Epilogue
Sergei Ustinov had done more fun things than explain to Stalin that the mission had been a colossal failure, that the power cylinder was gone, that Bernard, Veska, Cheslav and a few soldiers were dead, and that it was all due to one man – Indiana Jones. Cheslav had warned them about Indiana Jones, but they had still underestimated him and paid dearly. Yet Stalin, though hardly the forgiving sort, had gotten over the loss and changed tactics almost immediately, as if this had been part of the plan all along.
Now, on his orders, Ustinov was meeting with one of his proteges, a dark-haired woman in her late twenties who carried a rapier and thought she had psychic powers. Ustinov thought she belonged in an asylum, but Stalin was enamored with her for some reason and had given her the Order of Lenin, so here she was, and since he was grateful to still have his job and his life he couldn’t complain too much.
“I’ll get right to the point, Spalko,” he told her. “I trust you’re somewhat familiar with the setbacks to the recent artifact recovery mission. What you aren’t aware of is that –”
“– this mission may have been connected with another crash site, two years ago, with another craft and another body,” she finished for him. “Much like the ones found at sites in the Motherland. Perhaps sent here on another mission, perhaps the same one – who can say?”
Ustinov was taken aback, but quickly regained his composure. Stalin had obviously told her about it. “Yes, well, the American media made a big deal out of it, but the military didn’t didn’t see any threat or any opportunities. It moved on. But these other creatures may have power of their own. Something more subtle, more mental.”
“True power,” she told him. “Any fool can blow up his enemy. But to bring him around to your way of thinking, to turn him into you – that’s true power. We should have concentrated our efforts there in the first place.”
“Well, we’re doing so now, and we’re placing you in charge,” Ustinov said, “but not alone. We’ve learned our lesson about having too few parties involved and being too subtle. We’re pairing you up with the Spetznatz. Not even Indiana Jones will be able to take out all of you.”
“Indiana Jones?” she inquired. “The American archaeologist?”
“Yes, he foiled us this time around. He was part of the team investigating both crash sites. He’ll know all about these creatures, so seek him out. But not yet.”
“No, of course not yet,” Spalko said. “The American military is on its guard, Dr. Jones is on his guard, and we don’t yet know enough to proceed safely. You want me to bide my time, gather information, and move forward very, very slowly, although you suspect that the entire thing is a waste of time and that I belong in an asylum.”
He stared at her, speechless.
She stood up, moved to his side of the table, and patted him on the head. “You’re an easy man to read, Ustinov,” she said. “At least you don’t think I’m a witch.”
He hadn’t told her his name. It was classified.
She moved past him, toward the door, her rapier swishing against her slender frame. “I can’t wait to meet this Dr. Jones,” she said.
Ustinov wondered if it was too late for a career change.
Next: Behind the Scenes
Now, on his orders, Ustinov was meeting with one of his proteges, a dark-haired woman in her late twenties who carried a rapier and thought she had psychic powers. Ustinov thought she belonged in an asylum, but Stalin was enamored with her for some reason and had given her the Order of Lenin, so here she was, and since he was grateful to still have his job and his life he couldn’t complain too much.
“I’ll get right to the point, Spalko,” he told her. “I trust you’re somewhat familiar with the setbacks to the recent artifact recovery mission. What you aren’t aware of is that –”
“– this mission may have been connected with another crash site, two years ago, with another craft and another body,” she finished for him. “Much like the ones found at sites in the Motherland. Perhaps sent here on another mission, perhaps the same one – who can say?”
Ustinov was taken aback, but quickly regained his composure. Stalin had obviously told her about it. “Yes, well, the American media made a big deal out of it, but the military didn’t didn’t see any threat or any opportunities. It moved on. But these other creatures may have power of their own. Something more subtle, more mental.”
“True power,” she told him. “Any fool can blow up his enemy. But to bring him around to your way of thinking, to turn him into you – that’s true power. We should have concentrated our efforts there in the first place.”
“Well, we’re doing so now, and we’re placing you in charge,” Ustinov said, “but not alone. We’ve learned our lesson about having too few parties involved and being too subtle. We’re pairing you up with the Spetznatz. Not even Indiana Jones will be able to take out all of you.”
“Indiana Jones?” she inquired. “The American archaeologist?”
“Yes, he foiled us this time around. He was part of the team investigating both crash sites. He’ll know all about these creatures, so seek him out. But not yet.”
“No, of course not yet,” Spalko said. “The American military is on its guard, Dr. Jones is on his guard, and we don’t yet know enough to proceed safely. You want me to bide my time, gather information, and move forward very, very slowly, although you suspect that the entire thing is a waste of time and that I belong in an asylum.”
He stared at her, speechless.
She stood up, moved to his side of the table, and patted him on the head. “You’re an easy man to read, Ustinov,” she said. “At least you don’t think I’m a witch.”
He hadn’t told her his name. It was classified.
She moved past him, toward the door, her rapier swishing against her slender frame. “I can’t wait to meet this Dr. Jones,” she said.
Ustinov wondered if it was too late for a career change.
Next: Behind the Scenes
