Blackmail

91 OMSK, RUSSIA

Omsk Oil Refinery is the largest in Russia and one of the biggest in the world, processing over twenty million tons of crude oil each year. On duty today in the refinery’s main control station, filled with a dozen operators at their consoles, Bogdan Melikov sat at the supervisor’s station on an elevated tier at the back of the control room, preparing to eat lunch. Although there was a cafeteria in the refinery, Melikov preferred homemade food prepared by his wife, even if it was a sandwich.

Russians weren’t big on sandwiches; ask for a sandwich in Russia and you’d likely get a confused look and asked what kind of soup you wanted instead. However, Melikov was fond of Doktorskaya bologna, the love child of bologna and sausage, and his wife had prepared his favorite sandwich this morning: a few cuts of Doktorskaya between rye bread, a layer of garlic spread, and a slice of salo, which could be described as either raw pig fat or meat-free bacon, depending upon one’s point of view.

Melikov opened his mouth wide and took a big bite, wiping a dab of garlic spread from the corner of his mouth with a napkin. From his peripheral vision, he thought he saw movement on one of the security monitors, displaying feeds from the cameras atop the perimeter fence. He stared at it for a moment as he chewed, and after convincing himself it was just an animal passing by in the wilderness, he focused again on his lunch.

He opened a can of mint-flavored kvass and took a swig. As he took another bite of his sandwich, security alarms went off in the control room. As he tried to ascertain the reason for the warning, searching the security monitors for a clue, the door to the control room blew open and a dozen armed men surged inside, weapons raised and pointed toward the control room personnel.

The men halted after taking positions offering a clear view of the control room staff, and one of the armed men stepped forward, lowering his weapon.

He spoke in Russian. “Who is in charge here?”

The dozen men and women at the consoles turned and pointed toward the man seated at the supervisor’s station. Melikov still had a partially chewed bite of sandwich in his mouth. He swallowed hard.