The Void

CHAPTER 48

Viktor Dubkin stared back at President Volkov — the Little Wolf’s pale eyes never blinked, and could have been made from cut glass. The man didn’t move a muscle or even seem to breathe.

Dubkin exhaled, his breath leaving his mouth as a vapor ghost in the icy atmosphere of the bleak courtyard. His hands would have stung from the cold if they weren’t lacking blood from the restriction.

It all felt like a dream, and he wished it were. Everything that could have gone wrong, had, and all he had to show for billions of rubles invested and the entire Kurgan program wasted was one last platform before his president.

Dubkin continued to stare back at Volkov, but knew that arguing, negotiating, or begging was useless. Water dripped from his nose, tickling, but he didn’t shake it away as the chafing at his neck would have been unbearable.

Volkov finally moved; he nodded.

The lever was pulled and the trapdoor beneath Dubkin’s feet fell away. The coarse rope tightened around his neck, and in just the five feet he fell there was an eternity when images of childhood, teen years, and loves won and lost all flashed before his eyes, until the rope hit its end and he jerked hard to a stop.

Dubkin heard rather than felt the vertebrae in his neck separate as a white flash went off behind his eyes. Then nothing.