at him. I shut the door between us, locking it with as much noise as possible.
I put on an old bathrobe and built a fire; I don't know how, but I did. I was watching the fire, watching the last bit of aqua turn to ash, when I realized my father was standing next to me.
"Do you need a doctor?" he said.
"Yes, please."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE