For a few moments Alexei stood halfway from the barn to the house debating if he should change his mind about fudging the concentration results. He truly had no idea what would happen if Viktor suddenly did suspect what he was doing. Unfortunately,knowing the man from having spent more than a month living with him, Alexei had to at least consider the worst-case scenario, which was alarming. And yet, thinking about the risk Viktor was already forcing them to take on by delaying their departure spurred him forward.
Alexei had little choice. The threat of their capture by the American authorities was just too damn high and getting higher with each passing minute and thereby trumped other concerns. Besides, there had never been any question of the validity of his work. Taking a fortifying deep breath, Alexei went back to his power walking. Within minutes he reached the base of the stairs leading up to the porch, and he proceeded up without further hesitation. He entered the house and headed directly into the vast kitchen where he was confident everyone would undoubtedly be. It was after 8:00p.m., and they had yet to have their evening meal.
As he expected, he was correct. Viktor, Nikolai, and Dmitry were in the kitchen, but the scene wasn’t quite as he anticipated. All the lights were on over the expansive granite-topped island, even though the sun was still streaming in through the western-facing windows. More surprising, all three were sitting stiffly in a row on the opposite side of the kitchen island as if they had been in the middle of a serious conversation but had been interrupted by Alexei’s arrival. Instead of interacting in any way, they were all silently staring at Alexei across the granite expanse as he approached the opposite side.
Alexei avoided their silent stares as he rotated one of the barstools and took a seat. Only after placing the logbook onto the granite top did he look up at the three. Their neutral expressions hadn’t changed nor had their postures, which in and of itself made Alexei feel uneasy. A few papers were strewn about in front of them, whichAlexei assumed were copies of the texts Viktor had mentioned he would be sending to the GRU and FSB concerning their upcoming departure. Why they were in such disarray, he had no idea. But what really caught his attention, and which was far more unsettling, was that on top of the loose papers was one of the many handguns they had in the house, and they had a fair number thanks to the Diehard Patriots requests for professional evaluations. It was a large, cumbersome .44 Magnum revolver with a long barrel and with bullets visible in its cylinder even from across the island. The gun’s position was more or less in front of both Viktor and Nikolai. Behind them an AR-15, only partially visible from Alexei’s position, leaned against the kitchen wall.
The rifle didn’t bother Alexei in the slightest as it was probably the one that Dmitry had grabbed from the storeroom when they dashed out of the house to intercept Jack Stapleton. The presence of the pistol caused Alexei a stab of fear as it pointedly reminded him of Viktor’s reputation. And why was it there in plain sight? Had the three been examining it and debating its pluses and minuses, which had happened on occasion in the past? All the firearms were normally kept in the storeroom, either on the open shelves or in one of the many closets. Only half aware he was doing it, Alexei adjusted his pants so that his pocket was more accessible, rationalizing to himself that he didn’t want to be sitting partially on the Glock, as it was uncomfortable.
“Were you able to measure the theta prion concentration?” Viktor asked in kind of a curious monotone, breaking the heavy silence. In Alexei’s sensitive state, it seemed more of a statement than a question and added to his continued puzzlement and discomfort.
“Yes, sir!” Alexei said sharply, trying to sound definitive, even martial.
“Well, Corporal,” Viktor said in the same monotone. “What did you find?”
“I found, sir, finally some good news,” he said, making the sudden decision despite his nearly overpowering nervousness to go ahead with his “fudging” plan. He readjusted himself again on his barstool and even managed a nervous smile. “Let me say this: We have been lucky. It seems that the particular Saccharomyces cerevisiae strains, which happened to incorporate the excellent vectors that you and Nikolai formulated Monday morning, are wonderfully robust. They have been reproducing like rabbits and working overtime with their protein production. Check this concentration, sir!”
With that positive introduction, Alexei slid the logbook almost like a hockey puck across the granite expanse directly to Viktor. It stopped within arm’s reach, and Viktor pulled it toward himself and flipped it open. He looked at the figures a moment before shoving it in front of Nikolai.
“As you can see,” Alexei continued. “The concentration of theta is a bit more than double the last determination, which means I can go ahead and do a harvest. It won’t be our biggest yield by a long shot, but it is at least on the positive side of the cutoff. I’m confident we can even make the dump in the water system tonight, meaning we can be on our way to the border sometime early tomorrow morning.”
Alexei’s surprise and uneasiness now verged on physiological distress. Viktor didn’t respond verbally or otherwise but rather just stared back at Alexei with an irritated expression that if anything seemed to be hardening. With rising alarm Alexei glanced at the other two, but he couldn’t read anything into their expressions either.
“I’m surprised, sir,” Alexei managed with difficulty, his voice faltering. “I thought you’d be pleased at this positive result.”
“Pleased?” Viktor yelled as his face flushed with sudden fury. “Pleased in the face of such traitorous insubordination. I feared you’d distort the results and meant to have Nikolai verify them. Never did I suspect you would go to this extent. This is beyond the pale and calls for much more than a court-martial.” With that, Viktor lunged for the .44 Magnum, struggling a bit due to its unwieldy weight and the length of the barrel.
Alexei saw Viktor go for the gun and in self-defense and without thinking, he did the same, drawing the Glock out of his pocket with remarkable ease, and as Viktor was bringing up his weapon, Alexei was already holding his gun with both hands, pointing directly at Viktor’s face. Reacting by reflex more than thought but believing he was about to be shot, Alexei pulled off several rounds.
Alexei’s first shot hit Viktor in the neck while the second slammed into Viktor’s cheek just below his left eye. Viktor’s head snapped back as a reaction to the dual concussive blows and his arms went limp before his body slid forward in his barstool like a piece of wet spaghetti before dropping out of sight.
While this was happening to Viktor’s body, his gun fell onto the granite and skidded over in front of Nikolai, who snatched it up. He then raised it and aimed it across the island at Alexei. Still responding by reflex, Alexei pulled off two more shots into Nikolai’s face, causing the .44 Magnum to again smash down onto the granite island and now skid toward Dmitry.
As Nikolai’s body disappeared in a fashion mimicking Viktor’s, Alexei’s attention immediately switched to Dmitry, only to see him disappear. In the next fraction of a second the AR-15 disappeared as well, meaning Dmitry had grabbed it and pulled it into himself behind the kitchen island.
“Dmitry!” Alexei called out. But there was no answer. Instead,Alexei heard the safety being switched off the AR-15 plus another click that suggested its automatic mode had been switched on. Knowing full well his Glock was no match for an automatic assault rifle with a full magazine, Alexei dropped out of his barstool and without a second’s hesitation ran, bent over, around the edge of the kitchen island, passing the twelve-burner cooktop while he heard a hail of bullets splintering the wall behind where he’d been sitting. A fraction of a second later, he reached the kitchen island’s far corner, and without a millisecond’s hesitation, he rounded the end, bent over with the Glock held in both hands at the ready.
Directly ahead of him perpendicularly facing away was Dmitry. He was holding the AR-15 at waist height, still blasting in the direction of Alexei’s vacated seat. “Dmitry!” Alexei called out again over the din. Unfortunately, instead of responding verbally, the stunned Dmitry started to turn in Alexei’s direction, swinging his rifle around, which he was still firing and causing absolute mayhem in the kitchen, hitting all the hanging cookware in a cacophony of noise and destruction. Once again within a split second Alexei responded by self-preservation reflex, shooting Dmitry twice in the chest, causing him to stagger backward several steps from the impact and stop firing. He then dropped the rifle as he seemed to struggle to retain his balance. His expression suggested confusion as he looked down at his chest like he had no idea of what had just hit him. A second later his legs gave out, and he crumbled in a heap on the floor.
“Oh God, no!” Alexei screamed, and with his ears still ringing from the godawful spray of 5.56mm ammunition all around the kitchen, he tossed the Glock aside, and rushed over to Dmitry. He grabbed him under the arms and pulled him out straight. Then he tore open his shirt causing buttons to pop off in all directions.There in plain sight were two sharply defined entrance wounds. One was in the right chest, the other dead center. There was very little blood. Most of that was now coming out his back and spreading out on the floor along the sides of his body. He was still breathing but barely, and it was raspy.
“Oh God!” Alexei repeated as he stood up. He knew Dmitry wasn’t long for this world. “Dmitry! Why, why did you want to shoot me?” Alexei yelled accusatorily down at the dying man. He then looked over at the bodies of Viktor and Nikolai wedged between their barstools and the kitchen island. Viktor he thought he understood to a degree thanks to his reputation, and Nikolai’s actions he explained as coming from his being a hopeless sycophant. But Dmitry’s actions were a total shock. “What a freaking disaster,” he cried and it was all so unnecessary.
Shaking his head in dismay and disbelief at what had just happened in the last sixty seconds, he stepped over, pulled the two barstools away from the kitchen island, and checked the other two victims. Although Nikolai was still breathing shallowly, it was clear he was dying. He’d taken two shots through the center of his forehead just above his eyes. Viktor was already a corpse, clearly dead.
As Alexei straightened up and glanced around at the utter destruction Dmitry’s indiscriminate AR-15 firing had caused, the full reality and implications of what had just transpired and, more important, what it meant for him hit Alexei like a tsunami. He was somehow alive despite three capable people wanting him dead, but he was now utterly alone in a hostile world. He was not only homeless but also country-less. Under these circumstances, there was no way he could return to Mother Russia and explain why only he managed to get out of America while all three of his fellow militiamen, including a general and a renowned scientist, had been killed.As for America, he knew he’d be relentlessly pursued when the loss of life and destruction at the Bennet Estate was discovered, much less the dumping of infectious prions in a town’s municipal water system.
It was as if a huge, dark, smothering blanket was settling over Alexei, forcing him to look back over at the Glock that he’d tossed aside. It was calling out to him as a rescuer, a savior. With a sudden sense of purpose and direction, Alexei walked over and snatched up the weapon.
Chapter 29
Friday, July 25, 11:15p.m.
Bennet Estate
Hamilton County, New York
For probably the hundredth time during the last hour, Jack looked down at his radium dial watch in the otherwise near total darkness of the landing at the head of the stairs leading down to the icehouse tunnel. Each time he wondered anew what in the world he should do. It was now quarter past eleven. His original desperate plan had been to try to stay warm and wait until the wee hours of the morning and then take the risk of carefully venturing from his hiding place while the Netherlanders, or whoever the hell they are, were sleeping. But that plan had been shattered by the shocking eruption of automatic gunfire for a full minute in close proximity to his hiding place and sounding as if it were causing horrendous destruction. At the time, Jack had dived for cover, instantly descending four or five steps to crouch below the lip of the landing. He was terrified of stray bullets coming through the door.
