Otto Koch was dressed in a black velvet smoking jacket and gray slacks. He looked a bit like a character from an old-fashioned movie with his bald shining scalp, monocle, and carved walking stick that he carried at his side. Arriving along with this imposing personage was a large, black German shepherd, and two tall blond men carrying combat shotguns.
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” greeted Koch, after he loudly cleared his throat to draw everyone’s attention.
“But it has come to my attention that there are several among you that are plotting to disrupt this voyage. Such insubordination will not be tolerated! To stem it right now, I’ve decided to pull from your ranks a select few who will be placed in isolation. If any subterfuge is subsequently attempted, these individuals will be shot immediately. Will the following please stand and come with me. Karl Skollevoll…”
No sooner was the helicopter pilot’s name out of Koch’s mouth when the deck beneath them briefly shuddered. This unusual vibration was enough to divert Koch’s attention, and cause his dog to suddenly start barking.
“Beowulf, behave yourself!” ordered Koch forcefully.
The dog continued his mad yelping despite this command, and did so even when his master raised his stick overhead and prepared to strike the German shepherd. Yet once again Koch found his attention drawn away, this time by the urgent buzzing of the bulkhead-mounted intercom.
“One of you morons get that telephone!” demanded Koch to his sentries. A young seaman moved to the bulkhead and lifted the receiver.
“It’s Captain Kromer, Herr Director. He’s calling from the engine room. It seems that we’ve hit something that’s damaged the ship’s prop. At the moment, the vessel is incapable of any forward velocity.”
“What?” cried Otto Koch in utter disbelief.
“What nonsense is this? ” he spat out as he hurried over to have a word with the captain himself.
Just as Koch put the receiver to his ear, the door to the galley burst open and in strode a single figure, dressed in black fatigues. With his right hand, Lieutenant Vasili Kalinin raised his Kalashnikov assault rifle and cooly put a bullet into the foreheads of the two sentries standing nearest him. Before the others could react, he tossed a stun grenade into the startled bunch of remaining guards. This device detonated with an ear-shattering blast that sent up a wall of thick white smoke. Veiled in this choking mist, a dog could be heard barking, along with the deafening crack of a pistol firing, All the while, watching this drama unfold from the back corner of the galley, were the equally startled hostages. David Lawton alertly ordered his fellow prisoners to hit the deck. They did so at once, and were soon enveloped in the roiling white smoke that filled the entire room in a thick shroud.
The sound of exploding gunfire was everywhere as Alexander climbed onto the diving support ship’s deck from the sail of the Lena. He was determined to be instrumental in bringing his brother’s tormentor to justice, and he ordered Captain Milyutin to supply two armed men to accompany him onto the Falcon. With their help he made it onto the vessel just as the Spetsnaz team began its well-coordinated attack.
While one of the commandos secured the bridge, the other took care of the engine room and the adjoining compartments. This left the squad’s leader free to penetrate the galley, where the hostages were last reported to be held. It was to this section of the Falcon that Alexander hurried.
As he frantically rushed down the passageway that led him further into the ship’s interior, the crack of exchanged gunfire triggered memories long since forgotten.
Had it really been fifty years since that fated train ride so changed the lives of him and his twin brother?
Excited to be this close to the monster who took Mikhail from him and scarred his very soul, Alexander took a deep breath and readied himself for the inevitable confrontation.
He located the galley and saw the smoke that was pouring from its open doors. With no thought for his own safety, Alexander entered the compartment and found himself engulfed in a blinding veil of white mist. His stinging eyes were all but useless, and like a blind man he extended his arms outward and groped into the roiling haze. Suddenly he flashed back to the nightmare that he had experienced several days ago back on the Lena, and just like in that terrifying vision, his hand made contact. New hope filled his spirits as he grasped the hand that he had just discovered in the blinding haze and slowly pulled it forward. And out of the smoke, like a ghostly apparition, emerged his twin brother.
“He’s dead!” cried Mikhail joyfully.
“The bastard is finally dead!”