Alex Gore - The Cube

He saw the pretty Romanian lady with sexy bottom to come out of the ammunition warehouse. She was carrying two bags, from which the barrels of several machine-guns were sticking out. She was walking slowly, seductively, as if she were dancing and inviting you to pinch her ass… Hell, what was she doing there? And how could she enter without him seeing her?

He was startled. He did not know whether he had napped for a second or for a few minutes. He was not sure if this was a dream or it was really happening.

If it was true, he had to report to the Major right away.

No, there was no way such a slender young woman to take out the heavy weapons out of the warehouse.

He looked at his watch. It was almost eleven. Someone would come to relieve him soon.

Ivanov bent down and started digging. He could not possibly go to Norman and ask him for a spade and he also wanted to avoid making noise by all means. He needed to go at least three feet deep in the base of the support tower. If he did not reach deep enough, this would be a failure.

An explosion in the air or at insufficient depth would just be fancy and too expensive fireworks. And he had not come here to organize festive events.

He had come to destroy the damned submarine, the damned Cube, the damned military base and to rub the Americans’ condescending noses. He did not have much time, since the storm was approaching. He need to place the explosives at six spots around the base. First, the watchtower, to ensure there would not be enemy fire from above. Then, the control room and the dormitories, and last – the ammunition warehouse. If by once pressing the button he could succeed blowing up the watchtower, the command room of the entire base and the military warehouse, they would not stand a chance. If there happened to be survivors, he knew he would find no problem to eliminate them himself. With his own hands and means. That boring scientist Sergey would only be an obstacle. He had no special instructions about him, but a true soldier like Colonel Ivanov was aware that in a dangerous operation there is always collateral damage. Sergey was just going to disappear.

The camel stopped.

Usually it was not scared of small snakes or mice, but this time it was stubborn and refused to make even a step forward. Poking in its hips or slashing with the whip were of no use.

The Bedouin dropped the reins and stepped forward in the darkness. His two companions got down from the animals and tried to illuminate the path before him with search-lights.

Out of nowhere a man and a woman appeared before them, looking rather unusual for the place. The man was plump, not very tall, with plaid jacket and was smoking a pipe. The woman was an attractive slim brunette with a white shirt under which her breasts were half-visible.

“Hey, you, what are you doing here?” the Bedouin called them in Arabic, then switched to English: “Are you lost, where are the others?”

Surprisingly for his weight the man made two quick jumps ahead and stuck the stem of his pipe in the Bedouin’s eye.

His two companions could not react, one took a gun out, but the woman was already all over him and bit hard his throat. A fountain of warm blood gushed and splashed on the ground.

The plump man raised his glance towards the third Arab, dashed at him, brought him to the ground and stuck his thumbs in the man’s eyes. The screams of the dying stopped after a few seconds and the dead silence of the desert engulfed in its embrace two retreating silhouettes.

The sand was pouring like a raging waterfall over their heads. It was like a rain of little pebbles, but thicker and hitting at each point. It was as if the devil was pouring all the sand in the desert on the punished sinners.

“Sergeant, close the windows!”

The Sergeant’s answer was carried away by the storm.

“Yes, Sir, but the canvas is torn and collects sand! We can’t lift it, Sir!”

The strong wind took the words some place high.

“A sand devil, Sir”, the soldier next to him added.

“What?! I didn’t know it was called this. A very appropriate name, by the way.”

The Sergeant caught the canvas and helped them cover the window with it.

It was the first time he saw a tornado.

A sand devil.

It was a fascinating phenomenon, but also ugly and scary.

Their eyes and mouths were full of sand. Sunglasses or scarfs did not help.

After they managed to find shelter in the dome next to the military warehouses, the Sergeant took down the scarf from his head and shook the sand from his hair.

“What is it, for god’s sake?”

“The locals call it ‘fasset el ‘afreet’ or ‘wind of ghosts’. It is formed when warm air climbs up in a pocket of cold air and whirls as a small tornado. “

“It really is a devil’s doing.”

“It is caused by vertical air movements just like the tornado. It can be rather big and strong.”

Marcela threw herself on the bed with the full force of her slender body, feeling exhausted to death. She thought she was too tired to take a shower even. She barely managed to take off her cramped t-shirt, then she removed her bra and threw it towards the other bunk but missed and it fell on the floor.

Nothing mattered any more, even if the world stopped turning around, she would not care but would want to sleep and then gather her thoughts. To hell with the Russians and their patriotic passion. To hell with Norman and his strict orders.

The most important issue was her doctor’s thesis. The Chancellor would not be pleased with her inexplicable absence. What would she tell him upon returning back?

Would those military men be willing to vouchsafe that they almost kidnapped her, so that she could take part in this madness? She needed to complete the chapter about flaviviruses and fuck the dumb militaries with their dumb submarine. Her life was more important, wasn’t it? Nothing else mattered or at least in this moment, she tried to convince herself.

If she did not take this last step in her professional development, all her efforts so far would have been wasted. The long years of night and day work in the laboratory and in front of the computer. What if it had all been in vain?

What would she do? Was there anything else in her life? She was scared. She was weak.

As much as she strived to demonstrate power and determination, she was torn inside with memories and contradictions.

Was she good enough, was her career worth the price to be left alone and without a family? How much normal life cost and was it not better to be moderately happy than chase the peaks of science?

She was lonely. She had never admitted it to herself before. Of course, nobody considered her lonely. She was a beautiful, sexy woman, coveted by every man in Bucharest to hold her in his arms.

But she did not want just anybody. She felt lonely with each one of her partners so far. They were either self-indulging egocentrics with expensive sports cars or collapsing workaholics, too idealistic and naive to provoke any interest in her.

Money was an argument, that powerful men were pointing out all the time, but after a week they became trivially boring. She found dull their ambitions and the things that amused them and saw no sense in playing a role. She preferred to be alone and work.

She graduated in Biology as if it was a joke, she loved animals.

She did her first doctor’s thesis at 27, too late for her ambitious nature. But early enough to attract the attention of the scientific community with her work on virology and most of all on applied Biology in closed systems.