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    C James
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Changing Lanes - 44. Countdown to Ragnarök

Chapter 44: Countdown to Ragnarök




D minus 6:00:00

Pulling Helen aside for a private conversation, General Bradson said, in a hushed tone, “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, because some of them know nothing about the bombs, but we may have a further problem. We’ve got Jerry Clump on the island with forces unknown, and we’ve had a nuclear warhead go missing. It’s not much of a stretch to think he might have had something to do with it.”

Helen felt herself shiver, and her stomach began to roil. “I thought of that a few moments ago. Oh my God, Jim, Linda, and your Private... and then Jerry with a nuclear warhead! That’s beyond a nightmare.”

General Bradson nodded. “Bear in mind that we don’t know anything for sure. I’d suggest keeping this just between you, me, and Fel for now. No point in worrying everyone, especially those who know nothing about the bombs. All I have right now is a hunch.”

Raising his voice so that everyone could hear him, General Bradson said, “I’ll take the RPG topside and act as a spotter. If I get a good shot, I’ll take it. Jon, use the AK and cover the door but set it on single shot; you’ve only got one clip.”

General Bradson glanced up towards the roof and said, “I’m not as nimble as I used to be. Help me up.”

Helen and Barbra dragged a table over, setting it just under the roofline, where the roof ended at the edge of the dance floor. On it, they placed a chair.

General Bradson chided himself for not thinking of that, and scrambled onto the roof with the RPG slung over his shoulder. Once there, he took over the binoculars and began to scan the resort grounds, searching for any sign of The Scar or his men.

D minus 5:45:00

A mile up the road from the resort, growing winded, The Scar slowed his pace and winced as he brushed his split lip. Yuri had phoned to say he had reached Las Indias, which had buoyed The Scar’s mood, almost enough to ease the fury he felt over the beating he’d taken. That rage had made the plan he was mulling – a means to cover their departure from the island –particularly pleasant to contemplate, though it was predicated on securing at least one more nuclear warhead: he would not consider leaving the island without one. Glancing up at the volcano, The Scar allowed himself a cold smile and began to hum Wagner’s Götterdämmerung.

Yuri’s arrival in a police cruiser, with the big van behind, was almost enough to make The Scar smile. “It is good to see you, Yuri,” The Scar said, as he watched the three henchmen climb into the van.

Yuri noticed The Scar’s split lip and the new discolorations on his ruined face. Attending to business first, Yuri said, “We should leave the police car here somewhere. It may draw the wrong kind of attention if we encounter any authorities.”

Glancing at the cruiser’s front-mounted heavy bumper guard, The Scar said, “Not just yet, Yuri. Let us visit that storage facility first. You lead the way. I will ride with our men, lest they decide to flee. I need a pistol.” Yuri handed his employer a pistol, and The Scar asked, “Did you bring any timers and demolition charges?”

“Yes, I have some in the back. I thought they might come in handy for clearing debris,” Yuri said, and then paused, wondering if The Scar would explain the reason for his enquiry. When no explanation was forthcoming, Yuri took another look at The Scar’s bleeding lip and asked, “Are you badly injured?”

With a disgusted grunt, The Scar replied, “I was the victim of poor timing. One of the band members encountered me while I was alone. The young hellion attacked me. I would dearly like to settle that score but that must wait; they are alerted by now and could be hiding anywhere in the resort. I do not trust our men to join in the hunt, nor have we the time, so let us get what we came for. Speaking of our men, the ones with me know nothing of the bombs and I prefer to keep it that way. They are on the verge of panic already. I shall tell them we are stopping to get some rocket pods, which we shall need for our takeoff. They are largely ignorant of such things so I think they would accept that.”

Yuri led the way to the storage unit, hoping that he could find it in the convoluted roads of Las Indias. A few minutes later, he saw the sign and pulled in, stopping at the gate.

The Scar told the van’s driver, “Pull in beside him. We must stop here for a few moments. The storage unit contains a cache of rocket pods that will aid our takeoff.”

The Scar came up to the cruiser’s window and said, “The area appears almost deserted and few would question the actions of a police car. This is no time for finesse, Yuri. Batter down the gate.”

Yuri backed up a few yards and hit the gas. In a shower of sparks and screeching metal, the gate yielded on the first attempt. It had never been intended to resist ramming by a vehicle.

The cruiser nosed ahead, shoving aside the crumpling electric gate. Yuri pulled the car into the complex, steam hissing from the radiator, and the van followed. At a crawl, watching the unit numbers, Yuri drove to the back of the complex and when he saw unit twenty, he stopped. The first thing he noticed was the tire tracks, which had been left by the truck as Jim had maneuvered it in and out. Yuri knew that a truck would not be uncommon at a storage facility, but these appeared to come from a vehicle with four tires on the rear axel, and he did not recall seeing many of those on the island. He hoped that it was confirmation that they had found what they sought. Yuri told The Scar of his theory.

The Scar stood by Yuri’s side, and to his slight annoyance ignored Yuri’s speculation and said, “Now, we must find out if this is the unit, or we shall need to search them all in turn. Yuri, check the police car’s trunk for any tools that may prove useful.”

A look in the trunk yielded a pry bar, jump-start cables, and several towropes, along with roadside emergency flares and reflective warning triangles. Desperate to see if a bomb was inside the unit, The Scar used the pry bar on the padlock’s mount, tearing the hasp from the door after several awkward one-armed attempts. Yelling at his henchmen in the van, The Scar said, “Force the door up now. Hurry.”

The powerful men did as they’d been told, and two of them, using the pry bar – a long, heavy one deigned for forcing open car doors to free accident victims – forced the rolling door upwards, breaking the single bolt engaged by the card lock.

The Scar stooped forward to peer inside. The first rays of sunrise cast just enough light for him to see, though it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. He bit back a curse at the sight of the tarp, timbers, and bricks, until it occurred to him that it was unlikely such debris would be stored in a locked, secured facility. Entering the unit, he lifted the tarp and kicked aside a timber, his eyes opening in euphoric joy as he beheld the top of a burnished steel cylinder. For the first time, he was seeing one of the Iranian bombs. “Yuri, is this what they look like?”

Joining his employer, Yuri replied, “It is. We have found our… pod.” Scrambling over the construction debris, Yuri heaved a few timbers and the tarp aside, adding with a grin, “We have them both.”

Mindful that his henchmen were within earshot, The Scar chose his words with care. “This makes three. We shall take off in a blaze of utter glory.”



Under Cumbre Vieja, the pressure continued to grow, beyond the ability of the mass above to contain it. The harmonic tremors increased as the magma chambers began to rupture, sending a clear signal to the vulconologists that the feared massive catastrophic eruption and lateral collapse was at most hours away.



D minus 5:15:00

Staring at the nuclear warheads, The Scar indulged himself in a moment of jubilation, and then, heedful of his fidgeting, anxious henchmen, said, “Time is of the essence. We must leave with all possible haste. The faster we get these into the van, the sooner we shall be away.”

Yuri looked at the bombs, and then the van, suddenly realizing that they had an enormous problem: The bombs would fit into the van, but only lengthwise, parallel to the wheelbase. They could not be rolled in through the rear; they were longer than the van was wide. The van, a large, heavy type often used for an airport shuttle, had a bi-fold side door, but it was two feet too narrow to take the eight-foot length of the bombs.

Staring at the long, heavy cylinders, Yuri shook his head and turned to give The Scar the bad news; they needed a different vehicle.

Holding up his hand to silence Yuri, The Scar wagged a finger as he said, “Ah, my dear Yuri, the answer is always before us, if only we are clever enough to perceive it.”

At The Scar’s direction, Yuri and the henchmen used the pry bar to remove the van’s passenger seats.

The four henchmen manhandled the bombs, rolling them out of the storage unit and onto the pavement. Several looked askance at the heavy steel cylinders, growing suspicious regarding what they’d been told. None of the henchmen with The Scar had heard of Helen’s news conference or that their employer was seeking nuclear warheads. One henchman correctly guessed that the cylinders, which looked very little like the JATO packs he’d seen on the plane – he could see no provision for a rocket nozzle, and they were far larger – were weapons of some sort. However, he was not positive, and fearful of Yuri and The Scar, kept his suspicions to himself.

With more room and by virtue of the van’s bed being closer to the ground than the truck’s had been, they were able to use the bricks and some of the beams to build a ramp with a shallow slope, topped by a flat platform. The first try managed to dislodge a beam, but a readjustment of the bricks shored up their improvised ramp. By brute force, they rolled the first bomb up and then spun it in place, leaving almost half of its length and mass hanging over the drop. This placed the bomb slightly above the level of the van’s bed.

While the van was backed up to the bomb, the bomb appeared to be entering the van lengthwise, from the rear. When the van came to a rest against the impromptu ramp, the bomb was halfway to being in place. Working quickly, Yuri and the henchmen removed the ramp, leaving only the platform that supported the bombcase.

Next, The Scar directed his men to tie the ends of the towropes together in order to make one long length, and then secure one end of the towrope to the end of the bomb that was inside the van. An attach point, one of several built into the bombcase to allow it to be hoisted and moved, made this a simple task.

The other end of the towrope was pulled through the van’s open passenger-side window, and then attached to the police cruiser’s tow loop, which was under its rear bumper.

Waving his arm theatrically at the setup, The Scar said, “The car’s mass is a little more than that of the pod, so I think five miles per hour should suffice.” The Scar slid behind the wheel of the police car and buckled the seat belt.

Yuri, along with one of the reluctant henchmen, pressed against the sides of the bomb with timbers, attempting to steady it. The other two henchmen made ready to push.

Backing up until the police cruiser’s bumper touched the van’s, which gave him twenty feet of slack, The Scar shifted into drive. Easing his foot down on the gas, he watched the speedometer, suddenly realizing that is was marked in kilometers per hour, not miles. Trusting his judgment, he decided to guess. It didn’t much matter; the length of towrope was far too short to allow for precision, and at four miles per hour it snatched taught, yanking the police car to a fast stop.

The force of the sudden halt surprised The Scar a little, and he lurched forward against his seatbelt.

The bomb, yanked hard by the mass of the police cruiser, lurched forward onto its improvised rollers, aided by the slight drop. The sound of protesting metal filled the air, and the van settled several inches onto its springs, groaning from the weight. The Scar had miscalculated only a little; the bomb had stopped a foot short of where he wanted it, and upon being informed of that fact by Yuri, The Scar gave it another, gentler tug, and then got out to survey his handiwork: the bomb was in the van. “I would say six miles per hour for the next one,” he said, with a prideful, twisted smile.

One of the henchmen protested, “It is too heavy. The van will not hold another pod and us.”

Waving his hand dismissively, The Scar replied, “I have no doubt that this van will suffice. We need these rocket pods in order to take off. They are not so heavy as they seem.” The Scar was far from sure of that, but he had no intention of leaving a bomb behind.

The second bomb was prepared like the first, and the van backed into place. This time, the towrope was snaked through the van’s side door, and The Scar attempted to repeat his feat, intending to snatch the bomb partially into place, and then pull it the remainder of the way with an additional pull or two.

The Scar pressed down on the accelerator, and this time, due to a straighter run of tow rope and a slightly lower van bed ­– facts which he had failed to take into account – the initial jolt proved correct, and the second bomb rammed into place beside the first.

Shutting off the cruiser, paying no heed to the steam now hissing from its radiator, The Scar walked over, looked at the bomb’s position, and in a prideful voice said, “As I predicted, an additional mile per hour was all we needed. Perfect.”

Yuri closed and – wanting every bit of structural strength he could get – locked the van’s rear and side doors. Noticing that the side door now had a half-inch gap, with its lower rear edge due to the van’s frame sagging under the weight, he hoped that the vehicle would not collapse. He also suspected what The Scar’s next move would be.

The Scar pointed at the police cruiser and told the henchmen, “Get the hood open and see how badly the car has been damaged. Hurry.”

Catching Yuri’s eye, The Scar glanced at the henchmen as they approached the hood of the police car, their backs to him. “Now,” the Scar said softly, drawing his gun in concert with Yuri.

From ten feet away, Yuri taking the two on the left and The Scar the two on the right, they squeezed off rapid, aimed shots, placing two rounds into the middle of each of the henchman’s backs and then shifting fire to the next. One of the henchmen spun around, fumbling for his gun as he collapsed. The Scar fired a fifth bullet directly into the man’s head. Yuri advanced and, preferring to be sure, rapidly shot the other two in the head as well.

The Scar glanced in the storage unit and said, “We need the mattress, a few of these bricks, and a couple of timbers. A pity that we could not trust our men to do that for us before we shot them, but it will not take long and I could not risk making them suspicious via a seemingly incongruous order.”

Yuri was puzzled but knew better than to inquire as to the reason for his employer’s instructions.

The Scar, his task made difficult due to having only one arm, struggled to aid Yuri in dragging the thick mattress the bombs had rested on into the van. Working fast, The Scar picked up the first brick as he ordered Yuri, “Place the bodies in the car and then drive it into the storage unit.”

Yuri did as he’d been ordered. It proved a tight fit; the police car was almost as long as the unit. The henchmen’s blood lay pooled and streaked on the concrete driveway, but Yuri was not overly concerned; he knew that when it dried, most people would assume the dark substance was spilled paint. In any case, he felt he had little reason to fear; he and The Scar would soon be gone, lost in the confusion of the evacuation.

The Scar shoved the tarp into the van, tugging at it until it covered the bombs, the half-dozen bricks, and the timbers. Pausing for a moment, he glanced at the storage unit, just as Yuri was about to close the door, and said, “Bring the emergency triangles from the trunk.”

An hour and a half after they had arrived at the storage unit, Yuri and The Scar, with Yuri at the wheel, drove the van out of the complex, through the streets of Las Indias, and then forced their way into the northbound traffic on LP-1. The traffic, though still thick, had lessened enough that they were able to average almost twenty miles per hour.


D minus 3:30:00

Felecia paced in her hotel room, listening to one of her men describe what he’d found at the airport. Cursing herself for not having taken precautions, she phoned General Bradson with the news. “Walter, a runner from my recon team just brought news; our mortars, ammo, and RPGs are missing from the plane, along with some other weapons and gear. Frankenstein’s people left us a nice calling card; an explosive charge on a tripwire, right next to a fuel bladder. My men spotted it just in time. I’m going down there right after I hang up, to secure the aircraft, with twelve men.”

“Fel, don’t divide your force. You’re outgunned and possibly outnumbered. They might be waiting,” General Bradson said.

“Except for the one man I’m leaving here with the people who came in the Jetta, and the two currently at the plane, that is my current force, and we’ve got to secure that aircraft,” Felecia said, and then after a moment added, “I sent just over half the men with Horst, before we knew we had company. I’m worried about him; he should have reached you by now. Brian’s with him too.”

The news that Brian had joined the rescue mission was no surprise to General Bradson. Putting aside his personal feelings, he said, “We’d have heard any nearby engagements, but we have no idea where Frankenstein’s forces are. Horst had a long way to go, through rough conditions. I wouldn’t worry about him yet, and we both know he’s a pro; nobody is going to pick him off.”

Felecia recognized the encouraging words for what they were, and hoped that the General was right. “Walter, I’ll proceed with caution, but we’ve got to secure the plane or we’re stuck here.” Felecia knew the plane was their only way out. There was the danger of arrest by Spanish or U.S. forces, the threat posed by The Scar and his henchmen, and last but not least, the volcano. If Cumbre Vieja erupted as predicted, Felecia did not think that anywhere on the island would be completely safe. She was right.

General Bradson paced for a few moments, hating the fact that he couldn’t think of any other options. “Take care, Fel,” he said, and left her to her preparations.

General Bradson decided to share the good part of the news and said, “Felecia sent half her force, around fifteen men, with Horst on the rescue mission. They should be here any time now. Fel’s men are crack troops, they’ll make mincemeat out of anything Jerry Clump can have, if he’s dumb enough to stick around. So, just hang in there people, the cavalry should be coming over the hill any time now.”

A few questions were asked, mainly by those who had no idea who Felecia was, but Helen hung back, waiting to talk to the General alone. As soon as she could, she walked him away from the others and asked, “What’s the real news?” Helen had heard parts of the General’s conversation with Felecia and wanted to see if the General would level with her. ‘He’d fucking better,’ she thought.

General Bradson held nothing back, and told Helen about the situation with the plane and the people she’d sent in the Jetta.

Nodding slowly, Helen replied, “What about the rest. Are the men with Horst as good as you say?”

With no hesitation, General Bradson said, “Yes. That much you can count on. The flip side of that is they have no idea there are hostiles around, and those hostiles do have RPGs. It’s possible that, if Fel has a spy in her midst, the enemy knows we’ve got help inbound, what their route and composition are, and what they’re driving. That makes an ambush child’s play to set up.”



Two miles northeast of Las Canarios, Horst looked at the fallen stone building, cursing the fact that it had collapsed into the road where it had; between a long row of stone walls that hemmed the road in. He could see the SUV’s tracks, almost taunting him, as they emerged from under the debris pile. The building’s fall had occurred less than half an hour before his arrival.

Horst sent out scouts, seeking another way around. That would take time, because the heavy ash, which was over two feet thick in that area, could hide both obstacles and serviceable routes from a cursory glance.

It would take a long time to clear the road, but Horst knew that it might be the only way and gave the orders to begin. He glanced at his watch in frustration; what under normal circumstances would be an hour’s drive promised to take many times that.


D minus 3:20:00

General Bradson returned to his rooftop post, and for the people in the pavilion, the lack of any enemy sightings didn’t calm their mood; it merely added to the siege mentality.

The pavilion, which was in essence a high wall enclosing a swimming pool and its very large deck, was only one-third covered by roof, in the area of the dance floor and the bar. The members of the wedding party clustered in the roofed area, casting nervous glances towards the door. The door was guarded; Jon lay prone with the AK-47 behind an overturned table, covering it from an angle. Nervous eyes swept the pavilion’s perimeter wall, half-expecting to see armed attackers swarming over at any moment.

For the people in the pavilion, the logical parts of their minds knew that the General, along with one crewmember, stood watch on the roof and thus should spot an attack. However, the deep, visceral fear remained, and the open parts of the pavilion were studiously avoided, and uneasy, worried people stared at the walls, which had once seemed so benign, yet now seemed ominous and foreboding.

Eric didn’t need his innate knack to tell him what people were feeling. It was glaringly obvious, revealed by a casual glance. The wedding party members had lowered their voices to whispers, and then fallen into silence, staring at the walls.

Nodding for Jansen to follow his lead, Eric strolled over to the pool, and then turned to face the wedding party. In a loud and confident voice, he said, “We’re stuck here for a little while, but stressing out about it won’t help. Why be miserable? It’s hot and muggy here, so I say it’s time for a pool party!” Eric ended his speech by doing a backflip into the pool. Jansen followed a few moments later.

Eric surfaced and said, “Come on in, the water feels great.”

Helen cast a momentary irritated glare in Eric’s direction, assuming that the tequila was at the root of actions. Then, she arched an eyebrow in surprise as she realized what he was doing, and why. She got up and walked over to the pool edge, stooping over to give Eric a wink. “Not a bad idea. Most of us don’t have swimsuits handy, but cooling off sounds good. So, go ahead. I know you’ve been dying to.”

Eric blinked in surprise, and then grinned. Not needing to be asked twice, he directed a furious splash attack at Helen, thoroughly drenching her. Helen ducked away, and Eric began to laugh.

“I didn’t mean drench me to the skin,” Helen grumbled, keeping her tone cheerful as she stood in her dripping clothes. A few of the onlookers chuckled at Eric’s antics, and Helen knew that the ploy was working, at least for some.

Brandon and Chase, who has been sitting at a table with Jane, trying to keep her calm, shared a glance. Chase turned to his mother and said, “Mom, we’ll be right back.”

“Where on earth do you think you’re going?” Jane asked in a perturbed tone.

Chase began to shed his jeans and shirt as he replied, “Just to help Eric lighten everyone’s mood. We’ll be back in under a minute, I promise.”

Racing for the pool in their boxers, Brandon and Chase cannonballed in, landing a few feet on either side of Eric, who spun and splashed them as they surfaced. Keith caught on and followed suit, as did three other members of the wedding party.

A brief, half-hearted splash war broke out. No one was really in the mood, but the activity had its desired effect; the tension eased, somewhat.

Helen and Barbra sat down to play cards at a table in the sun, just far enough from the pool to be safe from any further aquatic depredations from Eric. Loudly, Helen announced, “The game is five-card draw, one-eyed jacks are wild. Suckers welcome, because we’re playing for money.” A few members of the wedding party joined the game.

Brandon and Chase hauled themselves out of the pool, and padded back to Jane, where they sat down to drip-dry. Jane eyed them appraisingly before saying, “I think I see why you did what you did. We were all terrified before.” Casting a glance in Helen’s direction, Jane added, “She’s a good leader when the chips are down, I’ll give her that.”

Eric, Jansen, and Keith hauled themselves out of the pool a few minutes later, the sunlight glistening from the droplets that clung to their tanned and toned skin. Jansen was about to say something when a movement above caught his eye. He glanced up to see General Bradson, waving for them to join him on the roof.

Catching his brother’s and Eric’s eye, Jansen nodded upwards, and the three scaled the table and chair onto the roof.

Sitting down, still dripping, near the General, they took in the view for a moment, while General Bradson gave the area another sweep with the binoculars.

“Guys, I asked you up here because you three are the only ones who saw Jerry Clump. Eric, you first; what was he doing when you spotted him?” General Bradson asked.

Eric thought for a few moments and then replied, “I came out of the resort and into the parking lot, and he was looking at me, kind of over his shoulder, so he was facing the other way, uphill, away from the resort. His three goons were ahead of him, and I think they were heading away too, but I don’t really remember.”

General Bradson looked in the direction of the parking lot, even though it was blocked from his view by one of the resort buildings. “Okay, that’s interesting... sounds to me like he could have been leaving when you spotted him. The question is, why was he here in the first place?”

Keith stared in the direction of the restaurant for a moment, deep in thought, and then said, “First he asked if I had any transportation, then he said he’d heard Instinct was here. Then, when I’d told him I had no idea about that, he said he had to be leaving soon.”

General Bradson considered it for a few moments before replying, “Assuming he was telling the truth, which is a rarity for him, maybe he really was leaving. Bugging out due to the volcano, same as us. Did any of you see any sign of a vehicle?” Three wet heads shook and the General continued, “He could have one just up the road. In fact, I’ve been wondering if he had any part in the disappearance of your van, but that could have been anyone, especially after the emergency evacuation orders came out. Maybe he is going, but at least we know what we don’t know. Thanks, guys.”

Knowing what you don’t know is a familiar phrase to those used to dealing with intelligence information. The first step towards a solution is knowing what it is that you don’t know and thus need to find out. The General was the only person on the rooftop who understood the term, and as a result it left Eric, Jansen and Keith a little confused.

Eric was sufficiently distracted by the General’s comment, combined with their circumstances, that he decided to wait until later to float a question that had been nagging him: could Jerry have had something to do with Jim and Linda’s disappearance. Eric felt the return of his nagging feeling of guilt. ‘I picked this damn island, and took possession of the bombs. We wouldn’t be stuck here if it wasn’t for me and Jim wouldn’t be wherever the hell he is. If anything happens, it’s my fault. I got us into this.’

The three guys climbed down, leaving General Bradson to his rooftop post.


D minus 2:55:00

Heading north on highway LP-1, approaching the junction where they’d turn east for the tunnel, The Scar listened to the radio as it played the latest update from the vulcanologists. Deciding to let Yuri in on his plan, The Scar said, “The United States has the ability to track aircraft from orbit via infrared signatures, so there is a chance, now that they are aware that the nuclear warheads may be on the island and may also be aware of who I am, that they would do so with our C-130. It would be simple for them to do; they know that there is only one airport to watch. They could therefore track us, perhaps intending to shoot us down in flight or send forces after us. What we need is a way to cover our escape. Therefore, I propose that we use the impending volcanic eruption as our cover.”

Yuri glanced over at his employer, puzzled by the timing implied. “Sir, the only problem there is that we cannot know precisely when the eruption will occur. We’d have to sit at the airport, ready for takeoff, while we waited for it, and that would pose many risks–”

Smiling at his own cleverness, The Scar replied, “Circumstance, Yuri, and the fortuitous intervention of lady luck, have conspired to present us with a golden opportunity. You are indeed correct; we cannot, at the moment, know for certain when, or indeed if, the eruption will occur. According to the scientists, it is most likely to be triggered by a small earthquake, as was the massive blast at Mount Saint Helens. Consider that, and then ponder upon the fact that we have at our disposal the means to cause such a seismic shock deep within the Earth. We can therefore trigger the eruption at a time of our choosing. The thermal signature would easily mask our departure and the resulting catastrophic tsunamis would, as I like to say, give the opposition something else to do. It will also be a most delicious taste of revenge upon America, along with settling some personal scores of mine.” The Scar, enjoying the moment, indulged in his theatric side. “Yuri, have you ever heard of Ragnarök?” The Scar didn’t give Yuri a chance to answer before continuing, “It is from Norse mythology, and means ‘the final destiny of the Gods’. Wagner’s Götterdämmerung is based upon it. It foresaw a great battle, resulting in the twilight of the Gods, the end of the old order as the Sun vanished from the sky, and the Earth torn asunder by great convulsions before submerging beneath the raging seas. Synchronicity, my dear Yuri, synchronicity, for today we shall unleash a literal Ragnarök upon the world.”

Finally understanding what The Scar intended, Yuri smiled.


© 2009 C James

Please let me know what you think; good, bad, or indifferent.

Please give me feedback, and please don’t be shy if you want to criticize! The feedback thread for this story is in my Forum. Please stop by and say "Hi!"



Many thanks to my editor EMoe for editing and for his support, encouragement, beta reading, and suggestions.

Special thanks to Graeme, for beta-reading and advice.

A big "thank you" to to Bondwriter for final Zeta-reading and advice , and to Captain Rick and Talonrider for Beta reading and advice .
Any remaining errors are mine alone.

Copyright © 2009 C James; All Rights Reserved.
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I knew it! He's going to use the nuke to jumpstart the volcano. What a psycho!

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