Ernest Dempsey
The Last Chamber
Prologue
The tension in the room could have been cut with a spoon. Stale cigarette smoke hung thick in the musty air.
“Where was this picture taken?” A barrel-chested, middle-aged officer demanded in a gruff voice. The man’s head was rimmed with graying brown hair, his portly face red from stress and vodka.
The young Soviet pilot looked up at him from a chair at a small wooden table. The pilot was in his low to mid-twenties. His skin was still smooth and healthy. He sported the short haircut of the military, piercing blue eyes, and a strong jaw line with a little dimple in the center of his chin. Sincere confusion filled his face.
“I don’t know, Sir,” he said in mumbled Russian. He was clearly afraid of the higher ranking officer.
“How can you not know?” the large man raged, pounding his fist on the table. The action caused the pilot to jump in his seat.
“We have taken thousands of pictures, comrade,” he explained. “It is our job to bring them back for analysis. It is nearly impossible for us to remember the exact location of every photograph.” His lips trembled as he finished the sentence.
Two other men stood in opposite corners of the room, watching the exchange silently. They both wore black suits and ties. One was a slender man with a black flat top. The other one was blonde with the same haircut. A stout physique and broad shoulders made him seem slightly more imposing that his partner.
“I’m sorry, comrade,” the young man continued. “I do not know what else to tell you. We were flying over the area at the Turkish and Armenian border. That picture had to be taken somewhere in the mountains nearby. But where, exactly, I cannot be sure.”
A bead of sweat rolled down the high forehead of the Russian officer. His eyes narrowed above fleshy cheeks. When he spoke, his voice was low but intense. “Our analysts have searched through seven hundred pictures of this area. We sent more planes to the region you speak of and took more photographs. Yet, when they returned, none of them produced an image of this location.” He slammed the thick piece of photo paper down on the table.
The pilot looked down at it, desperately trying to remember where it had been taken. The image portrayed two ridgelines on opposing mountains. In between them was a narrow valley. The span, though, was oddly shaped, unlike anything he’d ever seen. It appeared as though a long, rectangular box had been placed there centuries before, and the valley itself had eroded around it, taking on the same shape.
“It was somewhere near the town of Ararat in Armenia. That is all I know,” the pilot said finally.
The officer looked over at the two agents standing near the door. The blonde one nodded his head once and blinked slowly.
“Well, comrade. We have scoured that particular area and found nothing. Ten different planes have photographed the region you describe, and none have brought back this image. So, you are either lying, or this image is distorted.”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” the pilot spoke up. “But what is so important about this region? Why are we taking so many photographs there?”
The officer’s face flushed red. Before he could speak, though, the blonde man in the suit stepped forward and raised a hand. “Allow me, Comrade.” His tone was even and deep.
The roiling officer moved off to the side as the agent took his place in front of the terrified pilot. He reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to the trembling young man, who accepted. After lighting the cigarette for him, the agent put the pack back in his pocket and let out a deep sigh.
After a few seconds, he finally spoke again. “We have reason to believe that somewhere in the area of this photograph, there is a large weapons cache. Our concern is that there could be something there that would present an imminent threat to Mother Russian. We must neutralize that threat as soon as possible.”
The pilot took a hesitant drag off the cigarette and released a slow puff of smoke out of his mouth. “Is the threat nuclear?”
A quick raise of the eyebrows and a cock of the head told the young man it might be. “We are not certain,” the agent replied. “But we cannot take any chances. That region needs to be pacified immediately, but we also have to know what we are dealing with.”
The young man nodded, understanding. “Sir, I think I might be able to find the area again where that picture was taken. If you would allow, I could do another fly over and see.” His voice sounded hopeful.
“Are you certain?”
“I do not know exactly where it is, but I believe I can find it if you just give me the chance. I only want to help Mother Russia.” His mid-ranged voice sounded desperate.
“Good. That is all I needed to know,” the blonde man smiled and stepped aside.
A second later, a muffled pop interrupted the silence. The other agent held a pistol at arm’s length behind the head of the man in the chair. A thin trail of smoke drifted up from the sound suppressor’s barrel. The young pilot slumped forward onto the blood-splatter table with a thud.
“It is a shame we had to kill him,” the officer commented. “He was one of our better reconnaissance pilots.” His gravelly voice held a hint of regret.
“We cannot be too careful with these sorts of things, Comrade,” the blonde agent commented. The man with the gun looked over at them casually. “Too many people with information create too many leaks. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The hefty commander looked down at the floor then back up into the icy blue eyes. “Yes, you are correct. And we must take every precaution to protect the best interests of our country.”
“Exactly,” the blonde said with an emphatic point of the finger. “Now, I wonder who else knows about this photograph.”
“Only three other people have seen it. We have a small group assigned to the analysis of the pictures that come from that region of the world,” the officer shrugged.
“Would their names be in that file over there?” he pointed to a stool near the door and a manila folder that rested on top.
The man in the uniform nodded. “Yes. They should be listed inside.”
“Good,” the blonde agent patted him on the shoulder. “And of course, you know about the photograph as well.”
Fear crept onto the man’s chubby face. “Now wait a minute,” he scowled and raised a finger. “I am a high ranking officer in the Soviet military. You do not have the right to accuse me of anything, no matter what your KGB bosses say.”
“We aren’t accusing you of anything, Comrade,” the blonde retorted. “We are only fixing leaks.”
Another pop echoed off the block walls again. The officer wavered for a moment before collapsing to the floor. The look of shock still filled his lifeless eyes. A small hole on his sweaty forehead leaked a thin trickle of blood.
The agent with the gun shoved it back inside his jacket. “I’ll have the cleaning team come in here right away.”
The blonde nodded. “Have them put in one of the military jeeps and set it on fire. Accidents happen all the time, after all.”
“What about the three analysts?”
“They shouldn’t be any problem. Once they’re out of the way, we will be the only ones that know about the picture. We have to make sure it stays that way.” The blonde agent walked over to the table and picked up the photograph. He gazed at it for a moment, absorbing the image with a kind of wonder. “This must not fall into the wrong hands. If the United States or Great Britain were to get their hands on it, we would be doomed.”
“Are you certain we will find what we are looking for?” The dark-haired man grabbed the file near the door.
“Certain?” the blonde raised an eyebrow. “Nothing is certain in this life, Comrade. Let’s just say it puts us one step ahead of the others.”
“So you believe the other countries are looking for the same thing?” The man’s flat forehead wrinkled slightly.
“I believe that if the stories are true, whoever uncovers this secret first will be able to rule the world.”