James Huston - Fallout

She kept her head down as she moved the plates and cups back to the kitchen for washing, and then she waited for lunch. She stood in the corner of the dining area with a broom sweeping up some dirt, and she waited.

At two in the afternoon the pilots began filtering in from the hot, dusty day, into the cool, dimly lit officers’ dining room. This time nearly all the fliers came. Renee’s eyes darted back and forth; she looked for anyone who might resemble Khan.

Several pilots saw her looking at them and took it as a sign of encouragement. They smiled at her and tried to catch her eye a second or third time, but she was able to dismiss them. Finally one officer handed her his plate and asked for her to serve him. She noticed that his fingers were strong and thick, and she glanced at his barrel chest. She handed him the plate, knowing he would have to look at it to take it. She used that moment to look into his face. She detected a faint difference in the skin color between his upper lip and the rest of his face. She also noticed that he had a close-cropped haircut, which, based on tan lines, was very recent. As her eyes returned to their normal downcast angle, she took in the bull-like neck, larger than any man’s she’d seen while in Pakistan. It had to be him.

She walked over to another of the servingwomen after the rush had died down. She pointed to him, a knowing smile on her face that she knew showed in her eyes, a look implying barely contained lust. “Who is that?” she asked. “That is a true man.”

The woman lifted her head, annoyed. “Forget it. You would have no chance with him. He is one of the best pilots in the area and sought by every woman who has seen him.”

“What is his name?”

“Don’t worry about it. He’s trouble.”

“I just want to know his name.”

“Forget it.”

“Is he married?”

“He’s married to every woman he sees. They all think he’s going to marry them, but he never does. He is a wanderer. He is married to his airplane.”

Renee waited for the officers at his table to finish. They knew she would clear their dishes, but they were not quite done. She stood back a ways, but near enough the table to try to hear the conversation while looking uninterested and distracted. The man glanced over his shoulder at her with some annoyance. He continued eating. Another officer sitting across the table from him was asking him several questions, to which he was responding.

“When?”

“As soon as…” Their conversation was lost in the surrounding din.

She stepped a little closer.

“Three days? Do you have… ready?”

“Yes…”

“… airplanes?”

“… division… laser…”

“What are you doing?” the head of the cleaning group barked at Renee from behind.

The voice was so close and unexpected that it nearly sent Renee out of her skin. She tried to control her racing heart. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. I was waiting for them to finish so I could clear their table…” Renee quickly moved away.

She continued to finish her other work nearby. As soon as they got up, she hurried to their table without looking anxious. She cleared their places and carried their dishes to the kitchen.

Then she went to the head of the cleaning group. “Will I be able to work again soon?”

“Who knows? If we need you, we will call you.”

“I would appreciate that. I have enjoyed working here.”

The woman was not impressed. “I would say you have. You have been making eyes at every man who has come in to eat. If you came back, you would have to change your ways. This is not a whorehouse, nor is it the place to find a husband,” she scolded.

“I’m sorry,” Renee said, lowering her eyes. “I just found it all interesting.”

The head of the cleaning crew grunted and turned away. Renee closed her hand around the fork in her apron and slipped it into the slit pocket cut into her dress underneath.

“Vladimir, Vladimir,” Gorgov said in his low voice. He had waited until the middle of the night in Nevada, to get Vlad when he was fatigued and back in his room at Tonopah.

“What?” Vlad replied, his blood racing through his veins. He rested on his side, on his elbow, and reached for the lamp next to his bed.

“It is not possible that you misunderstood me,” Gorgov said, declaring the obvious. “You made me look foolish in front of my good friends who gave us a large sum of money.” Gorgov stopped and let Vlad listen to the line hiss for a few seconds. “But, fortunately for you, they succeeded anyway. Even more fortunately for you, my good friend, is that there may be another chance for you to make a difference. Because we both know that if you don’t… things could get very bad, very uncomfortable for you.”

Vlad sat up and put his feet on the floor, trying to think his way out of his deepening hole. “Leave me alone!” he yelled.

“And for those you left behind in Russia,” Gorgov went on. “Your sister, for example, who is now in Smolensk with her two beautiful young children.”

“What do you want from me?” Vlad growled.

“You see,” Gorgov said, “this fight is not only not over, it is just starting. There are many things left to do, and one piece of it… remains undone. You may be able to make sure it happens.”

“What is it?”

“Your friend suffers, I think, from the typical American hero complex. I believe it is often associated with another of the actors that Americans worship, a John Wayne. Yes? You have heard this term?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. Your friend must be led to believe he is going to save the world. And you will have the chance—the obligation—to make sure he does not succeed. Do you understand?”

Vlad closed his eyes. His back felt as if it were broken. The ejection had been much harder on his body than he’d expected. The ejection seat rocket motor had fired so fast and so hard to get him out of his dying airplane that it had compressed his spine in his lower back. He had pain radiating down to his heels. His crotch felt bruised and sore from where the harness he was wearing had held him in the parachute. All he wanted to do was sleep. But he’d not done what Gorgov had expected him to do. He’d knew he would be called to account. He wanted to tell himself he didn’t care. That Gorgov couldn’t touch him in America. But he knew that wasn’t true. He took a deep breath. “I understand.”

“Well, yes.” Gorgov laughed. “There is understanding, and there is understanding. I know you understood the words I have said. You are a smart man. You did not become a Sniper Pilot in the Russian Air Force by being stupid or cowardly. I want you to tell me, Vladimir Petkov, whether you understand that when the time is before you, when you have a choice to intervene to assure the success of the goal that will then be obvious to you, whether you will do what I have asked.”

“How will I know?”

“You will know.”

“How?”

Gorgov’s voice lost its friendly tone. “Will you do what I have asked, or will you not? You are free to tell me that you will not. I will understand completely. But then your sister’s husband will be very sad indeed, and your mother will wonder how you could have met such a horrible end.”

“You are scum, Gorgov. You are a disgrace—”

“Your opinion of me does not matter in the least,” Gorgov interrupted. “I want to know whether you will do what you are told!”

Vlad was cornered. “Yes, I will do what you ask.”

“I knew I could count on you. You are a man of your word. Yes?”

Vlad clenched his teeth. “Yes.”

Luke squinted at the dark brown stain on the concrete in front of the hangar, a dried pool of blood left from one of the guards. He noticed the bullet marks on the hangar door behind the stain, where the jeep had been. Shame washed over him. He’d never even met those guards. Too busy. He’d never even inspected the security in the early-morning hours, as they changed shifts at 0600. Too busy. He hadn’t even given a second’s thought to the security of having Russian missiles on the base, let alone fighters that could do a lot of damage if united with those missiles. It had never occurred to him. Too busy grading his private runway for his biplane fantasy. He hadn’t done his first job first.