Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 12a

Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 12a

By Phil Miller

The lower ranks of the Okhrana, the military wing of the New Russian Imperialists, were dragged from their beds, grabbed as they left local bars and restaurants, or torn from their families.  Some were shot where they stood, along with their kin, or knifed to death the old fashioned way, with a bayonet, then shot, just for good measure.  The higher echelons of the unlucky political revolutionaries, however, were taken to the old dungeons located below the new Government Building in the old town of Aksay, Rostov Oblast, where further interrogation would be needed to filter out any more disciples of democracy, well away from the Capital; away from the Kremlin.

The R.D.D.C was full. The president of Russia was in conference with the leader of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China. The wait had been long and often humiliating, for both countries, but now the Bear and the Dragon were fully prepared. This was going to be a different kind of war; a war without attrition; a war they must win.

Colonel Yassarevitch sat and waited for the order. He thought about his top secret-service agent’s that had fallen, and those yet to fall, in the line of duty. They would all be remembered and honoured. Their family names would go down in the history books of the Motherland for a millennium. It was time for a new world order.

The huge advancement of S.W.A.R.M through the Asia Pacific meant that, effectively, China was trapped. Any launch towards the West would be suicide. There was room for only one superpower on this beautiful blue planet. The United States of America was, and always will be, that superpower, thought Admiral John Stark, as he sat, along with his joint chiefs of staff, his fingers tapping gently to Whistling Dixy; he didn’t much like music but this old song popped into his head. He received a call via WEBCON; all systems go! All eyes were on him.

“Gentlemen! Okhrana has been lost. You know what to do. We are at strike phase. I want Trojans one and two activated immediately. Be ready to initiate Trojan three. We have lost Flamingo for the moment, but we are in pursuit. Let us hope we find him before our enemy does. The annexation of Estonia and Latvia are underway with reports of mercenary activity along the Polish and Lithuanian borders. The Chinese are primed to attack Taiwan. ICBM’s are imminent. The Iranian threat will diminish within the next thirty minutes. The President of the United States of America is to address congress and the world. We are at war gentlemen, so, to your stations. Major Singha! Come with me please”, said the Admiral as he swiftly moved towards Control Observation Room 1.

The bomb proof unit was almost insignificant at a mere ten square metres. A small photo of a regular-sized family unit sat on the desk with two large star-spangled banners hung from poles that were fixed to the wall, directly behind. The Admiral sat down and offered a seat to Major Singha, who promptly accepted.    

“Our networks and all communication systems are back online, up and running, along with S.S.A.D’s. All systems have now been switched and are good to go. We are back on track Navin,” he said as he placed his hand's palms down on his desk. A small spectrogram flipped up in front of him, with the heads of each allied country in conference. Countdown had begun; in thirty minutes, the world would be set on fire.

The Major looked bewildered. He knew that this day would come but he was hoping that Russia would implode first, with the help of Flamingo. At least then, they would have a chance. Fighting on two fronts had proved to be the downfall of many an empire. Alas, that was not to be. He looked sternly at John Stark. “Sir! If they find him before we do, then….” he swallowed hard, blinking at the thought.

“I know!” said the Admiral, “I think we both need a stiff drink. Do the honours, my friend.”    

Journalists around the globe waited with bated breath as the most powerful man in the world prepared himself. He stood, surrounded by American Secret Service agents, within The White House pre-briefing room. He never once dreamed that his ascension to office two years earlier would culminate with a call to arms, and declaration of war.

“Mr President, Sir! We are ready,” said a smartly dressed woman, iPad-Pro in hand, headset on.

As he took a deep breath, he read the twitter feed on the screen above the entry to the media room. Huge explosions had been reported at both Parchin and Beijing, with satellite pictures offering a glimpse of mushrooming white, grey-green clouds of gas in both arenas that were expanding exponentially. The President looked over at his vice president and nodded solemnly as he made his way to the teleprompter and the world’s press, who seemed to be salivating at the prospect of carnage and destruction.

“People of America, Our friends. To all those who cherish democracy and freedom. To those who love their country and their families and who believe in justice and the rule of law. To those who cherish our way of life. To those who want to protect our way of life. We face a tyranny from the East unlike any seen before. Prepare yourselves. Our forces have been attacked in the Pacific. We are at war.”

Kayse Matrix was sweating profusely. She was still extremely vexed after her fortress was breached by G-force and still found it hard to believe that Donyevsky could kill his own men in such a cold, calculated manner. She never knew when or how she would be able to repay him but she would think of something. The night was drawing in at The Old Bunker in Goats lane woods; her final refuge. KC was still unsure whether or not she could trust him, but they needed him, especially now the viral attack on the command centre had finally been thwarted, which meant two things; she had lost control of Craig Burnett, and the countdown had begun. The world needed to see the real threat; she could show them. Come on Craig! Where the hell are you?

She set up her mobile satcom and waited for a signal but needed a sugar fix, so made her way back up the wooden stairs of the concealed entrance. There was not much else in her backpack but half a dozen bars of fruit and nut, a litre of Tango and a large bag of Jelly Babies; should keep me going for about an hour, “Ok! Back to work”, she said to herself, the sweat from the exertion of five minutes physical activity obvious through her bright green XXXXL Nirvana T-shirt. 

There was no way she could hack into the United States DoD again. She could, however, still cause a few problems. She reached for her laptop and plugged in an external hard drive. Something had been niggling away at the back of her mind for days: the calculations for the Pico cells; her virus.

 She almost threw up on the spot, when her re-analysis of the data proved her theory.

Craig and Cody had made their way by foot to an industrial concrete mixing depot. The site was fully lit with warnings of guard dogs and 24-hour security; nothing they couldn’t handle.  He took out the Huawei phone they had retrieved from the dead body of Peter Donyevsky and dialled KC’s number, but no answer. He sat, staring at the phone, before trying again. Still no answer. He threw the phone to Cody.

“Keep trying. We have to get through to her. She is our only hope. I don’t know what else to do.” He sat down next to Cody who was protecting her broken thumb.

“Let me see that again.”

“I think it’s broke. I need to get a splint.”

“Let me see”, he grunted forcefully, “I think it’s just dislocated,” he held her hand gently.

“No, it’s broken. I can feel it,” she winced as Craig moved it very carefully.

“I’m going to re-set.”

“You try and I will bloody kill…..aaargh!” she screamed in agony as he pulled it back into place. Craig picked up the phone and dialled again. This time it connected.

“KC, I’m with Cody. I can’t believe you’re alive. Donyevsky told me you ……..”

KC spat out a mouthful of chocolate and bluey-0range goo onto a small metal plate. “Craig! Thank God! Where are you? Is he there with you? It’s Ok! I told him everything. He’s cool, he’s going to...”

Craig cut in abruptly, “he’s dead.”

There was a long pause before KC replied in a measured tone “Craig, listen to me, HADES is using you like a parasite.”

“What do you mean?” replied Craig, sharply.

“Are you still, itching? I mean has it gotten much worse?"

“Yeah! driving me nuts. I’ve started to come out in some kind of rash as well. Not sure I’m going mad or not, but I swear it’s almost like it is alive, moving around.”

“Listen Craig, you and Cody need to find a place. We don’t have long, put Cody on, quickly,” he turned to look at her, concern etched on his face and handed over the phone.

“I found an anomaly within the Synthgen data.  I think the picocells have the ability to mutate, learn and develop independently.  You have to find a deep hole somewhere.  Do you understand?”

KC raised her voice, which was unusual for her, “Listen. You need to bury him, Cody. You have to end it. I’m sorry,” the line went dead.

“Come on Cody, we need to get out of here,” he tugged at her arm.

“Wait, I need to…. think a minute,” her head was spinning.

“What did she say?” 

She put her arms around Craig and held him tight for a few minutes. It felt good, it felt real.

Copyright Phillip Miller