КНИГИ КИРИЛЛА ПОТЁМКИНА

16. CONSPIRACY OF THE DOOMED

(Location: Moscow. The Kremlin. Special Facility «Silence» — an isolated bunker for top-level meetings)

There were no windows in this room. The walls, densely lined with ivory-colored sound-absorbing panels, muffled the slightest rustle, making any voice here sound unnaturally dull, as if the interlocutors were speaking from under a thick pillow. Electronics did not exist here in principle. No mobile phones, no tablets, not even electronic watches — the «Perimeter Silence» System did not tolerate digital fields.

Only paper, massive ribbed water decanters, and a heavy fear, pressing down like an invisible press, filled the entire space.

Five people sat around the round Karelian birch table.

The President. The Prime Minister. FSB Director Viktor Nikolaevich.

And two who clearly felt out of place here: pale Dr. Aronov, his eyes red from insomnia, and the head of the Defense Minister’s security detail, Colonel Gromov.

— «I want to hear facts,» — President Kubarev broke the oppressive silence. His left hand lay motionless on the tabletop. He pressed it down forcefully with his right palm, trying to tame the tremor, but the fingers still lived a life of their own, tapping out a fine, nervous drumroll on the wood.

— «No unnecessary emotions. No tall tales about ‘miracles’. I only want to hear dry facts,» — the president continued.

The FSB Director indicated Dr. Aronov with a barely noticeable nod.

The scientist stood up. A fine tremor shook his body. He placed a printout on the table — a single sheet of paper densely covered with complex graphs.

— «Comrade President… Project ‘Aegis’ goes far beyond ordinary technologies. We conducted a deep analysis of those formulas that… ahem… U-uh… Yes… mysteriously generated on Defense Minister Andrey Voronov’s computer.»

— «And what is your verdict?» — the Premier rushed him, nervously fiddling with the edge of his jacket.

— «This is math on the level of gods,» — Aronov said quietly, barely moving his dry lips. — «Or… Or, you know, the devil himself. These equations describe the principles of controlling gravitational fields and,» — the doctor raised a finger and for some reason pointed at the bunker ceiling, — «and… the resonance of matter. If an emitter is created strictly according to these blueprints, it will indeed gain power… And… Will be able to push back and even disperse the Fog. Or it could compress it entirely to a critical point. The Fog could, like, collapse in on itself. Do you understand?..»

— «So, Voronov is right?» — the President threw his head up. — «And what does that mean — he is our only savior?»

— «A nuance has emerged,» — the FSB Director interjected. His voice sounded scratchy, resembling the sound of a rusty door hinge. — «Doctor, continue, don’t stall.»

Aronov swallowed convulsively, exactly like a boa constrictor trying to swallow an oversized rabbit, and adjusted his slipping glasses:

— «Uh… The security system. All the key blueprints, you understand, are highly encrypted. We examined the overall structure, but the critical nodes — uh… the reactor, the frequency modulator — uh… are tightly locked by a biometric… Uh… a kind of code.»

— «And this code…» — the President began, already guessing the answer.

— «It’s… It’s, yes. It’s… Andrey Nikolaevich Voronov’s DNA,» — Aronov said, stumbling over his words. — «A-and… not just the genetic code. The system requires, you understand, an encephalogram. Uh… The brain’s rhythm. And a rhythm… significantly altered, so to speak… no longer entirely human.»

— «Explain it more simply.»

— «Uh… To launch ‘Aegis’, we need, you see, General Voronov himself. Uh… But, not the man we knew before… Well, previously… Knew for decades. But the subject he is turning into right now. A personality that is… Well, so to speak, in continuous contact with… a certain external stimulus, an external signal.»

The FSB Director slowly placed a folder with photographs in the center of the table.

— «Gromov, you’re up.»

Colonel Gromov rose slowly, as if the entire multi-ton thickness of the Kremlin concrete had suddenly descended on his shoulders. A monolith, not a man — heavy-set, with a face carved from cold gray granite, he froze, not lifting his gaze from the polished surface of the table. A thin capillary burst in the colonel’s left eye, right in full view of those present, instantly dyeing the sclera the color of fresh blood.

Every word tore from his throat with a distinct wheeze, as if broken glass was scratching his vocal cords. He realized the baseness of his act, felt the sticky mud of betrayal soaking his dress uniform, eating its way right under his skin. But the long-standing loyalty to the oath, driven deep into his very spine — a duty to a phantom country, rather than to a living friend — dictated its merciless will.

Words burned in the colonel’s brain:

«I MUST… I HAVE TO… I BELIEVE… I AM RIGHT…»

— «The Minister is demonstrating clear instability,» — Gromov said hollowly, staring at the wall. — «For the past three days, he has practically not closed his eyes. He holds long conversations with empty chairs. Bursts into laughter for no apparent reason. Gives orders to divisions that have long ceased to exist in reality.»

— «Has he… Has he gone on a bender?» — the Premier inquired drily.

— «Alcohol is present. But that’s not the root of the problem.» — Gromov finally found the strength to look the President straight in the eye. — «The thing is, he calls them ‘Allies’. He firmly believes that his daughter Katya has returned from oblivion. And he believes, or rather, he is certain, that she is now their official ambassador.»

— «And the most terrifying part,» — the FSB Director added, — «he unconditionally listens only to her. Am I right, Colonel?»

— «That is correct,» — Gromov confirmed.

A deathly silence reigned in the room. The «deaf» walls of the bunker seemed to physically press on the ears of those present.

— «So, we have a Defense Minister with full access to the ‘Nuclear Briefcase’,» — the FSB Director began speaking quietly, enunciating every syllable. — «We have a man who takes direct instructions from a hallucination. And this hallucination has handed him a weapon capable of redrawing the physical map of our planet.»

— «He fancies himself a Messiah,» — the Premier spat out with undisguised disgust. — «He’s building a cult around himself. If ‘Aegis’ works, the people will recognize him as a god, Vladimir Alexandrovich. What? Do you want to end up on the sidelines?»

— «And what if these ‘voices’ order him to strike us?» — The FSB Director narrowed his eyes. — «Or, for example, China? Or Washington? Just to ‘clear’ the ground for the landing of these… Uh… Well, these mythological allies of his?»

The President closed his eyes. The tremor of his uncontrollable limb intensified noticeably. Vladimir Alexandrovich Kubarev winced, realizing the weight of the impending decision.

He remembered Andrey Voronov quite differently: an honest, straightforward, «iron» general. They were bound by twenty years of friendship. Joint fishing trips on the Volga. Voronov had once become the godfather to his only grandson.

But now, the survival of the state hung in the balance, not personal attachments.

— «We… We have no right to take the risk,» — the President said barely audibly. Then, raising his voice, he added firmly:

— «We are obliged to take the technology. We must eliminate the unreliable conduit of a foreign will.»

Aronov almost cried out:

— «But! But what about the biometrics?! Without a living Voronov, ‘Aegis’ will turn into a pile of useless metal! We will achieve nothing…»

— «Doctor,» — the FSB Director smiled coldly, and there was nothing human in that smile. — «Our specialists from NII-2 have learned to extract the necessary signals even from a fading brain. Provided the body remains fresh enough. We require the carrier. In any state of aggregation.»

— «How?» — the President asked, rubbing his temple. — «He is a national hero now. It will cause an uproar.»

— «Ah, we-ell… A heart attack,» — the Director suggested as casually as a weather forecast. — «A massive myocardial infarction against a backdrop of colossal stress, the loss of loved ones, and alcohol abuse. The hero’s heart simply couldn’t handle the strain. We will organize a lavish state funeral. A gun carriage, a guard of honor, national mourning. Absolutely. Well, and real control over ‘Aegis’ will pass to us, to the Security Council, without any unnecessary pomp.»

The President was silent for an infinitely long minute. Finally, his gaze settled on Gromov.

— «Colonel. If I am not mistaken, he has some kind of inspection scheduled for today?»

Gromov turned pale, becoming a color similar to the bunker panels.

— «You are correct. Facility ‘Zarya’. The excavation pit for the first shield prototype.»

— «And who is on guard? Your men, Colonel?»

— «Yes, sir. The FSO holds the outer perimeter. The inner one — the minister’s personal guard. GRU Spetsnaz. Boys ready to follow him through fire and water.»

— «I see. Will you be able to… neutralize these ‘loyal dogs’?»

Gromov clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

— «I can recall them. Under the plausible pretext of an unscheduled shift change or a training drill. I’ll leave him alone.»

— «Very well. Do it,» — the President said.

His voice sounded foreign, cracked, as if it belonged not to the head of state, but to a decrepit old man. Vladimir Alexandrovich slowly, overcoming the resistance of his own body, rose from his seat.

Inside him at that moment, an impotent rage blazed.

«Andrey, why? Why did you let them get into your head? What were you even thinking…» the inner voice screamed, while outwardly the President maintained a mask of icy calm. A bright image smelling of river water surfaced before his eyes: the Volga, the pre-dawn fog, him and Andrey Voronov in the same boat. Andrey was laughing then, pointing at a huge catfish, and his laughter carried over the reach, alive and real. And then there was the church, the smell of incense, and he, President Kubarev, holding a small bundle in his arms, little Katya, becoming her spiritual father before God.

«I… I am betraying my dearest friend. I am killing my goddaughter’s father,» the icy needle of this thought pierced his brain. For a second, he wanted to slam his fist on the table, disperse this pack of Chekists and scientists, and scream that Voronov is a hero, and he deserves to be saved, not killed.

But the President’s gaze fell on the photographs in that horrific folder. Andrey’s altered, dilated pupils. The mad grin. The blueprints that no human could, or was capable of, creating. And fear… Fear creeping down his spine. Sticky and ancient. This fear is stronger than any memory.

«He is no longer Andrey. That Andrey died along with Katya. What is now wearing his uniform is just a radio receiver for alien gods. If I don’t pull the trigger, he will turn Russia into ashes for the sake of his illusions.»

President Vladimir Alexandrovich Kubarev straightened his back. His personal feelings were sent to the same «wastebasket» where, he assumed, these very allies throw away spent material.

— «Forgive me, Andrey Nikolaevich,» — he pronounced clearly, almost solemnly, examining the emptiness above Colonel Gromov’s head. — «But Russia needs a shield, not a mad prophet broadcasting on behalf of who knows who. Shadows!»

FSB Director Viktor Nikolaevich nodded barely noticeably.

The President closed his eyes.

The sentence had officially come into force.