Vector

Epilogue

Thursday, October 21

1:30 p.m.

“Try another station!” Curt said.

Steve leaned over and twirled the dial until the radio came in reasonably clearly.

They were in an old Ford pickup truck that Steve had bought for five hundred dollars under an assumed name. They were about fifty miles from New York City, and the radio signals were getting progressively weaker. They’d heard one news flash soon after getting into the truck a half hour earlier, just when they were starting westward on Interstate 80. The news flash had been brief. It had only said that there had been a major bioweapon event in lower Manhattan, resulting — so far — in general panic.

At the time, Curt and Steve had cheered wildly and high-fived in a delirium of excitement. “We did it!” they’d shouted in unison. But now they wanted more details, but they were having trouble finding any follow-up reports.

“There’s probably a government-sponsored media blackout,” Curt said. “They never want the public to know the truth about anything: Waco, Ruby Ridge, even who shot JFK.”

“I’m sure that’s it,” Steve said. “The government is afraid to let the public know.”

“God, it went perfect,” Curt commented. “A goddamn perfect military operation!”

“It could not have been any better,” Steve agreed.

Curt looked out at the rolling countryside, resplendent in fall colors. They were in western New Jersey approaching the Pennsylvania border. “Hell, what a beautiful country,” he said. He gripped the steering wheel harder. He laughed. He felt great. In fact, he felt as if he’d had ten cups of coffee.

“Do you want to stop for lunch in Jersey or wait until Pennsylvania?” Steve asked.

“I don’t care,” Curt said. “As excited as I am, I’m not hungry.”

“I’m not hungry either,” Steve said. “But I sure wouldn’t mind washing my hands. I know Yuri said it was safe touching those plastic sausage things, but it still bothers me knowing what was inside.”

“Hey, where’s that envelope?” Curt asked.

“You mean Yuri’s?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, the one with the directions on making the bioweapon,” Curt said. “He told us he also wrote some pointers of what we should do after the laydown.”

“I got it with all the maps and shit to get us to the various safe houses,” Steve said. “You want me to get it out?”

Curt shrugged. “Why not. Let’s see what we should do for our protection.” Curt laughed again. “As if we need that little prick’s help at this point.”

Steve reached back behind his seat and pulled out a folder closed with an elastic cord. He opened it, shuffled through the contents, and pulled out Yuri’s envelope.

“Whoa! This thing is thick,” Steve said. “What’d he do? Write a book?” He extended it toward Curt so he could take a look.

“Open it, for crissake,” Curt said.

Steve got his index finger under the sealed flap and tore it open. From inside the envelope, he pulled out a thick card sealed with another flap.

“What the hell?” Steve said.

Curt took his eyes off the road long enough to take a gander. “What does it say on the front?”

“To Curt and Steve from Rosslya-matoshka,” Steve said. “Whatever the hell that means.”

“Open it up!” Curt said.

Steve tore through the tab and as soon as he had the card leaped in his hands and snapped open. At the same time a coiled spring mechanism propelled a sizable puff of powder into the air along with a handful of any glittering stars.

“Shit!” Steve yelled, startled by the small explosive device.

Curt had started as well, mainly because Steve had. He had to fight to keep control of the truck.

Both men sneezed violently and their eyes watered briefly.

Curt brought the truck to a stop by the side of the road. Both men were coughing, the powder tickled their throats. Curt grabbed the card away from Steve, who then got out of the pickup to whisk the glittering stars off his lap.

Curt examined the card. There was nothing written inside. He looked in the envelope. There was nothing there either. Then, all of a sudden, he had a terrible premonition.