Undisclosed location in Siberia, U.S.S.R.
August 24, 1991
20:15 IRKST
Fewer than a hundred people knew of this airfield's existence. Fewer still its location, and the number who could even guess its true purpose – hidden even from its caretakers - was less than ten. Though located deep inside a vast forest of pine, it could, of course, be seen by satellite, but its small size and seeming lack of strategic value made it utterly indistinguishable from the myriads of other, more complex installations maintained by the Soviet Air Forces. No outside observer would have had cause to give it a second glance.
As such, there was no one – inside or outside the Soviet Union – who would have noticed the small entourage of vehicles that had just arrived at the field. Had they done so, many would have raised their eyebrows at the presence of a black Zil limousine, the unmistakable symbol of the Party ruling elite. Even then, few would have guessed that it carried a high-ranking officer of the Scientific and Technical Directorate, a little-known but highly integral component of the Committee for State Security – better known and feared both at home and abroad as the KGB.
The officer's name was General Dmitry Alexandreyevich Royek. Few outside his immediate circle had heard the name. But everyone who did inevitably learned to fear it. With this, the obscure general was content. He held no craving whatsoever for the obvious trappings of fame and greatness, never seeking any of the higher positions offered by the Soviet system nor venturing outside his appointed sphere in any way. That had been the downfall of fools like Kryuchkov and the rest of his quixotic co-conspirators. True power, as he had always known, was exercised from the shadows. An enemy could not destroy what he could not see. The final proof of that dictum was demonstrated by the fact that he himself continued to stand untouched while virtually all of his fellow comrades had fallen.
For most in Russia's high places, the last hope for the Soviet state had died just hours earlier with Gorbachev's televised resignation as General Secretary of the CPSU. Royek, however, and others like him had seen the handwriting on the wall long before when concepts like "glasnost" and "perestroika" entered the public vocabulary for the first time. Which was, of course, why his contingency plan been meticulously drawn up and organized to the very last detail starting in 1988. Everything from the tools, funds, infrastructure, operatives, and contacts had been fully in place for the last three years, patiently awaiting the encrypted signal Royek had sent to Pyonyang from his Yasenovo dacha at 8:00 p.m. on August 21. All the necessary facilities prepared by their North Korean comrades now stood ready for the personnel and equipment they would be receiving in a continuous stream over the next 72 hours. The endeavor he had started twenty years ago would continue on by other means.
The general stepped outside his black Zil limousine and proceeded up the boarding ramp of the awaiting turbojet airplane recently unveiled from its camouflaged hangar, never giving more than a cursory glance to the military attendants standing at attention around him. Ramrod-straight in his blue KGB uniform with the cap beneath the right arm, he resembled nothing so much as a Platonic archetype of the Chekist ideal as defined by Lenin and Dzherzinsky. Tall, strong, black-haired and steel-eyed, his gaze was full of purpose, never wavering to the right or the left. His thin, sallow face was that of an ascetic, every thought bent to the holy cause he served.
Very few, however, even among those he counted as friends and allies, could have guessed his true conception of that cause or how far he would go to fulfill it.
Once the general had stepped onboard the jet, the back doors of the armored vehicle beside his limousine burst open to unleash a squad of no less than four black-clad commandoes. These soldiers, a far different breed from the KGB regulars guarding the plane and limousine, immediately dropped into battle-ready crouches and established a perimeter with their silenced AS Val assault rifles. Two more emerged from the vehicle's interior, each grasping the right and left arms, respectively, of a chained and hooded prisoner who was immediately dragged the short distance to Royek's jet. Only after the door had been safely latched behind the two men and their captive did the other four visibly relax, though keeping their weapons at the ready. These watched with gazes of steel as the plane picked up speed down the runway before lifting off to begin its long journey to the Far East. They then turned around to carry out the next phase of their orders.
It was swiftly executed with neither warning nor the slightest twinge of conscience. There were several simultaneous flashes of gunfire from four barrels as the six military and civilian attendants' bodies were ripped apart with astonishing precision, their cries of shock and pain abruptly cut short.
Had anyone with sufficient knowledge been around to observe the scene, the identity of the soldiers would now have been irrevocably confirmed. Osnaz. Part of the KGB's secret network of paramilitary killers who had absorbed Leninist ideology in its most purified and merciless form. Men selected from an exclusive pool of highly-trained candidates precisely for their utter ruthlessness and willingness to follow any order without question. Quick, methodical, and ghost-like when necessary, they would leave behind no evidence of what had taken place today. Nor would they give a second thought to this mission – one among many – as they faded back into the regular military units from which they had been drawn, ready to be called upon again at a moment's notice.
Royek allowed himself a rare moment of reflection as he gazed out the window of the plane. The sun had set only a few minutes before but already he could discern the faint light of stars making their first appearance in the twilight sky. He was not above contemplating Nature's beauty on certain occasions, something quite contrary to the image of iron and steel that he kept in place before subordinates. But then, all true warriors were poets – what was war, after all, but the highest form of poetry? The stars were beautiful to him even now. Yet at the same time they were pregnant with a meaning that only a precious few human beings beside himself fully understood.
The KGB general shifted his eyes to take in the prisoner – still chained, hooded, and under armed guard not 10 feet away. Dressed in the gray, dirtied coveralls of a Gulag zek, the man was on his knees with both arms tightly bound behind him, his head drooping forward to the deck. There was no sign of life save for the steady, shallow rhythm of his breathing as the lungs went through their preprogrammed motions. He had been heavily drugged beforehand and was, for all intents and purposes, completely unaware of all that was taking place around him. There was zero probability of his posing any threat to himself or others. But one took no chances whatsoever when transporting a living, breathing prize whose value exceeded any weapon, resource or secret existing on the face of the earth.
Royek turned back to the window, fresh anticipation building inside him. In the end, what did Russia matter compared to those endless beacons of light that ruled the night-time sky?
The stars. So vast and infinite.
And as he had known for the past twenty years, so very much alive.
