Revenge - His years of careful planning had eventually arrived and there was no room for mistake. Bolokov picked up his phone and called the meeting for 1200 hours.
Revenge
Creative Writing
Bolokov drew back the heavy velvet curtains of his sumptuous Moscow apartment and gazed out at the newly fallen snow. The world appeared so calm and untouched. He felt excitement stir in his belly. His years of careful planning had eventually arrived and there was no room for mistake. Bolokov picked up his phone and called the meeting for 1200 hours.
Bolokov was a small stumpy man no more than 5ft 6, he had deep piercing blue eyes and brown wavy hair. He always wore a long black duffel coat and a fur hat. His mistress Nadia often accompanied him. A stunningly beautiful woman, she was tall with long, blonde, glistening hair. She was a wiz on the computer and belonged to the worldwide hacking organisation "Neeb." Neeb were responsible for crashing the worlds leading search engine Yahoo. She was vital to Bolokov's plan.
Bolokov was the ex Leader of the Russian Army. He had risen through the ranks quickly, but no one knew the true story of his early life. Chuck Finster had been born into a patriotic all-American family and brought up in Arizona. As the star of the military academy, he was selected to be sent to Russia to integrate himself into their society as a "sleeping agent", only to be activated years later in the fight against communism.
However, with the break up of the Soviet Union and the alliance formed between the two great powers in the fight against terrorism, the call that Bolokov had waited and prepared for never came. His masters had abandoned him and the promise of wealth and material comforts that America could offer were never to be his. He was forced to continue to live with the lie that had weighed heavily on his shoulders all these years.
As the realisation dawned on him that he would never return to America, Bolokov plucked out the crème de la crème ...
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However, with the break up of the Soviet Union and the alliance formed between the two great powers in the fight against terrorism, the call that Bolokov had waited and prepared for never came. His masters had abandoned him and the promise of wealth and material comforts that America could offer were never to be his. He was forced to continue to live with the lie that had weighed heavily on his shoulders all these years.
As the realisation dawned on him that he would never return to America, Bolokov plucked out the crème de la crème of the Russian Army to form an elite but secret faction to assist him with his plan.
At 11.45 hours Bolokov drained the last dregs of his Turkish style coffee and washed the cup meticulously. He gave last look at his pristine apartment and closed the heavy front door. As he came into the street the bitter cold pinched his face. He pulled his hat further down over his ears and walked the few hundred metres to the meeting place.
As he entered the meeting room at 12.00 hours precisely, discussion was already under way about how they were going to carry out their plan.
" I just can't see it happening" worried Boris. He was an extremist, but cautious, he never liked to rush into things.
"What are you talking 'bout Boris" thundered General Vladimir. "Of course it will work. I've never heard anything more stupid in all my life!"
" But do you honestly think that us, nobody's - can pull of such a ridiculous thing?"
Bolokov paused in the doorway listening to his henchman discussing his plan, his dream. Slowly, menacingly he flung open the door... Silence deafened the room.
"Boris" he whispered in a husky voice.
"Yes Bolollololololokov, what can I do for you, Sir!" Boris' heart beat quickened, he knew he had spoken out of turn.
Bolokov spoke slowly "Are you doubting my plan?".
"No sir its just...."
"SILENCE" Bolokov thundered, "Get in the corner!"
Sharp intakes of breath rippled round the room as Boris moved towards the corner. Fear overwhelmed his whole body yet he dared not do what he had been ordered.
"Goodbye" said Bolokov coldly and pulled the trigger on his PSI handgun. With one shot Boris fell to the floor, blood gushing out his chest, gasping for air, trying to cling on to the last moments of life left in his helpless body. Slowly his eyes shut. He was dead.
" Does anybody else have doubts? If so speak now!" spoke Bolokov calmly. As he expected, nobody spoke.
"Ok, I shall continue. You should consider yourself lucky. I have picked you as the best darn soldiers Russia can offer. I am relying on you." Bolokov's eyes swept the room and he knew he could trust the remaining members of the group with his life. "Nadia you will access the President's email system and simultaneously send emails to all the Western leaders, breaking off any aid, alliance or friendships between the nations. You will also have to shut down all power to the White House." His glare softened as he spoke to his mistress.
Then he turned to his 25 elite. "When the power goes down there will be panic and confusion, that is our cue - we will storm into the White House and ......" he paused, choosing his words carefully, "We will dispose of everybody. Then we will make our way to the Oval office. We will capture the President and force him to confirm to the world that he wants to break off relations with the other petty nations." As he spoke the words aloud the realisation that his plan was finally coming to life, enveloped Bolokov and a smile spread slowly across his face.
He turned to General Vladimir and put his hands on the shoulders of his right hand man, "Vladimir I want you to lead the operation."
" Yes Sir" Vladimir gratefully accepted.
"If all goes well the countries of the world will crush the once great Nation America. Then they we will see what happens when you play games with Chuck.. Bolokov."
The plan was set, but everything depended on the young Moscow-born Nadia. As she drove home along the icy streets, Nadia's hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel. Her stomach churned with anticipation. This was her first real assignment. She had crashed Yahoo, but that was as a part of Neeb - a large group. Would she be able to withstand the pressure of short-tempered Bolokov's eyes piercing down, watching her every move, there to punish her if she slipped up? She opened the door of her apartment, poured herself a vodka and slipped under the heavy quilt of her four-poster bed. She knew if she did make a mistake the next day, this could very well be the last night she would spend here.