Odessa, Ukraine, 8:57AM, the day after
The gentleman stubbed out his second cigarette in the ashtray. The outdoor terrace to the cafe he was at was one of many in this tourist area of the city, within walking distance of the Black Sea.
He wasn’t in town to enjoy the eighteenth and nineteenth century architecture, or the popular beaches. Even back in the days as a KGB operative he rarely took the time to enjoy himself in many of the places his work took him. But those days were long gone. Although he had several aliases, he was best known as Valerik. This was the ideal place for him to meet his Ares colleagues, the first time since getting back from the bombed out facility near Groznyy, Chechnya.
Valerik recognized his ride, as the black, fleet-sedan stopped several feet away. As he got up, his protruding gut bumped the table, a constant reminder of how much weight he had gained since his deactivated status as KGB. It was then that he noticed a black espresso stain on his white shirt. Had the spill been on his brown jacket it would be better concealed. But he left it unbuttoned since it fit him more comfortably. He grabbed his handkerchief and dipped it into a glass of water belonging to another patron as he walked by. He worked on the stain, ignoring the angry protest behind him.
A man dressed in an overcoat stepped out of the front passenger seat to open the back door for him. An overcoat in this weather? He might as well have placed a sign on his forehead that read I’m hiding a gun. Valerik got in and sat down beside his white-haired superior, who was also a former KGB operative. The doors shut and the car drove off.
“What’s your assessment of the Groznyy lab?” asked the white-haired man in Russian.
“The laboratory was on lockdown, indicating Pandora was unleashed inside. I didn’t dare use the override codes to open the blast door to inspect the damage,” Valerik replied in the same language.
“You should’ve gotten there quicker. We’d be rid of Fox once and for all. Now he’s gotten away, along with how much intelligence on us? Only God knows.”
“The guards reported they had captured him. Apparently Stechina helped him escape.”
“Of course she did, just as she led Fox to our lab.”
“We still have our satellite laboratories-”
“Which we’ll have to abandon immediately,” the white-haired man took out a larger than normal pen-like object and twirled it.
Valerik looked away from him, out the window to hide his frown. That damn toy of his. He couldn’t stand seeing him play with that pen.
“With Fox’s escape, those locations may be compromised. See to it that Pandora’s taken to another location until we can set up some new satellite laboratories.”
Valerik looked back to his superior. “I can do that. In the meantime, we should delay the demonstration.”
“If we do that, we risk losing the confidence of our clients-and the billions that Pandora could bring in for Ares.”
“What if Fox knows the location of the demo? If he disrupts it, we’ll lose our clients for sure. We should send a few of our men to accompany our clients while they set up Pandora to be tested.”
“The only Ares members involved will be those that deliver Pandora. Beyond that, if we start chaperoning our clients they’ll ask too many questions about the security of our organization. So far, I haven’t heard from our source that Fox knows anything about the demo or its location. Just concentrate on getting Pandora moved.”
The white-haired man signaled the driver to pull over beside a small marketplace comprised mostly of small tourist shops. When the car stopped, Valerik got out and held the door open as he peered inside. “I’ll contact you once everything’s done.”
“See to it that you do. With positive results, of course.”
Valerik shut the door and walked in the opposite direction. The sedan drove off. When the car was out of sight, he walked into the marketplace and went to a mobile phone vendor. He walked up to the counter that doubled as a display case, pointed inside to the mobile phone, then slapped the cash down on the surface. Once the clerk handed him the phone with prepaid minutes, Valerik left the store. He removed the uncharged battery from the phone and replaced it with a charged one-same brand-that he kept in his jacket pocket. Once outside, he activated it and dialed a number. After the first two rings, the call was answered.
“What do you have to report?” asked an electronically disguised voice.
“It’s me. Are your men on standby?”
“They are. Did anything else go wrong?”
“Not at all. It’s only a minor setback, that’s all. We’ll just have to begin the operation earlier than expected.”
“Do not disappoint me. The success of our operation depends on you getting the package.”
“Yes, sir.” Valerik’s phone went silent as his real superior switched off.
Heathrow Airport, London, England.
Dr. Tabitha Marx sat alone in the VIP lounge as she waited to board her flight to Entebbe Airport in southern Uganda. She downed the last of her Black Russian, rested the glass on the table beside her, got up, and walked to the floor to ceiling window that overlooked the runway and the dozens of stationary planes.
She had cut down significantly on her drinking since she had arrived from Ayles Ice Island in the Canadian arctic two years ago. Before she had arrived, two cryospheric researchers had accidentally exhumed a prehistoric man that was infected with a dormant microbe. Their exposure to the microbe and their eventual death-as well as the deaths of some that came to their rescue-would have made international headlines had she, her colleagues at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), and both Canadian and American governments not intervened. Fortunately, the outbreak was contained without any repercussions of a mass panic.
Marx’s six-foot stature mostly attracted wealthy and powerful men to her, the rest were intimidated. As she watched the planes take off, her flowing, dirty-blonde hair draped down the shoulders of her pantsuit.
So much had changed over the years. Born to American parents forty-four years before, she was used to travelling, since her father worked at the American Embassy in Islamabad, Pakistan. He was later killed by the Soviets in an air-raid in neighboring Afghanistan, near the end of the Soviet-Afghan war.
Her hatred towards the USSR and Communism increased tenfold that day-so did her bonding with her mother, but it wasn’t meant to last. Her mother was hospitalized, a few years later, with severe heart complications.
It was then that her mother disclosed the horrifying truth. Marx’s father was a CIA agent that had aided the mujahedeen to run their training camps in Afghanistan in their fight against the Soviets. What was more devastating was when her mother also told her that she had been recruited by the KGB to spy on her father, and that furthermore, the intelligence that she had provided the Soviets ultimately got her father killed.
It was the most emotional day of Marx’s life. She had screamed at her sobbing mother, telling her that her sickness was well deserved. It was last time that she saw her mother alive. She was bawling as she ran from the hospital room, pushing hospital staff out of her way. She made it outside of the hospital where she collapsed, only to be aided by a few motorists and pedestrians. It was the last time she remembered crying.
The lounge doors opened and a group of men in business suits walked in and headed straight for the bar. Marx glanced briefly at them and sighed, assuming them to either be businessmen or diplomats-the latter she detested-as it was a constant reminder that all the world’s problems could be linked to politics and religion. It was what eventually destroyed her family.
It wasn’t long before one of them approached her. “Good morning. Would you care-”
“No, I wouldn’t.” The man withdrew from her immediately, muttering something under his breath. Just then she heard her boarding call over the PA system. Marx walked back to her seat and grabbed her single travel bag. In a few days, she would make history, and the face of the world would be forever changed.