Page 93 of Stars
“The world can bend tous,” Zeytsev growled. “And what better way to bring the world to its knees than by controlling the skies? The whole fucking planet?” He shouted over his shoulder through the open hatch to the bunker. “Do you have the warhead online yet?”
“We are connected now!” a voice shouted back.
No. Everything they’d worked for flashed before Ilya’s eyes. His entire life, side by side with Sergey, the dreams of young men turned to the steadfast determination of middle age and then the breathless culmination: New Russia, a country they’d only whispered about in the darkness, a prayer more than a dream, had come true thanks to their four hands and their relentless, dogged work.
This was supposed to be where they got their break, their thanks from a grateful nation before they retreated from center stage. They could sip vodka and watch the new country they’d set in motion grow, watch her spread her wings and take flight.
This was Russia. There were no happy endings.
Seryozha.
Sasha.
He pushed to his feet, swaying as the walls closed in, and stumbled forward. He couldn’t fight them, not like this. He’d trained Zeytsev, and whoever else was in that bunker with him, too. They knew every move he could throw at them. At best, they’d be at a stalemate.
Time to pull a Sasha and run.
He staggered forward, vision going dark with agony as a spike drilled into his temple. Roaring, he pushed himself hard, one foot in front of the other.
Zeytsev laughed, a braying, ugly sound. “You cannot escape, Ilya! You cannot escape what you and your president have done!”
The gunshot was deafening, echoing up and down the tunnel, blast waves pummeling him as the bullet chewed into his back. He fell face first with a groan, both hands grasping the cold ground. His fingernails bit into the wet concrete.
Footsteps strode forward, Zeytsev’s shadow appearing and disappearing in the light of the uneven bulbs. “You were so concerned with protecting your precious president that you forgot to watch out for yourself. You never even bothered to look around you.”
Ilya watched Zeytsev’s shadow raise his hand. Take aim with his pistol at his lower back.
“We’ll make it look like a car fire while you bleed out in your gut,” Zeytsev said. Ilya could hear the smile in his voice. “Like you taught me. Goodbye, Ilya.”
* * *
Kremlin
Moscow, Russia
“Mr. President?”Yuri burst through Sergey’s office door. His eyes were wild, his face as pale as the moon.
Sergey pulled the phone away from his face. Roxanne was still promising him she’d bring everyone home, get them all off the station before any harm came to anyone else. “What is it?”
“Yamantau.” Yuri’s mouth moved, but no more words came out.
Sergey’s blood turned to ice, glaciated inside of him. Everything froze, down to the tiniest atom suspended at the core of his heart.No.
“Roxanne, I will call you back.” He hung up on her confused protest and dialed the Ministry of Defense. “What is happening at Yamantau?”
“Mr. President, we’ve lost all contact with Yamantau Mountain,” the duty officer sputtered.
“Get it back!” Sergey roared. “Find someone somewhere who can get to Yamantau!” He dug his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it over. Ilya, where the fuck was Ilya? His screen showed thirteen missed calls.Blyad.
When he called, Ilya’s phone rolled straight to voicemail.
“Mr. President…” Over the phone, the duty officer’s voice wavered. “Mr. President, I have General Valery Yaluyevsky for you.”
The minister of defense himself took over the call. “Mr. President. We’re receiving a transmission from Yamantau.”
* * *
ISS
