A Wintering of Evil Book Two The Pandora Affair

By Lee Earlywine

Backed by powerful, rich men in Moscow, General Nikolai Petrosky has been brought back from disgrace and a dead-end assignment and placed in charge of Pandora.
His mission, to capture a creature once thought to be only a myth. A Krailiak. Proof has come into Petrosky's hands that the Krailiaki are not myth, but very real. They are highly intelligent bipedal Predators who pre-date mankind. Krailiaki can heal even major wounds very quickly and their life-spans are measured in centuries. Pure predators, they shun technology and view humans as little more than something to be hunted and killed.
Petrosky is determined to capture one and unlock the secrets of Krailiaki long life spans and healing abilities and other abilities. The Krailiaki have a chameleon-like ability to match their skin to surroundings. Tough, armored plates protect vital organs. Krailiaki use no technology and despise the human race.
For Petrosky, uncovering these secrets is the road to the wealth and power he craves.
As Mankind multiplies and spreads across the planet however, the Krailiaki species is forced into hiding. While humans multiply, they also continue to develop more sophisticated weapons. Weapons that can harm or even kill a Krailiak at a distance.
Then, one is captured, only to escape after horrendous experiments. When Plant 4 at Chernobyl goes critical, power is cut to Wellspring and the Krailiak escapes, wreaking havoc on the underground lab, releasing numerous deadly pathogens into the air circulation system of the seven underground levels of Wellspring. The outbreak even reaches the surface through exhaust vents. Every human below ground and above ground at the base dies.
The Krailiak is free. His healing abilities easily handle the deadly pathogens filling the air and killing every living thing in the base.
There will be a price for what has been done to the Krailiak. He is an Elder of his species and is going to make the miserable little human-things pay for what has been done to him. His is a long-lived race and he will spend the next few years learning everything he can about Pandora's sprawling underground facilities.
When the time is right, he will issue a call for a Gathering. Once the rulers of the Krailiaki, known as the D'mina Eight, know what has been done to the Elder, they will approve the Call to Gathering and warriors will come.
While dealing with the threat of the Krailiaki, Petrosky also wants the traitor in his organization. He has a name. The name of the shadowy figure behind much of Petrosky's problems above ground.
Elijah.
Petrosky sets a trap for Elijah. He wants the mysterious man taken prisoner so Petrosky can find out just who inside Pandora has betrayed him.
Elijah and a large group of hired mercenaries take the bait Petrosky dangles and gather at an old riverine base once used by the KGB.
It is then that Petrosky launches his attack.
That is when McKenzie and his allies launch their own long-planned operation against Petrosky.
McKenzie and Turptz have powerful allies of their own in Moscow. Identified as Cognac Man and Whiskey Man ... (Vladimir Putin and Dmitry Medvedev).. They walk a fine and delicate line in opposing the group of shadowy, powerful men backing Petrosky.
As the battle at the river base escalates, nearly one hundred Krailiaki gather near-by. They are watching the puny human-things fight each other and waiting. Waiting for the Elder Caller of the Gathering to signal their own attack.
When he does...the male and female Krailiak warriors swarm into the river base to kill every single human-thing they can find.
Now the battle is not McKenzie's people against Petrosky's soldiers and Elijah's mercenaries.
Now the battle is to survive this night.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Earlywine
• Release date: Jan 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370607983

Lee Earlywine

I have gone "live"...sorta.. at; https://earlywine.com/ It is an on-going process and I will be updating and adding content to my site. Check in from time to time.I am at Facebook at; https://www.facebook.com/writerleeearlywine/?ref=aymt_homepage_panelJuly 4th, 2017: Update***I am getting closer to finished on my novel; "The Backroom Patriot's Club"....set in Central America during the Contra War of the 1980's...The cocaine smuggling and the enormous profits it generated.... Billions of dollars up for grabs...The cartels... The intelligence agencies... The corruption that ran like a virulent disease throughout our government at all levels. You want a real scare? This fiction is full of solid truth. Read the detailed synopsis at www.earlywine.com.Don't take my word for this, check the facts I mark out for yourself. But I gotta warn you...you won't sleep very well afterwards.Okay..here is the blah, blah, blah... :-)I am ...over 60 ... 66, if you must know :) ...and I spent many years of my life overseas. I know a little bit about war and conflict...and the intelligence "game". As McKenzie says in A Wintering of Evil; The Pandora Affair... "If only the Intelligence Game were as easy to grasp as smoke."Now, on to important information;A Cowboy's favorite colors are blonde, brunette and redhead.A smart man knows it only takes one woman to out-number a man.And if you happen by this place: http://www.gsc-game.com/?t=community&s=forums&s_game_type=xr&lang=enLook under Shadow of Chernobyl/General/Zoners and Loners Bar.You might just find a virtual Bar...now called Zoners and Loners Bar...formerly...it was Siro's Bar.Currently...we have 3.4 million hits and counting. Not bad for a back-water Virtual Bar, eh?

Book preview

A Wintering of Evil

The Pandora Affair

Part Two

by

Lee Earlywine

A Wintering of Evil; Book Two; The Pandora Affair

Copyright © 2014 by Lee Earlywine.

Copyright © 2017 by Lee Earlywine.

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Book Cover Design by

Michelle Rene

MundusMediaInk.com

Thanks to Tejas Stalker and the Clan at Facebook

ISBN

First Edition: October 2014

I would like to thank an old friend from

Moscow, Russia

Denis G. (Siro) Chernov

for his help in seeing this story

through Russian eyes

On April 25-26, 1986, a test of Plant # 4's reactor core at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant Facility led to the worst nuclear power plant disaster in history. Many factors, from faults in the reactor design...to repeated human errors...began a cascade of events that are still felt today in the Ukraine and elsewhere.

A 4,300-plus square kilometer area around the Chernobyl facility was designated as an Exclusion Zone within two years. Along the Southern Boundary, are the five South Zone Settlements, boomtowns where anything can be had for a price.

Contained inside the military-patrolled borders of The Zone...is a world of speculation, misinformation and the unknown. It is a savage place... where criminals of all stripes, bandits, mercenaries, heavily-armed militant Factions and others...vie for control...for money....for survival.

The Russian Military has another name for the Zone, a very apt one.

The Zone of Alienation.

Mutation has altered and changed the creatures within the Zone, producing deadly mutants, both above ground and below.

Anomalous areas create strange artifacts worth small fortunes on the black markets of Europe. Endowed with differing properties across a wide spectrum of effects, many of these artifacts are also deadly in their own right.

Intelligence agencies have also come to the Zone in force. These covert agencies have brought their own agendas and ruthlessly pursue them with every tool at their disposal, from bribery and intimidation...to outright murder. There is a great prize to be had...the secrets of an on-going, massive covert operation...Pandora.

Those who control Pandora, control a path to untold riches and power.

But now another player has appeared. An intelligent species that predates mankind and whose preferred prey is humans. The Krailiaki, vicious predators that have been pushed into hiding with the rise of Mankind to dominance on the planet are going to strike back. They are going to wage war on the humans of the Zone.

Only the law of the gun ultimately prevails in this land...

Welcome to the world of the Zone

Chapters

Moscow

South Zone Settlements

The Farmhouse

Maelstrom Rising

She-Wolf

Factorum Ukra `Jina

The Synquillion Mask

Ares Ascendant

Mercenary Alley

A Clarity of Vision

A Darkside of eVOLUTION

Crooked Flies the Arrow

The Willy-Nilly Factor

Pillagers of the Soul

Alcmaeon’s Wolves

The Art of Grasping Smoke

Predator’s Ball

Trickster_ing the Trickster

A Wintering of Evil

A Clash of Apex Predators

Charon on the River Acheron

The Devil Comes to Dance

Moira the Prophet

The Bitter Taste of Ashes

The Zone War

The Chancing Dance

The Mortality of Change

Posturing Games

Sanctuary Data Bank Logs; Moscow;

Sullen black skies hung over the slick wet streets of the city. Another storm had rolled in on the heels of the last, bringing more sleet and rain. Cognac Man was standing at his library windows with a snifter of brandy in his left hand when his guest arrived. Wind-driven icy rain pelted the glass panes, smearing his view of the scene outside. A hard gust of wind-driven sleet hit the double doors beside him with a bang, rattling them on their hinges. Shadowy, moving shapes in the gardens below the library caught his eye and he smiled to himself. The weather was not a factor for his security staff.

Across the glass panes, reflections in brightly colored slices moved and danced as the door into the library opened and someone entered the room. Cognac Man stayed facing the dreary scene outside, getting his thoughts in order. He had already decided his course of action while awaiting the arrival of his visitor, a fact his guest was unaware of. He took a sip of his cognac and listened to the sounds of the new arrival pouring his own drink. Without turning to look, he knew it would be American whiskey.

You said it was urgent? the question came from the man at the bar near the fireplace.

Cognac Man took a deep drink from the snifter, and then turned. The man watching him held the second-most powerful office in Russia, but still waited on his host for instructions, even to have a seat. Cognac Man had held that office for a time because term limits meant giving up the position he'd held as President. Recently he had again been elected to the highest office in Russia. His guest held his position only because the man at the windows wanted it so.

Yes. Something has happened in the Ukraine.

He moved towards the fireplace, waving Whiskey Man to a seat.

Placing his glass on the table beside his plush chair, Cognac Man sat down and looked at the fire for a several moments, marshaling his thoughts. His companion waited, knowing his mentor would speak only when ready. Cognac Man was not someone to be rushed.

Penetrating blue eyes lifted from the glowing red embers to fasten on Whiskey Man. Our people in the Zone have sent word. Events are beginning to move faster than anticipated. Petrosky took the woman prisoner. She was wounded during the capture. He gave Whiskey Man a clear, concise report on the events in Blind Dog Pass and the aftermath.

Finished briefing Whiskey Man about Volchitsa, he waved an immaculately manicured left hand. Obviously, taking the woman is an attempt to draw Turptz and McKenzie out into an ambush. Petrosky's hatred of them must be affecting his judgment. Which would have been cause for celebration if not for these most recent events.

Rising from his seat, he went to the sideboard bar and using precise, elegant motions poured more cognac into his glass. After taking a sip, he returned to his chair and looked at his visitor, watching him carefully.

As I said, that is not at all the situation. Our people, as well as Siro, were ambushed in the place called Deep Wood. He leaned back in his seat and related details of the desperate fight that had taken place in the forest.

Whiskey Man sat back in his high-back chair, frowning. Medically altered? I don't understand. The significance of the information had yet to sink in.

Yes. Seeing his companion was slow to understand, a note of impatience crept into Cognac Man's voice. The data is still being decrypted and analyzed. They sent along scans from the medical PDA, as well. My people were just beginning to study them when I called you. A preliminary report will be ready by now. We'll go downstairs and look it over in a few minutes. I've already seen enough to scare the hell out of me. Brooding, Cognac Man fell silent for several minutes. Taking a deep breath, he settled back in the chair, holding his drink in both hands and then continued, There is much more going on here than we ever imagined. He hesitated, sipping at his drink, thinking. As a very young man, he had come up through the ranks of the KGB, mentored by the most powerful man the agency had ever known. Keeping information close to his vest, limiting access to secrets, was second nature to him. Trust was not a luxury he could afford, nor would he.

Reaching a decision, he looked at Whiskey Man with hard blue eyes.

The attempt to kill Siro Dracosin...on the life of McKenzie...added to these we now have Deep Wood. My people tracked those gold coins back to a source. There is no doubt as to their provenance. He spoke a name, watching the other man closely for his reaction. It was swift in coming. His companion swore to himself, ashen-faced.

Whiskey Man sat hunched forward, holding his forgotten drink with both hands, staring at the small fire. The man named was a shadowy holdover from the old Soviet era. A dangerous man with connections, money and a willingness to use any and all methods to achieve a goal, including assassination.

When he finally looked up, he found Cognac Man still watching him, studying him. It was something Cognac Man did which always made him uncomfortable. But then his mentor always studied others as though dissecting them with his cold blue eyes. One did not rise from obscurity, up through the ranks of the KGB, and attain the heights of power and position Cognac Man had without having a high degree of intelligence and an ability to evaluate people and their motives. These were traits Cognac Man had in abundance, along with a hair-trigger willingness to be absolutely ruthless when the situation called for such things.

Whiskey Man said, So, you were right after all.

Yes. This only confirms what I suspected. One of Petrosky's protectors has his own agenda. Which makes me wonder if there are other of his backers with this man. Or if there are those involved we are not aware of. It also makes something else very clear.

What?

Someone at Pandora...someone highly placed...is moving against Petrosky. This person has to have at least some of Petrosky's supporters behind him. Again, the hard eyes fastened on Whiskey Man. Do you grasp the full import of this, my friend?

Whiskey Man took a deep breath, thinking. Some of it he saw clearly, while other parts of the picture remained elusive, just out of reach. He looked back at his mentor. A shake of the head in the negative was his reply.

Control of Pandora is in jeopardy. It has become a race. A race it is imperative we win. A brief but detailed analysis of the situation in the Zone followed and Whiskey Man listened closely. This was characteristic of him, the ability to retain what was said and organize it into orderly little groupings in his mind. He was unaware of it, but it was the over-riding factor in Cognac Man's decision to take him as a protégé. He brought his attention back to his mentor's voice.

First, this alters everything. Petrosky must be much closer to his goal...or goals...than we thought. Second. We have an unknown player in this game.

The someone you mentioned earlier, said Whiskey Man, nodding.

Yes. This person may be even more dangerous than Petrosky. He paused to let that sink in. The enemy we know and can see is one thing. An unknown is very bad for many reasons, not the least of which is what will happen if Petrosky finds out. Add to this stewing pot those men here in Moscow. We cannot predict what any of them will do. The danger is not just in the Ukraine, my friend. We might even face rebellious soldiers in our streets again.

This drew a long shudder from Whiskey Man. He remembered those chaotic days during the collapse of the Soviet Union all too well and did not wish to see them repeated. When he finally spoke, it was apparent to his host that he was still in denial as to the deadly nature of the events unfolding in the Ukraine and in Moscow.

Petrosky wouldn't dare. The statement was followed by a question. Would he?

Again, Cognac Man felt impatience rising in his chest as his protégé displayed his uncertainty and denial.

Dare it? Cognac Man bit off a rush of angry words. In a moment, he was back in control of his emotions and went on to say, My God...this man was in a dead end post...holding the rank of Colonel. He was in disgrace because of what happened in Vietnam in 1970 during that KGB operation. The KGB did not take such a messy public failure lightly. Yuri Andropov was the man who personally buried Petrosky and his career.

Cognac Man waved his right hand for emphasis and his voice hardened as he sat forward, staring at the other man intently.

Whiskey Man saw both iron resolve and anger in his mentor's blue eyes. He swallowed nervously, feeling as though pinned in his seat by the angry look being directed at him. They had been friends for many years and he knew that look. It always caused a chill to run through him. Being this man's friend was no guarantee of safety. If the circumstances called for it, Cognac Man would do whatever he thought necessary, no matter what that might entail...or who got hurt in the process.

Cognac Man said harshly, "Petrosky is suddenly brought back and put on the list for Advancement in Rank. Yuri Andropov dies under very suspicious circumstances...a fact covered up by the Politburo with falsehoods about a long illness. Which is rather strange in itself, don't you think?’

‘Just weeks before he first became ill, he was given a complete physical examination by a team of the best doctors the Soviet had to offer. They found nothing wrong with him. Then he suddenly dies. Andropov's files disappear. Almost at once, Petrosky is promoted to the rank of General and within weeks has assumed complete control of Andropov's pet project, Pandora."

His gaze went back to the fire and he spoke softly now, as though talking to himself. Whiskey Man sat forward, concentrating on his friend's words.

Now someone is moving against Petrosky. Does this person have access to Andropov’s files? Does he know where they are?

Studying Whiskey Man again for several seconds, he realized it was time to calm him down. He knew the man across from him well, knew when to push, when to use a different tack.

Relax, Dmitry.

At the use of his first name, Whiskey Man sat back in his chair, knowing his mentor was already moving to counter any potential threats here in Moscow.

I am trying, Vladimir. Being awakened at two in the morning...after only a hour sleep...then being hit with this... His voice trailed off, leaving the remainder of the thought unspoken. There was no need to finish. His mentor knew all too well what he meant.

Cognac Man rose abruptly and moved towards the door. Come. I wish to study the information our people sent. The video and scans should be decrypted and ready. I have also ordered the files we spoke of readied for transmission. We should review them, then send them along before we do anything else.

Without waiting, he pulled the door open and went through. Whiskey Man followed, hurrying to keep up, his drink left forgotten on the small table beside his chair.

The hulking guard held Renlo's identification badge close to his eyes, studying it intently while Bohdan Renlo stood waiting impassively. The guard shifted his attention to the work order bringing Renlo and his crew of four technicians to Cave Nine. His brow furrowed as he slowly went over the contents of the papers for the third time, his lips moving as he read. The soldier's eyes were set close together and his wide, brutish face wore a perpetual leer mixed with contempt for those around him, especially women.

Frowning, the big soldier went back to studying the badge. Wearing an air of menace, he was standing very close to Renlo, trying to intimidate the smaller man with his size.

This type of situation occurred all-too-often during interactions between a certain group of Russian soldiers assigned to security and Ukrainian workers and technicians.

This was only partly a reflection of the on-going tense and fragile relationship between their parent nations. In this particular case, the small faction of soldiers were members of a hard-core ultra-nationalist group and racist to the extreme.

But between Renlo and the soldier, there was also deep personal animosity at play.

Renlo knew this Russian soldier...this animal... Boris Kupchenko and hated him. Twice Renlo had confronted him over Kupchenko's bullying and sexually harassing the female member of Renlo's crew, Marusya. The first incident had resulted in a heated argument broken up by Pandora security personnel. Names were taken with the promise of a report being filed.

Marusya Davydenko hated and loathed Kupchenko with every fiber of her being, which only served to whet the brutish soldier's appetite further. That Renlo and Marusya were deep into a personal relationship, were sharing living quarters, did not matter to Sergeant Kupchenko.

To Boris Kupchenko, Ukrainians were no better than animals and therefore had no rights. In his view, if he wanted the woman, then she should comply, although he preferred it when they tried to fight him off. Normal sex did nothing for him. His sexual arousal and a nearly uncontrollable sadistic excitement came from beating and raping Ukrainian women.

Ukrainian women like Marusya Davydenko.

Six weeks ago the harassment had crossed the line to physical abuse after Marusya's rejection of yet another of the Russian's crude, salacious advances.

This time the encounter between the two men turned into an ugly confrontation on the platform of a busy tram depot during a shift change. Just as Renlo was arriving to meet her, Kupchenko man-handled and assaulted Marusya, gripping her upper arm tightly in one huge hand as she tried to move past him on the crowded platform.

Kupchenko ignored Marusya's loud, angry cries for him to stop... to leave her alone. Instead, he pulled her up against his chest while forcing his other hand between her legs, groping her most private place.

Straining to pull away, Marusya slapped him as hard as she could, which only served to further arouse Kupchenko sexually and make him angry.

A group of senior officers assigned to Petrosky's command staff were on the platform at the time and witnessed the entire incident, including the physical assault of Marusya. Three of the staff officers were female and intervened just as the argument between an enraged Bohdan Renlo and angry Boris Kupchenko was primed to turn into a brawl. Kupchenko was fortunate he hadn't been arrested, a fact he was oblivious to.

It was also fortunate for Kupchenko the confrontation with Bohdan Renlo hadn't escalated into a fight, another fact he was oblivious to.

Instead, right there on the platform in front of a large, very vocal crowd, the women officers publicly called Sergeant Boris Kupchenko to task for his behavior, holding an impromptu court martial. It was clear his guilt had already been decided and a verdict would be rendered immediately.

Under Pandora's all-encompassing military regulations, there was no right to a trial for civilians. For soldiers, no avenue of appeal to the Military Chamber of the Supreme Court of the Russian Federation, the ultimate judicial venue for military personnel.

Careful not to get too loud or boisterous, the large crowd nevertheless booed and jeered Kupchenko all through the proceedings. More people arrived, jamming the platform as Pandora workers traveling to their quarters stopped to watch the tableau playing out, fascinated by a side of the military rarely on display in front of civilians. Several women present on the platform had been assaulted by Kupchenko, then forced to endure the brutish soldier's presence at the depot due to a duty schedule that assigned him to this post every eight days. When not posted to the Cave Nine sentry station, Kupchenko worked at the tram depot, taking advantage of the post to use it as his own private hunting ground.

The incensed, angry women officers ended the three-pronged verbal assault and tirade with an official reprimand and an immediate punitive demotion in rank and pay. He was then sent to his quarters under escort to begin serving a thirty-day sentence confined to the barracks. He could only leave the barracks quadrangle for meals or because of a medical issue, and then only with an escort. It was a humiliating experience for Kupchenko, a humiliation repeated daily for the month of his confinement to barracks.

This incident only served to inflame Kupchenko's deep animosity towards Renlo. He hated and despised the Ukrainian, blaming Renlo for what had happened at the tram station. Sex aside, he saw Marusya as a way to get back at Renlo.

Lifting his gaze from the badge, Kupchenko's eyes fell on Marusya briefly and resentment again flared towards the man standing in front of him. At every turn in his pursuit of Marusya, he had been thwarted by Bohdan Renlo in his attempts to get the woman alone with him.

Former Sergeant...now Private... Boris Kupchenko stared at Renlo with hard black eyes for a moment, and then went back to frowning over the badge and documents. He was hoping to find even a tiny error that would allow him to deny Renlo and his crew entry to the highly restricted Cave Nine.

The three men on Renlo's crew stood four meters away. Marusya was staying shielded behind the three men as best she could, trying to avoid Kupchenko's coal-black eyes, eyes that promised brutality and violence.

Renlo only knew one of the men on his crew very well, a fiber optic technician named Sergio. Renlo had worked with Sergio for three weeks repairing comm lines damaged by a rockfall along a large stretch of bare-rock tunnel. Sergio's assistants on this job Renlo knew only from seeing them around the maintenance shop.

The three Ukrainian men were watching Private Kupchenko intently. Marusya was looking everywhere but at the former sergeant.

Renlo and his crew were there to track down and fix problems with high-priority communication lines running through Cave Nine, glitches deliberately introduced into the system by Svetlana Rumanova. These lines were for both communications and computer connections to Pandora's data banks in Middle Zone.

An entire floor two stories below Middle Zone's ground level was dedicated to powerful Tosheri computers. Three of these were super computers, highly restricted and used only by the most senior personnel in Pandora, which meant Command staff and higher. Access was also granted to select civilian personnel in various Pandora Research departments, with the highest priority usage assigned to Cave Nine.

Any technical issues with these lines slowed down work in Cave Nine, something unacceptable to General Petrosky. As such, the work order carried by Renlo commanded the highest urgency and the big Russian guard did not dare delay Renlo for long.

Finally Kupchenko handed back the paperwork and Renlo's identification badge, reluctantly waving the small group into the entry portal vestibule. Renlo followed his crew into the vestibule and exchanged looks with the other four. Marusya's deep blue eyes he saved for last, holding her gaze for several long seconds.

The sound of the inner portal door sliding open broke the moment.

Five meters past the doorway and off to one side sat an incongruous-looking bench, the kind usually found in a quiet corner in a quiet park. Marusya, relieved to be away from Kupchenko, immediately headed to the bench and sat down, watching Renlo as he slowly came towards her.

This was the waiting area for personnel who were not members of Cave Nine's staff, but had a valid reason for being there. Dropping off a courier package. Delivering supplies. A work assignment.

As was procedure, Renlo and his people would be met here by escorts from Cave Nine Security. These escorts would be with the five every moment the crew remained in the vast cavern.

Renlo sat down heavily beside Marusya, letting out a deep sigh. Sergio and his two companions shared a chuckle and knowing looks, then moved a short distance away to give Renlo and Marusya privacy. Renlo was relieved. The act of courtesy by his crewmen saved him having to find an excuse to be alone with Marusya, a situation which was occurring much more often of late.

A situation having nothing to do with the two agents being in love.

As Renlo had taught her, Marusya used natural body movements so she could scan the area around them for threats without appearing to look anywhere but her companion.

Tilting her head to one side as she listened to Renlo. Tossing her long hair back over first one shoulder, then over the other...doing this several times while shifting in her seat as though finding a more comfortable position on the hard bench.

Tradecraft.

Keeping his voice low, Renlo leaned in close. Marusya brought her face near his, both of them smiling like lovers sharing secrets. Which in a very real sense they were.

Change of plans. I want you to stay with me, Marusya. I am changing the assigned work orders and sending Sergio and his helpers down-line to the Central Junction terminal behind the Pens. Making an inspection of the main connectors will keep them occupied until late this afternoon. No-one will know of Sergio's reassignment until they arrive back at the shop during shift change to turn in their work-completed sheets and go off-clock. Every moment of their time will be accounted for. This will protect them should the devices be discovered.

Do you still intend accessing the lines up in the switchover? asked Marusya.

Yes. The first device goes in where we discussed. The second one I have decided to place further down-shaft.

Renlo paused, looking down at the cave floor, then brought his eyes up to meet hers, his face somber. If we can pull this off.... his voice faded and stopped. There was no need to say anything more. Of all the agents Moscow had managed to insert into Pandora, Renlo had been there the longest, nearly nineteen months. Nineteen months slowly working his way into a position that would enable him to carry out the mission they were about to undertake.

Marusya had joined him fourteen months past on a lucky fluke. She had just entered Pandora, having secured a communication technician position and was waiting to be assigned to a crew. When Renlo's crew came up short a technician, he immediately put in for a replacement. A case of Standart vodka to a shift leader he knew in Personnel had secured Marusya's assignment as his assistant.

Now, the goal towards which they had worked these long, dangerous months was almost within their grasp.

Marusya understood as well as he just what was at stake. Renlo was right. If they could pull this off... Moscow would be ahead of the game for the first time. They might even be in a position where their bosses in Moscow could take down Petrosky. Her look turned serious for a moment as she studied Renlo.

In another life, Renlo had been a highly respected paleontologist inside Russia and was just beginning to garner recognition from his peers in the West. He had specialized in ancient bi-pedal creatures linked to modern man.

His career diverted by a find he made on a dig site in the Ukraine, Renlo's research left him well-versed in mythology and creatures of myth, creatures connected by similarities and mentioned in folklore down through the ages.

Renlo had searched archaic and obscure texts, followed clues found in ancient texts and scrolls, on statues and other stone monuments.

It was Dr. Bohdan Renlo's persistent investigation into evidence of a creature featured by many stone-age artisans on rock walls deep inside hidden caverns that had drawn the attention of an unknown enemy.

Then, in the dusty cellar of a museum storage facility in Moscow, Renlo found new fossil evidence, evidence not linked to any known species. His pursuit of this line of inquiry had led to his downfall and banishment from Russian academia. The fossils had mysteriously disappeared along with all records of their existence.

It was then Renlo heard the name Nikolai Petrosky for the first time.

What about our escorts? Marusya asked.

A few minutes of idle conversation will tell us if any of them are knowledgeable about these new lines. I doubt they are, my love...but! We will first insure that assessment is correct.

Renlo paused, looking up at the cavern roof far overhead, then brought his eyes back down and said, The access shaft is narrow and filled with new fiber optic comm lines and junctions. Very crowded. There will barely be enough room for the two of us in there… much less inexperienced soldiers who might inadvertently do more damage. Our escorts will have to remain outside the entrance while we go in.

She nodded her understanding. We behave normally and install the devices as though they belong there... Marusya's voice trailed off.

Renlo grinned a little. Then Marusya, you and I are leaving. I have been told by our friends in the East that orders will immediately come down from Middle Zone once the devices activate this morning. Dispatch will order us to find and fix a problem with one of the new fiber optic junctions in a by-pass tunnel above the Southern Complex. This work will not require security escorts. It is simply a ruse to gain our access to this particular tunnel. We are to be met there by a guide. I checked before we left and the route down to the meeting place is clear of checkpoints. If anything changes, we shall be alerted. Our friend in personnel is going to transfer us on paper to the northern facility. That will cover our leaving.

Marusya's eyes were shining but she remained silent for several seconds.

Finally, she gave Renlo a tiny, mischievous smile. I do not quite believe I am saying this, my love...but I am having fun. Marusya blushed and caught her lower lip between white teeth, laughter dancing in her eyes.

Renlo thought her the most beautiful woman in the world. He closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. He swore good-naturedly and said softly, Damn, woman. You are so distracting.

He felt her breath on his ear as she leaned in and whispered, Good. Tonight I shall show you just how distracting I can be.

Renlo suddenly tensed beneath her hands and without looking, Marusya knew their escorts were there. She straightened, winked at Renlo and rose to her feet, turning to meet the security team just arriving.

Renlo hefted his tool belt as he stood up and followed the security men, his crew trailing along behind.

This is it, he thought soberly. It all comes down to the next few hours. If we can pull this off... He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

Pull it off, they would.

Stream Upload; Source Authority; Colonel Aleksei Kalyanov; Chief Cave Nine Security;....Cave Nine Data Bank Access Granted...Sending; Hop Spiders Encrypting; Transmission scrambled; Loading;....Sending:..... Sanctuary Data Bank Updating;...Acknowledgment…Received;....

Sanctuary Data Bank Logs; South Zone Settlements;

Mercer stopped just at the edge of the narrow, muddy lane for a moment, then plunged into the moving crowd, hunching his head and shoulders against the cold rain. His hood and facemask were pulled back and smells assaulted his nose. Unwashed bodies, human waste, spices, cooked food offered by street vendors, these and other odors he didn't care to identify caused him to wrinkle his nose in disgust. The change from the open air of the Zone wastelands to crowded marketplace was sudden and took some getting used to.

He briefly considered replacing his facemask and filters, but quickly dismissed the thought. Going masked here would only make him stand out and draw unwanted attention. There were unwritten rules of behavior even in these lawless places and one did well to remember them. An encounter with Settlement Enforcers or military troops tasked with keeping order was the last thing Mercer wanted.

It was noisy in the muddy streets and alleyways, a cacophony of sound created by tongues speaking different languages as people went about their business. There were men and women loudly bartering in small open-air shops and stalls for goods or pleasures of the flesh. Now and then came the jingle of coin. The loud clatter of metal against metal as he passed a blacksmith shop caused him to start slightly. He caught brief snatches of conversations as he made his way through the streets. Arguments over price or quality. Shrieks of pleasure, a few of anger. From time to time he could make out the faint lilt of music coming from one establishment or another, along with the clink of glass against glass. Twice he heard drunken, angry voices as he passed a saloon, then the sounds of a fight.

Mercer brought his attention back to the crowd, ignoring his nose as best he could. It was not smells that hunted him in the streets of Settlement Three.

Carefully ducking and weaving from side to side, he made his way through the throngs of moving humanity on what passed for a road in the settlement. Cautious as he was being, he was still bumped and jostled as the river of people swept him along.

Mercer finally broke free of the crowds, stopping in the mouth of a small alley beside a shop he knew, turning to watch the muddy street.

Despite Mercer's best efforts, his trail had been picked up the day before. He had been able to stay out in front of the pursuit and reach Settlement Three ahead of those tracking him, but it had been a close race. Now the nature of the contest had changed and the bounty hunters were attempting to track him through crowded town's bustling streets and alleys.

South Zone was the Ukrainian equivalent of Wild West boomtowns during the mid-to-late 1800s in the United States

There were five such sprawling Settlements along the southern boundary of the Exclusion Zone. Officially, any establishment of residence, permanent or temporary, was forbidden by the Ukrainian government.

Unofficially, realizing their best efforts to discourage these lawless camps were not going work, the Settlements were tolerated and even profited from.

Bribes from black markets went to military officers from Ukraine and Russia sent to patrol the Zone border and keep a semblance of order, while other bribe money went to government officials, merchants, arms dealers and others.

The crowded Settlements were comprised of structures large and small built with rough lumber and plastic panels. There were converted kiosk trailers, canvas tents, one room shanties constructed of any material at hand, abandoned buses used during evacuations after the accident and more. It was a hodge-podge beehive of constant confusion.

Towns had sprung up in five areas along the Zone Boundary, stretching from the River Drainage System in the east, to the lands below Bleak Zone's southwest boundary. There was no rhyme or reason to the Settlement's sprawling layouts. People built whatever and where-ever they wanted. Prostitution, gambling, liquor, drugs and the other vices were rife. Goods flowed into the street markets from across Ukraine and Russia, catering to artifact hunters working in the Zone or would-be hunters who came from all points on the compass and needed to equip for trips across the Boundary.

Black markets were also available to Zoners in other places. One such place was...or had been...the former Chernobyl Plant operators’ city of Pripyat. Founded in 1970 by the Soviets as home for Chernobyl's workers, the city was one of nine 'nuclear' cities built for employees of the Soviet Union's system of nuclear power plants. At the time of the disaster at Plant 4, the city was home to over 40,000 residents and the evacuation of every single person in Pripyat was an enormous undertaking.

Goods and possessions were left behind by residents when forcibly removed by the military within days of the accident. Loaded on fleets of buses and military trucks, evacuees were allowed to take only what they could carry. Pripyat's residents were promised they would be allowed to return and believing that promise, the evacuation was orderly and peaceful.

No-one had ever been allowed back, not to Pripyat, not anywhere in the Exclusion Zone.

Warehouses, shops and stores, transport centers, hospitals and resident's homes were a treasure trove for looters and those who came looking to salvage anything of value.

But Pripyat had since been over-run by criminals of every stripe and most who traveled the Zone avoided going there. Increasingly violent clashes between Zone Factions and well-armed gangs of criminals had broken out. Each group was determined to gain control of the ruined city and confrontations were bordering on open warfare.

Then, the Monolith faction had flooded into Pripyat, occupying critical parts of the city and making it a savage no-man's land not even the most hardened Zone veterans had seen in past years. The city was now swinging with breath-taking speed from deathly silent to pitched battles between groups seeking to expand territories under their control. Few dared venture into the deadly necropolis out of fear of waking Monolith zealots from their strange sleep. Not even the military dared try re-taking the plant or the city.

That left the five Settlements on the southern border as the preferred destination for those seeking to trade or sell artifacts and items scavenged in the Zone, or to outfit for trips across the Boundary, hoping for that one big find that would make them rich.

South Zone had also begun drawing the attention of organized criminal gangs based in Pripyat, gangs with close ties to major crime families in Russia and Ukraine.

Families also made South Zone their home. Rudimentary schools had begun to spring up. Residents and transients plied their trades and did business in the markets and shops, while men made forays into the Zone to hunt artifacts or look for left-behind goods to salvage for profit.

For the right price, anything could be found in the South Zone Settlements.

That was especially true of mercenaries willing to kill to make their money. Men such as the ones hunting him.

Mercer kept a tight grip on his AK 74, his eyes constantly moving as he watched the crowded street. A cold bristling suddenly lifted the hair on the nape of his neck. His eyes darted back and forth seeking to pinpoint the source of his unease.

On the other side of the muddy thoroughfare, movement that did not belong in the crowd caught his eye. The momentary glimpse of a man and his merc attire struck him like a clenched fist. The hunters were close.

Too close.

How had they located him so quickly? A cold chill went down his spine. He had ditched the PDA given him by Elijah before going on the run. Avoided those who knew him, even just by sight. Used every bit of his considerable skills to cover his trail. Yet they still seemed to know where he was. A sudden thought made his blood run cold. Did they know his destination? Word about the meeting place had come to him from a trusted source, Molecule. A message passed by hand and carried by someone Molecule trusted.

No, he finally decided. They can't possibly know that.

The street crowds began to thicken as more people came to do their business or shop or just gawk, but a cold wetness hitting his cheeks spoke of more rain on the way. He cursed under his breath, knowing that rain would drive people to shelter, emptying the streets and leaving him exposed if he hadn't reached the place he was to meet his contact.

These mercs are good, thought Mercer as he studied the people passing by. Too damn good. It simply did not make sense, how they seemed to be reading his mind. He knew his skills, knew he should have been able to lose the men tracking him. Yet even here in the chaos that was Settlement Three, they were slowly closing on him.

Mercer shrank deeper back into shadow at the glimpse of a face across the lane.

The man was also standing still, watching the crowd intently and with a sinking feeling Mercer recognized him.

Santino.

Without hesitation, Mercer melted into the moving throng of people, heading back the way he'd come. He needed to get off this street and quickly. Doing his best to blend unseen into the foot traffic in the muddy road, he made his way towards a passageway he knew.

A local black market arms dealer with strong connections to the Ukrainian military owned two warehouses built on an angle to the street, the better for unloading shipments off the road. A loading dock across the front of one warehouse carried a facade wall that stretched across the front of the passage. This not only shielded the loading dock from curious eyes, it made the passageway between the structures impossible to see from the street.

Spotting the warehouses, Mercer made for the tiny opening between the crude, two-story buildings. He ducked behind the facade wall and turned sideways, slipping into the tight passage. The path led to an even busier road and he plunged into the crowd, then changed direction again, heading for his original destination.

Several months past, Mercer had hired Santino and his band of cut-throats for Elijah, so he knew the man and what he was capable of. Santino wouldn't hesitate to open fire in the crowded street if he saw Mercer, no matter how many innocent by-standers were injured or killed.

Ahead, an area dense with structures climbing the side of a wide, low hill appeared. Mercer's destination lay at the foot of the hillside, if only he could reach it before Santino and his men surrounded Mercer and cut him off. Mercer kept his pace and movements methodical, matching those of the street people surrounding him.

Dark brown eyes followed Mercer's path down the muddy lane. More pairs of watching eyes located their quarry. Men slowly moved into position, surrounding Mercer in a loose circle that moved as he did. Other eyes watched Santino, waiting for his signal to move.

A sense of desperation grew in Mercer as he struggled through the dense crowd. At last he stopped beside a vendor's stall at the boundary of Central Plaza.

Central Plaza was the beating heart of Settlement life and key to both legitimate business and black market operations. A dirt and gravel road built by the Russian military was known as Glory Road and connected all five settlements. At Settlement Three, the Road merged with the northern edge of Central Plaza.

Six of Settlement Three's streets converged here and created a large open area used as a receiving point for merchandise brought in from outside. Shop owners, vendors and others came to haggle price and obtain the goods they needed to do business. Crates of every size rose in dozens of stacks around the wide, muddy plaza. At the stacks, armed men carefully watched the constant flow of people, ready for any trouble.

On the eastern edge of Central Plaza a mixed group of soldiers in Ukrainian and Russian uniforms were stationed well back from the crowds. Now and then, a small group of soldiers left in military vehicles adapted to operate in the Zone. Their assignment was to carry money from various sources back to command-level officers. As each small unit of soldiers left with packages destined for senior officers back at their bases, they were replaced by new men.

It was a chaotic scene to those seeing Central for the first time. For those familiar with life in the Settlements, it all happened with a strange sense of order and purpose.

Mercer tightened his grip on his weapon and watched the crowd streaming past. He'd been told to come to this stall and wait, that he would be met and taken to safety.

At several points in the crowd, he caught momentary glimpses of men moving against the flow of people. Other men dressed in merc gear were slowly moving in his direction, their attention focused on the stall where he waited.

A ragged gasp shuddered through him as he realized Santino's mercenaries had surrounded him and were slowly closing in. The feeling of desperation grew nearly unbearable as Mercer identified Santino's men and realized he had nowhere to go. All avenues of escape were covered by the paid assassins. He slowly backed up until the wooden frame of the stall pressed against his spine and he prepared to fight.

Anger mixed with fear began to build in his chest. He was no dog to be shot down in the street without a fight and he would by God give them one.

A flash of movement in the corner of his eye brought his head around just in time to see one of the mercs falling face down in the mud, dead. He registered this fact numbly, unsure what was happening.

Then, with a sense of shock, Mercer recognized the dead man.

It was Santino.

The crowd shrank away from the body, not wanting to be caught in whatever violent confrontation was taking place. Standing over the body was a slender young man holding a knife in his left hand. He appeared to be well-conditioned and self-assured. The young man looked straight at Mercer and nodded.

As though Santino's death were a signal, other brief skirmishes suddenly erupted throughout the crowd. Voices of people were raised in fear and alarm as they scrambled to get away from these deadly pockets of violence. The one-sided fighting was over in a matter of seconds and Mercer found himself looking at nine dead bodies in a semi-circle around the stall where he stood.

Mercer became aware of men standing over and near the bodies. He counted nearly twenty of them. They resembled the young man who'd killed Santino. Dark-skinned, well-conditioned and clad in a manner reserved to these men only, they were a hard-looking group. They all wore identical custom Zone Suits. These suit's camo patterns were made up of dull shades of grays, browns and matte black with a crest on the upper left chest area. With an inward sigh of relief, Mercer identified them as Gypsys from the clan led by Old Seavas.

Santino lay dead just four meters to his left. Beside the bandit leader's corpse, the young man rose to his feet and Mercer realized he had been searching Santino's body. Sheathing a wicked-looking knife, the young Gypsy stepped over the body and walked up to Mercer, stopping a meter away and watching him closely. Mercer realized he was being studied, assessed. He was a man unused to scrutiny and it made him uncomfortable.

Other Gypsys were searching the rest of the dead mercenaries. Mercer was completely stunned by the sudden turn of events. With his back up against the rough wood of the vendor's stall, with Santino and his men surrounding him, Mercer had resigned himself to the fact he was about to die. Mercer would have put up a fight, but it was a fight he could not have won.

He brought his attention back to the young man standing in front of him, noting that despite his youth, hard lines that only came with experience wrinkled the skin around his eyes. His easy kill of Santino confirmed Mercer's observation.

I am Antoine, said the young Gypsy. Give me the PDA you are carrying, Mercer.

Still coming to grips the swift killing of Santino and his men in the plaza, Mercer responded, feeling as though he were caught in a dream. As he opened his suit's PDA pouch and handed over the old Zone PDA, it began to sink in for Mercer that he was safe.

Antoine immediately pulled the battery pack from the device and handed the disabled device to a man standing just behind him.

Realization dawned as Mercer watched Antoine disable the PDA. Santino had tracked him so easily because he could somehow access the GPS in Mercer's PDA. That took connections to resources Mercer knew the bandit leader could not possibly have.

Elijah again.

Antoine was speaking and Mercer forced himself to concentrate on the young Gypsy's words. We have come to take you to my grandfather. He is waiting at our compound in Settlement Five. He will have some questions for you, Mercer. I would strongly advise you to answer them truthfully and completely. If you hold anything back....

Antoine left the rest unsaid.

There was no need to explain, Mercer understood. His protection depended on disclosing everything he knew.

Antoine turned and waved his men in. They formed up around Mercer and led him across the plaza. The Seavas clan was known throughout the Settlements and accorded a wary respect as men who were not to be crossed or challenged on pain of death. The throng of on-lookers parted, shrinking back from the Gypsys.

As the group moved through the wall of people surrounding the dead bodies, the crowd closed in behind them. Some were quick to move in and strip the bodies of valuables and weapons. Here and there, fights broke out over possessions.

By the time a group of Ukrainian soldiers arrived to investigate, the corpses lay bare and naked in the mud, ignored by men and women in the plaza as they went about their business.

Seeing there was nothing to be learned regarding whatever had led to nine dead men, the sergeant in charge called for a small eight-wheel flatbed transporter and ordered his men to remove the bodies. Watching his soldiers tossing the dead mercs onto the back of the transporter, he shrugged, unconcerned about the identity of the perpetrators. For him, it was just one more unexplained incident among many. It would rate a two or three sentence report to his commanding officer, nothing more.

Santino and his men would finish their journey to Settlement Three in the garbage dump outside town.

Runoff from days of slushy rain and melting sleet had swollen the river with turbulent brown water. A half moon showed for brief moments before disappearing behind thick black clouds. Across the western sky, bands of red and orange lit the horizon under the storm as the sun settled down behind the hills.

The alpha male stood at the riverbank studying the crossing and the eastern shore. This was one of the safer crossings on the wide river and one the pack used often to move from east to west and back.

Now the water had risen from run-off and the pack leader carefully studied the currents. For the adult Tserberi, crossing would present no problems. It was the younger members and pregnant females the alpha male was concerned about. He turned to look at the three females. One was several weeks away from throwing a litter. She was not a worry for now. The other two females were a different matter. They were due at any time. It was why the pack