The End of History, Part 52
Outside Kiev – December 24, 1985
Anne dodged the attack, the blade whistling through the air just where her neck was seconds ago. She backed away from Olga, half in shock.
“Olga?” she said. “What’s happening?”
“I’m sorry, Anne,” Olga said.
"Scheiße," Anne cursed, “Not this again…”
She’d seen this before, back in 1972. Boris had acted like Olga did when he killed Tatiana. It was almost like he was in a trance, as if he were a sleeper agent. Olga had that same look clouding her eyes, the same look her father had in Prague. And she kept repeating those words like a broken record. On cue, she noticed a Walkman lying on the ground, a tape still loaded. It was the tape, of course. That was Plan 1. It was like the tape in Prague, the one with the gibberish and nonsensical words. They couldn’t break the code because there was no code. They seemed to be a trigger for Boris and Olga. They were sleeper agents whose programming was activated by the tapes. But she had to kill Boris in the end, because she didn’t know how to break the programming. Did she have to kill Olga too?
“Olga, this isn’t you,” she said, “It’s Valentin controlling you.”
“I’m sorry, Anne,” Olga absently repeated, lunging for her again.
Anne sidestepped the lunge and easily wrenched the knife from her hands. She tossed it deep into the corn fields and faced Olga again.
“I’m not going to harm you, Olga,” Anne said, putting her hands over her head, “I let your mother die. I’m not going to let you die too.”
“I’m sorry, Anne,” Olga repeated.
“Can you at least say something other than that?” Anne said.
“I’m sorry, Anne,” Olga repeated.
She punched Anne squarely in the jaw, and Anne did nothing to block or avoid it. Pain flared in her head. She felt her bones rippling and heard them crack under the force of the blow. But she kept facing Olga, staring down the younger woman even as she wiped blood from her mouth.
“You can kill me,” Anne said, “But I’m not going to repeat Prague.”
“I’m sorry, Anne,” Olga repeated.
Olga punched her again, and she fell to the ground, her head bouncing against the brown dirt. Olga descended on her like a vulture, relentlessly punching and kicking Anne everywhere. She let out a primal scream as her blows landed, as if her instincts had taken over. Anne could feel her body go numb as the pain grew too intense. Or maybe that was her mind trying to deal with the pain of knowing the girl she swore to protect was now trying to kill her. Was this what Tatiana would’ve wanted?
“I’m sorry, Tatiana,” Anne said, “I’m not the Valkyrie. I failed you.”
Olga immediately froze in place, her fists stopping inches from Anne’s bloodied face. They stared at each other for several seconds. Anne couldn’t identify the look on Olga’s face. It wasn’t the blank stare that Boris had. But it wasn’t normal either. She looked conflicted, as if she were somewhere between both. Her eyes were focused and relaxed. They were full of hatred, but they were also remorseful. They were the eyes of a cold assassin, but they were also those of a girl who started to remember.
“…Anne?” Olga asked.
Before Anne could respond, Vladimir slammed something against Olga's head. She immediately collapsed and lay still.
“The one good thing about these equalist cars is that they’re pretty sturdy,” Vladimir said, waving around the car’s steering wheel, “At least the individual parts, that is. Not sure about the whole thing, though. I hope we have some extra duct tape.”
“What was that for?!” Anne demanded. “I was about to get through to her!”
“Don’t worry, she’s not dead,” Vladimir said, “If I wanted her dead I’d have stabbed her with my pen a minute ago. There’s a setting to inject a fatal dose of polonium. Everybody in espionage track’s taught about the polonium setting first. Then again, I think I misplaced it…oh wait, I gave it to her.”
“You’re a horrible action hero,” Anne said.
“Hey, as long as I stick to the tropes I should be fine,” Vladimir said.
Anne got up and limped back to the car. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to lie down for a bit.”
“Who’ll drive?” Vladimir asked.
“You, of course,” Anne said.
“Who’s going to help me reattach the steering wheel?”
“You. And you better find some duct tape for that.”
“And drag Olga inside?”
“You. If she dies, I will make sure you never set foot in the Reich.”
“And shut up the General Secretary?”
“Especially you. Do with him as you want, but he's more useful to us alive.”
Anne got inside and slammed the door, though it was hardly soundproof and did nothing to drown out Vladimir’s words.
“I didn’t sign up for this,” he muttered, dragging Olga to the backseat, “This wasn’t part of my job description. This isn’t what they told me when I signed. Join the KGB, they said. Serve your country and protect the revolution, they said. They said nothing about abducting the General Secretary and fighting a brainwashed assassin with the Valkyrie! I’m espionage track! I deserve better than this!”
Five hours later
A car rolled into view, kicking up a plume of dust behind it as it approached the checkpoint and the Roman military camp behind it. The sentry shouted excitedly to his fellow soldiers, who quickly drew their weapons and aimed at the car. The car pulled over by the side of the road, and a young man in a KGB uniform got out of the driver’s seat, his hands raised over his head.
“My name’s Vladimir Putin,” he said, in broken German, “I’m a KGB agent. And I want to defect to the Reich.”
“Stay where you are!” ordered the sentry. “Or we’ll shoot!”
Anne got out of the car and approached the soldiers. “It’s okay, everybody,” she said, “Yes, it’s me here. You can trust me, unless something’s happened back home. I can vouch for him, as well as everybody with us.”
“Who’s with you?” asked the sentry.
Anne and Vladimir pulled an unconscious Olga out of the backseat. “She needs immediate medical attention,” Anne said.
The sentry nodded to a soldier, who turned back to the camp. “Medic!” he shouted.
Two medics quickly emerged from the camp and approached the car, laying Olga on a stretcher and carrying her across the line.
“Keep me updated on her condition as often as possible,” Anne said, “I do not want her to die. And you will not lay a hand on her, or I will personally end your career. That is, if she doesn’t kill you first.”
“Understood,” said the sentry, “And the others?”
Anne walked to the back and popped open the trunk, hauling out a tied-up Valentin. By now, the Soviet leader was barely recognizable. His uniform was dusty and creased, his hair was wild, and his eyes were bloodshot. He had been gagged in the last five hours, but that didn’t stop him from glaring angrily at everybody. He had run out of things to curse with long ago, or maybe his throat was just too hoarse. All he could do was grunt angrily.
“Yes, that’s the General Secretary himself, at my mercy,” Anne said, “He’s all yours. A neatly wrapped Christmas present for the Kaiser.”
As Valentin let out another string of muted expletives, Anne shoved him to the soldiers, who quickly leveled their guns at him and hauled him away, probably for some intense questioning. She smiled to herself. The last couple days had gone much better than she expected. Other than the incident with Olga, she had not only escaped Kiev but also captured Valentin. This would surely bring the Soviets to the table soon. But the most important thing was that she had found Olga again. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her heart. Tatiana would rest easy knowing her daughter was in good hands after far too long.
Tesla Dynamic Building, Frankfurt – February 3, 1986
It looked like Alwine was right, Diana conceded. Her mother was okay and more than in control of the situation. Not only had she escaped captivity, but she had also captured the General Secretary and the girl responsible for the mess in Vienna. Constantinople was still handling the logistical side of the “operation,” as they had told the public, so it would be a while before Diana could see her mother again. But her spirits felt lifted, both by the knowledge that she was alive and okay and the realization she could get her revenge for Vienna soon. While the debriefing process continued, she kept working on Strategic Defense Initiative. The components for the final satellite were finished in late January, and the software accompanying it was completed and compiled soon afterwards. All she had to do now was watch its launch from New Cordoba.
The Monument to the Ego of Mina Schaefer, also known as the lobby, was packed with almost every employee in the Tesla Dynamic building, all crowded around a large projector screen broadcasting the space shuttle launch live at Bismarck Space Center. They’d chosen the
Herausforderer as the shuttle to take the final satellite up, but the public was more concerned about the crew than the (mostly classified) cargo. Among the astronauts was the first civilian, a Caledonian teacher. Diana forgot her name, but she knew millions of schoolchildren across the Reich wouldn’t. The plan was for her to record lessons in space, teaching kids about science from the world’s highest and fastest science lab. It would be an inspiring moment for the Reich.
“Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…” Mission Control said.
Herausforderer’s rockets ignited with a roar, yellow and orange flames shooting downwards and kicking up columns of smoke behind the launchpad.
“Five…four…three…two…one…liftoff.”
On cue, the shuttle lumbered skywards, at first ascending as quickly as an elevator but soon picking up speed. The camera angled up, trying to keep track of the spacecraft as it began its slow journey up to the heavens, smoke and flames billowing out from behind it.
Herausforderer began rolling a hundred and eighty degrees, changing its trajectory so it wasn’t going straight up.
At that moment, the doors swung open, and in barged an old man in a World War I uniform. The man fired a pistol into the air, causing everybody to scatter and take cover behind furniture. He said nothing as he approached Diana, his gun pointed at her. As he drew closer, limping along with every step, Diana noticed the faded name on his tattered uniform: Werner. The surname had long since been worn off by the elements. Didn’t her mother work with a limping World War I veteran named Werner in the Resistance? Was this him?
Werner took out a small device with a red button on it. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Diana lunged for him, trying to tackle the detonator out of his hand before he blew up everybody in the lobby. However, as she slammed into Werner’s chest, she heard a loud click and beep as his thumb closed on the button. She shut her eyes and waited, but nothing happened. At least, nothing happened at first.
At that moment, she heard an explosion, but it was distant, like it wasn’t going off in the room. It didn’t even feel like it was outside, or else she would’ve felt a shock wave. Then the Tesla Dynamic employees gasped in shock, pointing to the projector screen. Diana slowly turned around, not wanting to be right. But she was.
Herausforderer had exploded. Seconds ago, there was a white and black spaceship hurtling up towards the stars, carrying with it a small crew of explorers and scientists. Now, there was nothing more than a fireball and a lone booster rocket, careening out of control from the main burst of smoke. The shuttle was gone. The satellite was gone. The crew was gone.
Diana turned back to Werner. The old man shrugged with a blank stare on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Pushing her away, he pressed the gun to his chin and shot himself in the head.
