Page 57 of Ascendent
“That doesn’t help.” Sergey had turned away. A video of the soldiers’ bodies burning, the flames reflecting in the mirrored face shields of Ilya’s biohazard team, had started to play on Dr. Biryukov’s tablet. “What have you done with the rest of the victims? Of this, and the other illnesses?”
“We’ve burned them all,” Dr. Biryukov had said. “We must be ruthless. We must break the chain of infection. And dispose of every trace, completely.”
Sergey closed his eyes and took a breath, coming out of the memory. The burning bodies swam behind his eyelids, floated like virus particles in blood. Was his throat scratchy? Was he feeling feverish? Or was he just being paranoid? He turned back to Ilya. “I would have done the same,” he said. “We have to stop this.”
“Ruslan has taken a team to the southern perimeter. He’s ready to breach on our signal. Yuri and myself will lead the team from the north. We’ll clear the runway and then move to the command hangar.”
Sergey still had a thousand questions for Ilya about Yuri, about Ruslan, about his personal security team. Yuri had driven him up to Ilya’s base of operations outside Andreapol and then had joined Ilya’s team, taking a briefing from Ilya like he knew far more about what was happening than Sergey did. Ilya had asked Yuri to stick by Sergey, keep him under constant watch.
Sergey had almost snappedwasn’t that Yuri’s job?
Clearly, he did not have a full understanding of Yuri’s job. Or Ilya’s relationship with his guards.
“When do we move?”
“Tonight.”
* * *
The moon was nearlyat its apex when Ilya called for the team to assemble for last checks. He looked over everyone’s gear, the positive pressure self-contained breathing apparatus, the full-face mask and oxygen tank that everyone wore. Their blacked-out fatigues. Their gloves taped at the wrists, cuffs taped to the boots. Their rifles. Extra ammo.
Yuri led a radio check, first to Ruslan, then to Yuri, then the rest of his team.
“We think everyone is dead. But we’re not certain.” Ilya said. “We don’t think there’s anyone left alive on the base. Andreapol stopped transmitting during the coup and never reestablished communication with military headquarters after the resumption of governance in Moscow. We thought she was still abandoned. If anyone is alive in there, they’re going to come at you with force. Don’t hesitate to protect yourself. Shoot first. Before they breach your suit.”
Sergey had hoped, after the Arctic, after his insurgency, he’d never have to lift a weapon again. He’d hoped when he entered politics that his days of fighting were behind him. His days of killing. Once FSB, always FSB. The rifle rested in his arms, comfortably familiar.
Ilya’s briefing repeated on a loop in his mind. Their mission plan, their orchestrated movements.
The pictures of the soldiers’ virus-riddled corpses.
He paced.
Sasha. Where are you? Are you safe?He’d thought Sasha would call, or text, if he was coming back. He’d thought they’d get through this. What did pure silence mean?
Was Sasha running as far as he could, as fast as he could?
Should he call before their raid? Should he reach out? Text him, tell Sasha he was doing something foolish and stupid? That he was scared? Not for himself, but for Russia. What did any of this mean?
Yuri stamped out his cigarette and stood before Sergey. His eyes ran over Sergey’s blacked-out face, his black fatigues.
“Meet your approval?” Sergey snorted.
“Yes, Mr. President.” In the darkness, Yuri was a mountain obscuring the starlight. The night fell into his shape, his shadow. “I’ll be by your side tonight, Mr. President.”
He blew out a guffaw, a snort mixed with a chuckle, something indignant and undignified, definitely beneath a president. He shifted, looked away. Was Yuri joking? Or was he dumb? Maybe he wasn’t all there. Maybe instead of brains, he’d been given brawn. Had he forgotten about Sasha in Sergey’s bed? Did he not get it? Impossible. Sergey might as well have announced that he and Sasha were lovers, shouted it from the rooftops.
But, Yuri and Ilya had their heads together for hours, and if there was one thing Ilya couldn’t stand, it was stupidity.
The radio crackled. “Ready to move out.” Ruslan, in the south perimeter.
They moved through the forest silently, two single file lines. Yuri took point on one, Ilya the other. Sergey trailed behind Yuri, stepping where the bear before him had stepped, moving inside his silent shadow. The world was colored in green and black, the sick gleam of night vision. The moon played peekaboo with the stars, with their scopes. Dirt crunched beneath Sergey’s boots. He heard himself breathe, the sound echoing in his face mask. Cold oxygen flowed over his skin, tickling his nose.
The base appeared in the middle of the forest, rising eerily still. Empty guard towers. An unmanned gate post. Chain-link fence topped with razor wire. They peered through, watching, waiting.
The base’s heart was on the far side, a warren of barracks and hangars and command buildings on the northwest end of the long, single runway. Burned remnants of MiGs clustered on the tarmac like they’d crashed, like they’d been dragged out and left, debris preventing anyone flying in or out. Purposeful or an accident, Sergey couldn’t tell.
“See any movement?” Ilya’s voice broke over the radio.
