Mark Spaid - Falcon Down

“You’ll be court-martialed and shot.”

“I’m aware of that, Colonel. Those of us who believe in Comrade Stalin are ready to make sacrifices even our lives.”

“We have to stop this Radinsky,” Captain Retzlarian said and approached the control panel.

“Don’t make me shoot you, Captain,” Radinsky said as he pointed a revolver at the captain.

“You need help, Lieutenant,” Svetlov said as he sat at the computer to cancel the test and open the door.

“I warned you, Captain,” as shots rang out and Retzlarian was hit in the shoulder and chest just below the heart and he slumped in his chair.

“You maniac, Radinsky, I’ll shoot you myself,” Azarov said as he pounded on the glass. Igor was working the control panel and not watching then a grin came over his face.

“Okay, now, Colonel, I’ve taken over.”

“I’ll have the door blasted.”

“You should know better than anyone that if you do that the system will interpret it as a destruction of the site and launch the missiles automatically. “

“Only if they are armed.”

“Correct and I’ve just armed them. I have thirty-eight missiles aimed at the United States. Hydrogen warheads ready to land on New York, Washington, Atlanta, Boston, Houston… well you get the idea. I don’t remember all the places but it won’t matter when I launch because when I push the button, they’ll launch at us and life as we know it on this planet will be wiped out.”

“You’re insane, Radinsky,” Mikhail said.

“My mother used to say that. I don’t know who my father was, never met him. I think, however, that you’re wrong if you think I’m clinically insane. I’m what would be colorfully called a fanatic. I’m ready to die for the cause. You know just like those jihadists. Threats of a court-martial or being shot bounce off me. I know I’m dead so what do I have to lose. I’ll just sit here and wait to hear orders from my comrade and leader.” Colonel Azarov stood staring at Radinsky then moved away to a conference room with his officers.

“He’s right, of course, there’s nothing we can do. We can’t break down the door and even if we could he’d just launch on his own,” Azarov said.

“What should we do, sir?” Sergeant Yaselov asked.

“We have to call Moscow.”

“Yes, sir but who? President Deniken is being held hostage, Berenelov is unreliable and we all know where Melenkov stands on the Stalinists. He’s one of them… allegedly.” Azarov leaned back in his chair thinking.

“You’re right of course… this is it ladies and gentlemen. What we’ve feared for decades, what we’ve guarded against and hoped would never happen is about to happen.”

“Yes, sir,” Yaselov said.

“The odds are very high that this is the last day of peace on Earth, the last day anyone can walk outside and breathe fresh air.

“Yes, sir,” Yaselov repeated.

“Is that all you can say, Sergeant?”

“Did you want me to argue with you, sir?”

“At this point I’d listen to anything.”

“Sir, if I may,” Corporal Kelchak offered.

“Go ahead.”

“Sir, this is what we’re trained for. Hundreds of others all over Russia at installations like this one have been ready for the unthinkable for many years. Many have retired and died and now we’re here. Everyone thinks they’ll be gone before the end is here and all the others before us were that lucky but in our case, we’re the ones to see the end.”

“And your point, Corporal?”

“We’re all soldiers, sir, and this is our job. It could be the last job we ever do but it’s still our job to carry on.”

“Yeah,” Azarov said as he stared at the wall. “This is beyond protocol but I’m not sure it matters now, so if anyone wants to leave and try and find their family and loved ones, you’re free to go.” No one moved or said anything.”

“Sir, Corporal Kelchak is right, our duty is here with you. Whatever happens it’s our job to carry out instructions, whatever they may be,” Yaselov stated and Azarov nodded.

“Into the valley of death rode the six hundred,” Azarov said softly.

“What was that, sir?” Kelchak asked.

“Tennyson, Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote a poem after the British suffered a disastrous fate at the battle of Baraclava during the Crimea War in 1854. The six hundred cavalrymen rode into certain death but did so bravely and without hesitation.”

“A suicide mission, sir?” Kelchak asked.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to go on a suicide mission,” Yaselov said.

“Then Sergeant… you’ve come to the right place.”

“What do you know,” Agent Wallach asked as she talked on a cell in a room with the door closed. Andrew Bellingham was using a phone given to him by Wallach before he left for the Crimea. She wanted a quick line to someone close to the President.

“The bus was hijacked but then shots were fired, the bus pulled away and was later pursued by the very people who stopped it,” Andrew said.

“Do you think Wilson took the bus back?”

“Maybe but he would’ve needed help.”

“There were Russian agents on board, maybe they made a pact or something.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any idea where they are?”

“In Russia somewhere.” Wallach thought for a moment.

“What about our agents and the Russian agents?” There was a period of silence.

“They’re all dead,” Andrew said. Cheryl took a deep breath. They were trained for this sort of disaster but it still was hard to take. She had friends in the car.

“Alright, call me when you know something.”

“I will immediately.” Wallach put her phone away and walked into the hall of the Whitehouse. “Brannigan, come here.” An agent came over and they moved to a place under a stairway.

“What is it?”

“The Falcon is down.”

“What!”

“The President and Deniken have been kidnapped.”

“How?”

“The bus tour was a set up.”

“The Russian government?”

“I don’t know but I doubt it. Sounds like the Stalinists are at it again.”

“Where is she?”

“Unknown.”

“Bellingham?”

“He called but all he knows is that the bus was hijacked.” Wallach fidgeted and looked at her feet.

“There’s something else isn’t there?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“It’s bad, Tim.”

“What!”

“We had three agents on the bus, Wilson, Rodriguez and Wheaton. The rest were in a car behind the bus. The car was run off the road and all the agents were killed. The Russian agents too.” Brannigan walked away and lowered his head. After a moment he walked back to Wallach.

“Billy was in that car.”

“I know and so was my best friend, Angelo.”

“This is the worst, Cheryl.”

“I know but we have a job to do and we need to do it.” Brannigan nodded.

“You’re right… what about Jensen?”

“She’s in the hotel. Bellingham and York are with her.”

“How many agents?”

“Four.”

“Not enough,” Brannigan posed.

“I know but it’s all we have. So far she doesn’t appear to be in any danger.”

“Can we get her out of the country?”

“We need to try. Bellingham and York are putting out feelers to get a flight to Kiev. Then they could fly to Washington.”

“What next?”

“We need to tell the husband and kids.” They both went to the residency on the second floor.

“They’re busy,” an usher said at the door of the residence.

“This is an emergency, tell him to come out now.”

“Hello, Ms. Wallach,” Don said as he walked out into the hall. “Is there a problem?”