Luna continued. “I will be sure to put in a good word for you, Flora. You are a clever one. I will talk about improving your rations with Darkwind and his subchiefs.” A broad smile crossed her face, again flaring out her nose ring. She lowered her arm from Flora’s shoulder and guided her out of the office.
“Adios, Flora Clearwater,” she said. Then Luna lowered her head as she gave her customary Essentialist prayer. “May sun, soil, and seed be bountiful to you on this day.”
For one fleeting moment Flora had experienced a glimpse of freedom, away from the beatings, away from this place—a chance to finally find Granger again.
And now the moment was gone.
VYBORG CASTLE
“Status?” Axel asked as he pressed on the actuator in his earbud.
His earbud responded. “Kura base secured. Awaiting orders to proceed.”
“Stand by. About twenty minutes until go.”
“Copy that.”
Axel examined his face in the rearview mirror of the old Mercedes. He pulled gently on one of the curls of his fake mustache. Comfortable with the disguise, he exited the car and began the long walk along the bridge over the Vuoski River. Wisps of snow pushed and pulled at him, but did nothing to sway his course.
Vyborg Castle appeared through the blusters of snow. The castle lacked the pinnacles, spires, gargoyles and other ornate façade features of the gothic castles of Europe. Yet its immensity was tangible. It had a stoic and utilitarian beauty befitting its victory over the test of time.
Just inside the main entrance a metal detector sat unused and in disrepair, off to the side. It had been secretly decommissioned by one of his agents the day before. As a result, except for bags and backpacks, the lazy museum staff had decided to simply forego screening measures altogether. Holding up lines had been deemed the greater evil over lax security.
Upon gaining entry, Axel moved quickly through the rooms. Vyborg castle was originally built in the thirteenth century and later refurbished in the sixteenth century. Most of the museum exhibitions portrayed art and artifacts from the sixteenth through eighteenth centuries. On a regular day Axel would be interested in perusing the exhibits. On this day he paid little attention.
He found Vasily Yavankov in front of an antique ceramic stove, examining some animals depicted on the exterior. Vasily was wearing a long, black coat and fur hat typical of the folks of St. Petersburg. He did have a well-groomed beard that differentiated him, as mustaches were currently more in vogue. Vasily was alone except for a broad-nosed bodyguard hovering nearby.
Vasily had chosen Vyborg Castle over the Russian Ethnography Museum, the Museum of the Political History of Russia, the State Hermitage Museum, the State Russian Museum, and even the Museum of Space Exploration and Missile Technology, something germane to his technical interests.
Based on his profile, it made sense. In his free time Vasily hosted mock battles and made plate mail armor. Nadar Corporation intelligence also had computer records showing Vasily’s engagement in a number of video games dealing with medieval warfare. Finding beauty in art is sometimes a reflection of oneself, and Vasily’s profile was of a man with a fondness for medieval times.
And clearly, Vasily was no patriot. He would have no joy in visiting the state museums.
Axel waited until Vasily moved to the next room—one in which the cameras had been disabled. He approached Vasily when he was staring at a painting of cavalry charging into battle. The painting also featured a litany of defeated Finnish combatants bleeding on the war-torn plain. Vasily’s bodyguard was positioned in the entranceway to the room, watching Axel carefully.
“If only all battles were so lopsided,” Axel said to Vasily in Russian.
Vasily took a moment to scrutinize Axel. “Yes, well, what would be the fun in that?”
Axel nodded in contemplation, maintaining his gaze on the painting.
Vasily said, “There’s a beauty in it, isn’t there? It would seem art is a defining characteristic of humanity, yet so often art glorifies the inhumane.”
“There are those who believe those depictions can help us quell those desires and achieve a better morality,” Axel replied.
Vasily shook his head. “Delusions, my friend. Said by those without the will or the means for conquest, no doubt.”
Axel considered continuing the debate, but that wasn’t why he was here. It would be much more expedient to ingratiate himself to Vasily. Arguing would only make him more sensitive to Axel’s actions.
Axel responded with a simple smile and a deferential nod. “Well said, sir.”
Vasily nodded and turned toward the door. He paused as he noticed his bodyguard was missing. “Georgy?” Vasily asked, sounding annoyed.
Axel put his hand over Vasily’s mouth, placed the injector against his throat and pressed down the plunger. The injector released its paralytic drug, muting his vocal cords. By the time Vasily tried to shout all that came out of his mouth was a blast of hot air.
Axel put him in a headlock and dragged him toward the utility closet. Behind him Axel’s asset, Uvanovich, came around the corner, hoisting the slumping bodyguard in his arms. Uvanovich closed the door to the closet behind them.
They had about five minutes.
“You can whisper, but you can’t speak,” Axel said to Vasily in Russian.
“You fool!” Vasily whispered emphatically. “Do you know who I am, what I’m capable of?”
Axel kept his face devoid of emotion. “We will be disabling the nuclear missiles you have misappropriated from the Russian government. I need the codes to disarm them. Give them to me now.”
“Who are you with? The Kremlin? The Chinese? The Americans?”
“Tell us now or you will be hurt,” Axel said stonily.
“It doesn’t matter. We will find you and—”
Axel began with the pinky finger on his left hand, wrenching it up at a grotesque angle and letting Vasily bear witness to the result.
Vasily gasped in agony.
Axel said, “Every ten seconds I will break something. I don’t care about you, or your threats. I have been authorized to permanently maim you. What are the codes?”
Vasily spat at Axel but missed. There was now a string of saliva down the wall behind him.
Axel pulled up his other pinky finger. Vasily wrestled against him and let out furious gasps of air.
“Pull up his family,” Axel said to Uvanovich. As Uvanovich brought out the videophone Axel withdrew a small hammer from his backpack.
Uvanovich passed him the phone. It showed Vasily’s elderly parents tied up and gagged. The screen was pixelated and dark, but the image was good enough to make out their facial features.
“Do you want them to die?” Axel asked plainly.
Vasily sneered at him. “What do you want? Money? Our Bolotnikov revolutionaries have more than you can imagine. Women? I know the best Russian women. They can—”
“Five more seconds. We kill one of your parents.” Axel said.
“Fine. Fine,” Vasily said, “the code is B59Y284Z.”
Axel pressed on his earbud. “Kura team. Can you confirm B59Y284Z?”
He heard back, “Denied.”
Axel spoke to the phone in Uvanovich’s hand. “Kill the father.”
In the video on the phone, someone next to the tied-up man leveled a gun at his head and soon after fired a shot. The father’s face went blank and he toppled out of the picture. The women next to him tried to scream but the gag muffled her.
It was a remarkably effective simulation, indistinguishable from reality if one could accept the poor picture quality as an artifact of the transmission. Voice prompts would alter the video sequence depending on the course of Vasily’s interrogation.