Final Winter

Vladimir said, ‘Just drive. No jokes.’

Imad laughed again.

An intersection, signs marking the hangar designations. Imad turned at the sign for hangar one. Other trucks followed them. The sun was starting to set and the sky was a deep reddish purple out to the west. The last day, Vladimir thought. The very last day of this hated place. Now a low, wide hangar was in front of them, a long row of truck bays leading off to the right.

Imad whistled a tune as he made a wide U-turn, and then started backing the truck up to bay four. Vladimir looked at the sideview mirror. It was only now that he realized his legs were trembling. So close. They were so very close. Men were now standing at the open roll-up door. With a hiss of the air brakes, Imad brought the truck to a stop. He left the diesel engine idling. Vladimir looked and noticed that the two truck bays flanking bay four were unattended. Security? Probably.

Vladimir said, ‘Stay here. I’ll take care of it.’

‘Sure, whatever,’ Imad replied.

Outside there was the smell of diesel and aviation fuel. Vladimir walked past the trailer as blue jumpsuited workers started working to unhook it from the truck. Up ahead was a set of concrete steps. He went up and two men stood in front of him. One was squat, muscular, wearing blue jeans and an AirBox sweatshirt. The other man was taller, held himself like a military officer. Vladimir recognized the man. The general who owned the company. Vladimir felt like laughing out loud. A proud member of the military forces who thought they had bested the USSR, forces who were about to be brought to their knees…

‘Your papers,’ the general said.

‘Sir,’ Vladimir said.

He passed over the dispatch and identification documents to the older man. He looked at the paperwork and said, ‘How was your trip from Alabama?’

Just for a moment, the question confused Vladimir. Alabama? Why in the world would he think— Of course. The exhaustion of traveling across the country had muddied his mind. Of course this man would think that he had come up from Alabama.

‘It was fine. Just fine.’

‘Good.’

The general looked at the papers some more, said, ‘Identification, please?’

Vladimir reached into his pants pocket, removed a thin leather folder, passed it over. The general opened it up, looked at the photo inside and at Vladimir, passed it over. ‘Very well, Mr Komanski. Ready to open it up?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Vladimir went to the rear of the trailer, to the electronic lock. Opened up the small plastic door, keyed the combination. There was an audible click as the lock released. One of the jumpsuited men came up and looked over at the general. The tall man nodded. The door rattled up and Vladimir felt his chest tighten. Here we go. The great deception continues.

By now floodlights had switched on. Insects were battering themselves to death against the bright clear glass of the lamps. The interior of the truck was illuminated, revealing rows and rows of black plastic cases, all held in a metal framework.

‘Well?’ the general asked.

Vladimir stepped forward, undid the nearest case. Nestled in the gray foam was a green canister, with input and output valves on each end, and a keyed switch on the side, halfway up the cylinder. The canisters carefully prepared in Asia, carefully painted to match the specifications e-mailed to him by his unknown employers. He walked back to the general and his companion, thinking to himself, death, I hold death in my hands. Death for tens of thousands of people.

He passed over the canister to the general, who took it and gave it to his companion. Vladmir said, ‘Simplicity itself, gentlemen. Two canisters per aircraft. One for each of the two air-conditioning exhaust systems. Input and output valves pre-set to the aircraft’s specifications. Here—’

Vladimir popped open the switch. ‘See what I mean by simplicity? This is how it is activated. Pass this switch, left to right. Everything else is automatic. The radio altimeter arms the canister when the aircraft rises above three thousand feet in altitude. When the aircraft goes below three thousand feet, the canister releases its contents into the atmosphere. Aircrew has nothing to do except fly the aircraft.’

The general nodded, while his companion looked on, his expression grave. Vladimir thought, poor people, you have no idea, no idea at all…

‘Very good,’ the general said. ‘I guess… I guess we’re ready to begin, aren’t we?’

‘Yes,’ Vladimir said. ‘I guess you are.’

The general nodded, and did something that almost caused Vladimir to collapse in laughter. The general stuck out his hand, and Vladimir stared at it. Then he extended his own hand and shook the general’s.

‘You… you did good work,’ the general said. ‘You tell your people I said that, all right?’

‘Yes. Yes, I will.’

Vladimir turned on his heel, went down the steps, and then back to the truck. He got up into the cab and Imad said, ‘Everything fine?’

‘Everything is great. ‘

‘Amazing,’ Imad said.