AllFreeNovel
Share Us
SOUTHWEST OF AL-QADR
SYRIA
GENERALAleksandr Semenov poured another vodka and then turned to look out over a moonlit desert. The massive windows were only one of many luxurious touches he’d included in his top-floor flat at the facility. The rich wood, sumptuous carpet, and priceless artwork from his homeland were meant to be a reminder of who he was. And who he would become.
He pulled the silver lid from a tray to expose the dinner that had been prepared for him by his personal chef. Spaghetti carbonara, greens grown on-site, and fresh-baked bread. Likely better than what his counterparts in Moscow were enjoying.
Over time, he’d taught himself to see his posting in Syria as a respite. A period of reflection before returning to the Kremlin and starting a political battle that, once begun, had to be won. Neither retreat nor surrender would be an option. There could be only glorious victory or abject defeat.
Euronews was playing on a television to his left and he turnedwhen it switched to a story developing in Germany. There was still very little information, so the station just looped a short cell phone video while a commentator babbled nonsensically over it. Taken by a tourist, the footage started as an innocent depiction of a crowded Munich shopping street. At the five-second mark, a bearded man at the edge of the frame began screaming something in Arabic. The person holding the camera centered on him just as he pulled an assault rifle from his coat and began firing at the people around him.
The feed lost its coherence as the person holding it tried to get to the woman and young girl who were the intended subjects of the video. Panicked people screamed and darted in every direction, the strong and fast pushing past—and sometimes over—anyone in their path. All to the static-ridden soundtrack of gunfire.
Semenov raised his glass when the newscaster announced that the perpetrator had been identified as a Syrian refugee named Adham al-Numan, but that no further information was yet available.
Semenov, in contrast, possessed a great deal of further information. Al-Numan had initially been recruited to his captagon distribution network in Berlin, but was deemed too unstable for the job. It had seemed a shame to waste his temperament and religious fervor, though. People with his level of impotent rage were as rare as they were useful.
The planning and financing of the attack had been trivial. Not much more than ensuring he couldn’t be traced back to the men who had rejected him and providing a weapon, a time, and a target. He’d happily done the rest. Ostensibly for Allah, but in truth for Mother Russia.
Germany had a vibrant fascist movement that was perhaps the most vigorously suppressed in all of Europe. Incidents like these were critical to creating an environment in which it could take its first hesitant steps from the shadows.
The knock on the door was precisely on time and elicited a rare smile from him. There were few things to recommend this godforsaken country, but he was about to enjoy one of them. A fitting end to a very successful day.
“Come.”
By the time the door had swung fully open, the guard was already receding toward the stairs. What remained commanded Semenov’s attention in a way that few other things could.
His people had identified the girl a year ago in a shelter near Jibrin. She’d only been fifteen at the time, but her beauty had already been startling. After the discovery, it had been made clear that she wasn’t to be touched or married off and, in return, she and her mother were provided upgraded housing, food, and medical care.
That arrangement remained in place until three months ago, when she’d been brought to the facility for grooming, a proper finishing diet, and a strict exercise regimen. Even more important, she’d gone through the captagon program and was now hopelessly addicted to the ever-improving product. His on-site psychologists assured him that there was nothing she wouldn’t do to get her fix.
Finally, it was time to test that theory.
“Alea,” Semenov said, standing. Normally, he wasn’t particularly good with foreign names, but hers was burned into his mind. “Please come in.”
She didn’t speak Russian, but his body language was sufficient to communicate his wishes and she complied. Her dark eyes darted around the lavish space in a way that suggested she’d never seen—or even imagined—anything like it.
He walked past her and closed the door, turning to admire her motionless outline. She’d been dressed in a sheer white gown that hung loose enough to only hint at her youthful curves. But those hints shimmered hypnotically in the light. He approached and touched her long hair, letting it run through his fingers as he circled to face her.
In front, the fabric clung a bit more suggestively and he took a moment to admire her long legs, flat stomach, and firm breasts beneath the material. Her pupils were a bit dilated from the drug, but it also relaxed her—keeping fear from turning to terror.
That was assuming she even understood what was happening.Between the repressive Arab culture, the realities of the camp where she’d been raised, and the watchers he’d assigned, she’d led quite the sheltered life. A life with no future. No past. No hope. Her months in this facility—in the embrace of his narcotic—had undoubtedly been the best of her life.
Of course, the psychoses would eventually start to manifest, but that was of no importance. By then he’d have moved on to a new toy. For now, though, he was enthralled.
“This way,” he said, putting a hand in the small of her back and guiding her to a bar at the back of the room. Next to his open bottle of vodka were two captagon tablets resting in a glass dish. Her withdrawal symptoms wouldn’t start for another hour or so, but she understood very well the suffering they would bring. Her hand immediately shot out, but he caught it before she could reach the pills.
“Not yet, Alea. There are things you need to do for me first.”
Similar to the living area, the west wall of Semenov’s bedroom was dominated by glass. The filtered moonlight flashed dully off the vodka in his hand and in the half-closed eyes of the girl on the bed.
He sipped his drink, feeling it go to his head as he gazed at her naked body. She’d gotten what she wanted and now her mind was floating in the warmth his captagon was uniquely capable of providing. Sitting there watching the compounds he’d developed take control of her began to arouse him again and he put his glass down.
This time there was no resistance. Or even awareness. A bit of a shame, but there was plenty of time to play with his new doll. And so many interesting games.
He was still inside her when the shrill ring of his phone broke the silence. The girl didn’t react beyond a subtle change in the rhythm of her breathing, but he swore aloud. His assistant knew full well that he wasn’t to be disturbed. If Leonid had summoned the courage to do so, it was undoubtedly a matter of importance.
Semenov slid off the girl and retrieved his phone, feeling his irritation grow as his erection faded.
