Of course, one could always change one’s destiny….
Trying not to think about the cameras, Yardem proceeded to Zone Two through a corridor that was referred to as a “sanitary passageway.” It was really a progression of small, sterile rooms linked by connecting doors equipped with coded locks. The locks did not hinder Yardeni; he had a key card and the master codes.
Entering the first cubicle, a changing room, he stripped and hit the red button on the wall. A fine decontamination mist enveloped him.
The next three cubicles held separate items of the antiplague suit: blue socks and long underwear; a hood and cotton smock; the respirator, goggles, booties, and safety glasses. Before leaving the last changing room, Yardeni reached for something that he had put in a locker at the beginning of his shift: a brushed aluminum Thermos-type container, the size of a flask.
He lifted the container in his gloved hand. It was a marvel of engineering. From the outside, it appeared to be nothing more than an expensive Western toy, functional but overly extravagant. Even if one unscrewed the top and looked inside, nothing would seem amiss. Only when the base was twisted counterclockwise would the container reveal its secret.
Carefully, Yardeni inched the base around until he heard the click. Inside the double walls, tiny canisters released their contents of nitrogen. Immediately, the container became cold to the touch, like a glass filled with shaved ice.
Slipping it into the pocket of his antiplague suit, Yardeni opened the door to the Zone Two lab. Inside, he made his way past stainless-steel worktables to what the researchers jokingly referred to as the Coke machine. It was actually a walk-in refrigerator with a door of specially constructed, hermetically sealed Plexiglas. It always reminded Yardeni of the bulletproof barriers at the cashiers’ booths in the American Express office.
He slipped the coded key card into the slot, punched in the combination, and listened to the long, slow hiss as the door swung back. Three seconds later, it closed behind him.
Pulling open one of the drawers, Yardeni gazed down at row after row of vials made of tempered glass. Working quickly, he unscrewed the container at its midsection and placed the top half to one side. Set in the base were six slots, much like the chambers of a revolver. He placed one ampoule into each of the slots, then replaced the top section, making sure that it was tightly in place.
Using his key card, he exited the Coke machine and made his way out of the lab. The procedure in the changing rooms was reversed as he deposited parts of the suit into burn bags. After a second decontamination mist, he was ready to get dressed, except that this time he changed into casual clothes— jeans, sweatshirt, and a baggy parka.
A few minutes later, Yardeni was outside, breathing deeply in the night air. A cigarette steadied him. Option Two, the voice had said. That meant something had gone wrong. Instead of Yardeni choosing his moment to purloin the variola, he had had to take it now. And quickly, too, because for some reason Moscow had become suspicious.
Yardeni knew all about the Special Forces command outside Vladimir. He’d befriended some of the trainees in town bars; they were tough and capable, not the kind of men that even he would ever want to tangle with. But the rounds of vodka had bought him valuable information. He knew exactly what kind of exercises the Special Forces went through and how long it took to execute them.
Yardeni crushed his cigarette under his boot and began walking away from Building 103, headed for one of the guard posts on the perimeter. Tonight, as every night for the past month, comrades from his old army unit would staff it. Yardeni would tell them he was going off-shift; they would joke that he could still do the last show at the Little Boy Blue. And if someone bothered to check the computerized roster, let him.
__________
For the past fifty minutes, Kravchenko had been working swiftly and silently. No lights had gone on in the training ground, no alarms had sounded. His soldiers were rousted and assembled under the cover of darkness. As soon as the troops had been mustered, the first armored personnel carriers rumbled through the gates. Kravchenko couldn’t do anything about the engine noise and didn’t pay it any mind. Both the citizens of Vladimir and the Bioaparat employees who worked the evening shifts were used to nighttime military exercises.
Riding in the command APC, Kravchenko guided his column down the two-lane highway that led out of his compound. His orders had been clear; if a traitor was on-site, he would be surrounded. The one thing Kravchenko, an eminently practical man, could guarantee was that no one could break the quarantine.
__________
“Grigori?”
“It’s me, Oleg.” Yardeni strolled up to the brick post. Standing outside finishing a cigarette was a fellow BSD guard.
“Is your shift over?”
Yardeni feigned boredom. “Yeah. Arkadi clocked in early. He owes me time from last month. Now I can go home and get some sleep.”
Arkadi was Yardeni’s relief, who at this time was, Yardeni assumed, asleep next to his fat wife, not due to come in for another four hours. But Yardeni had coaxed the computer to tell a different story.
“One moment, please.”
Yardeni turned in the direction of the voice coming through the open window of the post. Inside was a guard he had never seen before. He glanced at his friend.
“You didn’t tell me that Alex was out tonight.”
“The flu. This is Marko. He usually works days.”
“Fine. But would you tell him to let me out of this dump? I’m getting cold.”
When Oleg opened the door of the post, Yardem realized it was already too late: the other guard was already checking the computer.
“I have your relief clocked in, Lieutenant, but there’s no shift change on the roster,” he said. “Technically, you’re leaving your post unattended.”
The guard’s accusatory tone decided Yardem’s next action. His friend Oleg had his back to him. He never saw Yardeni’s arm come around his neck, and felt only a sharp tug before his neck snapped.
The second guard was fumbling for his holstered gun when Yardeni drove the knuckles of his right hand into his windpipe. After the guard sank to his knees, struggling to breathe, it was easy enough to kill him by breaking his neck, too.
Yardeni staggered out of the booth and slammed the door. Instinct and training took over. He began walking, the old infantry refrain repeating itself over and over in his mind: One foot in front of the other, and in front of the other, and in front…
Outside the perimeter wall, Yardeni saw the lights of Vladimir. He heard the lonely whistle of a still-distant train. The whistle snapped him back to reality, reminded him what he had left to do. Leaving the road, he headed into the woods that surrounded Bioaparat. He had spent many hours there, and finding the right paths on a moonlit night was easy enough. He set a brisk pace and moved off.
Yardeni called up specific images as he ran. A contact would be waiting. He would have the passport that identified Yardeni as a visiting Canadian businessman. There would be a plane ticket for an Air Canada flight and a thick wad of American currency to tide him over until he reached Toronto and the bank where his money and new ID papers had been deposited.
Forget Oleg! Forget that other one! You’re almost free!
Yardeni was deep into the woods when he slowed and finally stopped. His hand dropped to his zippered parka pocket, his fingers curling around the cold aluminum container. The marker to his new life was secure.
Then he heard it— the faint roar of heavy vehicles approaching. They were moving west, toward the compound. Yardeni had no problem identifying them by sound alone: APCs, filled with Special Forces. But he did not panic. He was familiar with the procedures they would follow. As long as he was outside the perimeter they would establish, he was safe. He started to run again.
__________
A half mile out of town, Kravchenko saw the security lamps that bathed the perimeter of Bioaparat in white, hot light. Ordering his column off the highway, he guided the vehicles along secondary roads and cart paths until the APCs created an unbreakable steel ring around the facility. Roadblocks were set up at all the arteries leading into and out of the complex. Observation units were posted thirty meters from the brick wall, at fifty-meter intervals. Snipers using thermal scopes were hidden in those spaces. At 2:45 A.M., using a satellite relay, Kravchenko informed his president that the noose was in place.
“Sir?”
Kravchenko turned to his second-in-command. “Yes, number two?”
“Sir, some of the men have been… wondering. Is something wrong inside? Has there been an accident?”