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Nobody was here.
Monk noted the tremble in his rifle. He was wired and edgy. He took a deep settling breath. The fetid reek was much stronger. Off to the left, Monk noted black oil pooled beyond a stack of equipment. He crept out and peeked around the corner.
Not oil. Blood.
He found the source of the smell. A tumble of bodies draped the back wall, tangled in a heap, outfitted in mining gear or white laboratory coats. Blood and gore spattered the walls behind them.
Death by firing squad.
Someone had been cleaning house.
Behind him, Konstantin appeared, creeping out into the open. Monk returned, shook his head, and pointed to the computer shack. He didn't want the children to see the slaughter. He motioned to Pyotr and Kiska to remain where they were.
Konstantin joined Monk as he strode toward the blast doors. I've been here before, the boy said. We're allowed to ride the train sometimes. These are the substation controls.
Show me, Monk said.
Konstantin had already highlighted what General-Major Savina Martov was pla
The two crammed into the shack, and Konstantin studied the substation's controls, his eyes flickering over the Cyrillic lettering. Monk could almost hear his mind flying at speeds beyond normal mentation. After a moment of study, his hands flew over the board, flipping switches with deft assuredness, as if he'd done this a thousand times before.
As he worked, Monk asked, How did you learn about Operation Saturn?
Konstantin glanced to him with a wincing look of embarrassment. My skill is rapid calculation and derivative analysis. I work often in the Warren's computer laboratory. He shrugged.
Monk understood. You could turn a boy into a savant but he was still a boy: curious, mischievous, pushing boundaries.
You hacked into her files.
He shrugged again. A week ago, Sasha Pyotr's sister she drew me a picture. Gave it to me in the middle of the night. When we were all woken by one of Pyotr's nightmares.
What picture?
The train here, with many children on board, all dead and burning. It also showed the mining site just past the blast doors here. So so the next day, I broke into the files about the operation. I learned what was pla
Konstantin stared up at Monk for understanding.
Though he didn't completely, Monk still nodded. What did Pyotr know? he pressed.
He is a strong empath. He sensed you would help us. He even knew your name.
Said his sister whispered it to him in a dream. They are very strange, those two, very powerful.
Monk heard a trace of fear in the boy's voice.
Konstantin even glanced warily back toward Pyotr, then set back to work. So we came for you.
With a final flick of a switch, a row of monitors glowed to life across the top of the control board. They showed black-and-white images, views from different angles of a small cavern, rigged with scaffolding. On the floor was bolted a large steel iris.
The heart of Operation Saturn.
Motion drew Monk's eye to the centermost screen. It showed a train rested outside the mining site. Open ore cars were loaded with children. Some had climbed out and stood around in confusion. Others appeared to be laughing and playing.
Konstantin clutched Monk's sleeve. They they're already here.
Savina sat in the brightly lit control station, flanked by two technicians. They were ru
She stared at the parked train for another breath, then stood up, unable to remain seated. She felt a familiar crick in her back. She had failed to take her steroid injection, too busy with all the final preparations. She turned away from the view of the train. Not because it hurt to look which it did but because anxiety ran through her.
She checked her wristwatch. It was more than half past eleven o'clock, and she had still not heard from Nicolas. She exited the control room, so the others did not see her wring her hands. It was a weak matronly gesture, and she forced herself to stop. She headed to the stairs and climbed toward the level above.
Not with any destination in mind, only to keep moving.
From her contacts in the intelligence community, she had already heard the rumblings of an accident at Chernobyl. A radiation leak. Dead bodies. The place was being evacuated. And if Nicolas had been successful, such a mass departure was too late. Perhaps her son had been caught up in the resultant chaos and had been unable to report to her yet. Her operation was set to commence in another forty-five minutes, once she heard confirmation from
Nicolas.
As she climbed the stairs, she imagined him gloating in his success, possibly even enjoying a secret tryst with little Elena. It would not be unlike Nicolas to celebrate first and attend to business afterward. Anger tempered her anxiety.
She finally reached the floor above the control station. It had been converted into a domicile for the technicians: bedrooms, exercise space, and a central communal area full of sofas and dining tables. The only occupants at the moment were ten children. She knew each by name.
They turned to stare at her, their heads swiveling all at once, like a flock of birds turning in midflight. Savina felt a flicker of apprehension, a recognition of the foreig
Boris, a thirteen-year-old with eyes so blue they appeared frosted, seemed almost to be studying her. His talent was an eidetic memory coupled with a retention that frightened. He even remembered his own birth.
Why were we not allowed to go with the others? he asked.
More heads nodded.
Savina swallowed before answering. There is another path for all of you. Do you have your bags packed?
They just stared. No answer was necessary. Of course their bags were packed. The question displayed the level of her own nervousness. Before her lay the power that would fuel the Motherland into a new era. And deep down, Savina knew such a power remained beyond her full comprehension.
We will be leaving in an hour, Savina said.
Those ten pairs of blue eyes stared back at her.
Footsteps sounded behind her. She turned as one of the technicians joined her.
General-Major, he said, we're having some glitch with the blast doors on the other side of the tu
She nodded, glad to focus her mind upon a problem.
She followed the technician back to the staircase. Still, she felt those ten pairs of eyes tracking her, cold and dispassionate, icy in their regard. To escape their judgment, she hurried down the stairs.
Open the doors! Monk called to Konstantin.
From inside the control station, the boy nodded. Electric motors sounded, and large steel gears began rolling the blast doors out of the way, splitting down the middle.
Konstantin came ru
Monk understood. Konstantin had sent the tu