Red Storm Rising

Inside the glass door, Ibrahim greeted the security guard, who smiled back, his hand outstretched for Tolkaze s security pass. The need for security here was quite real, but since it dated back over forty years, no one took it more seriously than any of the pro forma bureaucratic complexities in the Soviet Union. The guard had been drinking, the only form of solace in this harsh, cold land. His eyes were not focusing and his smile was too fixed. Tolkaze fumbled handing over his pass, and the guard lurched down to retrieve it. He never came back up. Tolkaze s pistol was the last thing the man felt, a cold circle at the base of his skull, and he died without knowing why or even how. Ibrahim went behind the guard s desk to get the weapon the man had been only too happy to display for the engineers he d protected. He lifted the body and moved it awkwardly to leave it slumped at the desk just another swingshift worker asleep at his post then waved his comrades into the building. Rasul and Mohammet raced to the door.

It is time, my brothers. Tolkaze handed the AK-47 rifle and ammo belt to his taller friend.

Rasul hefted the weapon briefly, checking to see that a round was chambered and the safety off. Then he slung the ammunition belt over his shoulder and snapped the bayonet in place before speaking for the first time that night: Paradise awaits.

Tolkaze composed himself, smoothed his hair, straightened his tie, and clipped the security pass to his white laboratory coat before leading his comrades up the six flights of stairs.

Ordinary procedure dictated that to enter the master control room, one first had to be recognized by one of the operations staffers. And so it happened. Nikolay Barsov seemed surprised when he saw Tolkaze through the door s tiny window.

You re not on duty tonight, Isha.

One of my valves went bad this afternoon and I forgot to check the repair status before I went off duty. You know the one the auxiliary feed valve on kerosen