Vladimir Zagorsk hurried along the corridor inside the building known as Campus 6. On one side of him, glass windows looked into a giant steel room. The Model UKZD-25 dynamic test chamber, where small bomblets were detonated, was the largest and most sophisticated in the world.
In spite of the cool temperatures, sweat dampened his chest and back. Would he be able to do this one more time? If he were caught, he’d be executed. And although he had a plan to screw the hated Arab who’d buy the product, Vladimir’s government wouldn’t show him any mercy. A walk to the back of the facility where the trucks delivered supplies and a bullet to the head would drop him into the muddy earth. It was the extent of the “trial” he’d receive.
He carried a small briefcase with a laptop computer inside. He’d removed most of its interior in order to create a hidden space for the contraband. To cover his theft from the floor above and allow him to escape unimpeded, he’d stenciled the words “International Science and Technology Center, Moscow,” on the side of the case.
How ironic, Vladimir thought. The center was partially funded by the US Department of Defense—just where this bundle would end up and cause a great deal of trouble.
He forced the thought out of his mind. He needed a great deal of money.
One of 150 scientists who still worked at Vector, Vladimir had easy access to almost all of the forty buildings in the complex. Like many of those others, he was underpaid, and the health risks associated with the complex jeopardized the survival of his family. They lived twenty-three kilometers away in Novosibirsk. They’d been offered government housing in Koltsovo, like the other scientists’ families, next to Vector. His wife had refused, scared to live anywhere near it—he didn’t blame her and never argued about it.
The Arab who’d contacted him seven months ago offered more cash for one shipment than Vladimir earned in five years. Normally, he’d never even consider stealing anything from the complex, but his family’s struggle was more than he could bear.
Something had gone wrong with the first package for the Arab, which required another one.
As he rounded the corner in the hallway, Vladimir worried about the contents of the briefcase, glad he’d sealed the cargo in a protective container. Guilt hummed through his mind at the thought of how destructive it could be, until an image of his son replaced it. Nicky had a chance to get a US visa and get out of this hell. That took lots of extra money for the paperwork and even more for the requisite bribes. If he and his wife were stuck here, at least Nicky could get out.
Vladimir left the corridor and slowed down for the stairs. They had been constructed by gangs of prison laborers who intentionally made each step a different size. The rumors said they had built them in the hope some of the scientists from the state would fall and die. He smelled the metallic and chemical odors from the labs. At least he was getting outside.
He reached the bottom step and took a glance backward at the squat, ugly brick building with windows trimmed in concrete. Ahead, he had two outside security barriers to get through. The first would be easy —he’d paid Fedor enough to look the other way while Vladimir passed. The second checkpoint was the one that worried him. Although he worked as a scientist in the complex and left every day for home, leaving with a briefcase would certainly raise some concerns.
He looked off into the distance to the birch and silver pine forests at the edge of the facility. Too pretty, he thought, to surround something as sinister as what went on inside Vector. The tiny green leaves of the aspens popped out in profusion with the spring warmth. He smelled fresh air. It might hit thirty Celsius today, he’d heard. Of course, that also brought the mud and melting snow in Novosibirsk.
As Vladimir approached the final security checkpoint, he hoped the guard would be lackadaisical. Vladimir stopped at a small office. He didn’t recognize the man behind the desk. Vladimir’s insides tightened. He breathed slowly to calm down.
“Papers,” the guard ordered.
Vladimir set down the briefcase. He made sure it didn’t drop and bump against the side of the table in front of the guard. Vladimir pulled out his identification card and the fake authorization he’d prepared earlier, signed by his supervisor and the political officer.
The guard ran his eyes over the papers. Then he stopped on the second page. “Hmmm.” Without moving, he looked up at Vladimir, and then his eyes fell to the briefcase. “ISTC out of Moscow, huh?”
Vladimir could tell the truth for this question, making it easier. “It is the special packing materials. You can imagine how careful I must be.”
“Of course, but I wasn’t notified about this.”
Vladimir thought his bowels would go right there. Now was the point of no return. If it worked, he’d save his family. It not, he’d never see his family again.
“I will have to call the party headquarters before I can pass you,” the guard said.
Vladimir reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a leather wallet filled with rubles. He handed it to the guard. “Here is the phone number.”
“I don’t—” He cracked open the wallet, but his expression didn’t change. Setting down his pencil, he tilted his head sideways. He folded the wallet and stuffed it inside his coat. His eyes rose to meet Vladimir’s. Without saying a word, the guard waved him through.
Vladimir jumped through the door.
Outside, he gulped clean air and hurried past the razor wire surrounding the complex. Above him, sandhill cranes on their migration to North America swam high in the warm spring air, happy to be free of the long winter. They stopped momentarily in the field just long enough to rest and peck for corn.
When he arrived in Lenin Square, the main center of Novosibirsk, he took a cab to the train station. He walked across a large plaza. Ahead of him rose the imposing station. Square, painted turquoise, the columns and arches shone bright white. He entered under the largest arch.
He boarded the Turkistan-Siberian train that would carry him to the south and ultimately to the Caspian Sea, where he’d hand off the cargo. Unlike the airport with its strict security, the train station offered an easier way to escape from the town. No one stopped Vladimir as he found an empty seat. Under Communism, there were no assigned seats —all comrades were equal. He tucked the briefcase next to him. It would not leave his possession for a minute. He sat and grunted from the extra weight he’d added around his waist. He blamed it on all the bad, cheap food they’d been eating. With the new money, they’d eat better also.
The train pulled out late and crossed the new bridge over the Ob River. Vladimir looked out the window at the expanse of the west Siberian plain. He rested his hand on the smooth, polished frame that surrounded the window. The spring sun poured through the window, warming the wood under his fingers. The plain stretched next to forests, fields, and factories. The city still ranked as the largest industrial center in Siberia.
He arrived in Turkmenbashi, on the eastern shore of the Caspian Sea, late in the afternoon. As he left the train car, he cradled the briefcase with both arms. He reviewed the instructions once again. He was to meet the Arab at the New Independence Monument right at sunset. Vladimir pulled his sleeve back to look at his watch. An hour to go.
He’d have just enough time to make the transfer and get back on the train to return home—good, as he was still trembling with nervousness. Not only was he anxious to get back, but he wanted to dispose of the briefcase as soon as possible. Besides, the city looked tired and made him feel sad.
The first president after independence from the Soviet Union, Saparmurad Niyaso, had relied upon a personality cult to rule with absolute authority. Huge photos of his face covered billboards, buildings, and posters everywhere. Many streets carried his name. And the crazy civic statue he’d built! It was a low, squat, dun-colored block building topped by a giant bull. Balanced on the bull’s horns floated an immense globe. It boasted the name, “Turkmenbashi on Top of the World.”
Vladimir walked directly toward the port. He didn’t want to
look suspicious, but he couldn’t help glancing to his left and right. The sun had already dropped over the sea to the west to color the water blue and gray. A milky light shone around him, illuminating buildings in an eerie glow. He smelled moist, salty air and fish from the quiet water. A lonely bell clanged. It signaled sunset.
When Vladimir arrived at the Independence Monument, shadows reached out like fingers toward him from the low building. The monument consisted of an egg-shaped mound on the ground, covered in gold ornamentation and topped by an immense spire. He would meet the Arab in front of the tall statue that stood in front.
Vladimir reached the point and looked up at the statue. Carved from dark stone, it looked like a fierce Tartar warrior with a full hat, full beard hanging down his chest, and a long coat that dropped to the statue’s feet. Around the coat, a black cape billowed as if the wind were blowing the man into the future. In the statue’s hands he held a curved golden scimitar.
Vladimir watched as three crows landed on the scimitar. They cawed their annoyance at his presence.
When he turned around, the Arab stood before him.
Without smiling, the man greeted Vladimir and reached for the briefcase. For a moment, he hung on. “The money,” he demanded. His voice cracked, but he stood still and waited.
“Of course. I will do it now.” The Arab reached into his pocket for a cell phone. He made a few taps on the keypad and looked back at Vladimir. “Done. Transferred to your account.”
Vladimir waited a few minutes, then keyed in his own cell phone to check the transaction. He didn’t trust the Arab and despised everything about him—all Arabs, for that matter. If it weren’t for the money, Vladimir wished they would all rot in hell with their terrorists.
Satisfied the money had been moved, Vladimir handed the case to the Arab. He grabbed for it and slammed it against his leg.
“Be careful,” Vladimir hissed.
“Thank you, Mr. Zagorsk. You have done a great thing for Allah. It will help bring His order to this depraved world. Especially to our enemies in the West.”
Vladimir felt guilty again.
The Arab peered into his eyes. “You do not look well. Do not worry. It is part of something much bigger than you and me. Allah’s will for that nation of sex-crazed infidels will finally be accomplished.”
Vladimir hoped the Arab would never be able to find him afterward. But that was a risk Vladimir was willing to take for the sake of Nicky.
“What will you do with this?”
From behind him, the crows suddenly rose from the scimitar in a cawing clatter and circled twice before heading over the sea to the west.
Chapter Twelve