Walter
I try to keep my mouth closed with my tongue pressed against the roof. It's been hours since they've offered me water- which I understand isn't long, but I've gotten so used to downing a sixteen ounce glass every hour of my entire life I don't know how else to live.
I try to take my mind away from everything- the dried blood matting my armpit hair and pulling it out every time I move- by forcing the good memories to take over.
Five months ago, Tanya went back to New York to visit local officials and discuss the flawed housing bill Congressman Rogers wrote so long ago. The image alone of her talking to them- and the business owners and citizens from a place she'd lived most of her life, was enough for congress to pay attention. A month later the country had a more comprehensive bill: Unlike the original it included apartment buildings as part of a government insurance policy to provide building owners with money for repairs in case of a natural disaster and the tenants with money to replace items they had proof of owning. It broadened the definition of a business to include people who ran theirs from home and increased the FEMA budget, gave cities more wiggle room for how they chose to use federal funds for road cleanup on mostly industrial streets, and explicitly provided decent salaries for the rescue teams that would have previously been volunteer in the immediate aftermath of hurricanes.
Her approval rating shot up to ninety three percent for a short while in New York, and as the messenger mine went to eighty. The media's still bitter her administration doesn't take shit from them, but the people praise her for that.
I turn slightly, trying to adjust my sitting position with my waist to knees nearing total numbness and the chair pressing against my tailbone. My restraints press into my arms harder and I grimace. They couldn't have used another method?
The instructors for the required self defense classes tried to teach us pain tolerance but there was only so much they could do without actually torturing us. Think positive thoughts. No matter how much you want to die in that moment- remember there is always somebody who cares about you.
I'm beginning to think there isn't.
I would've found me by now if I cared about me. If I was the President, I would be comfortably sitting in the White House bunker, and there would be no more Russia. I guess it's a good thing I'm not then.
I crack my neck, trying my best to remove the kink I know'll take months to fully leave.
Last year, we visited a children's cancer center in LA. After talking to the mayor, her and the Vice went on with talking to patients while I stood in front of the main building, getting pummeled with questions to keep cameras out. They didn't want it to be a photo op. Sure, they took pictures- but only when asked to.
With the exception of January 20th, 2021- I'd never seen Tanya more defeated. The worst part was knowing even she didn't have enough money in her bank account to pay the bills of every cancer-suffering child in the world- because she did check just hours later. She had about $4b in her accounts, and from our estimates it could have been $7b.
That was still working under the assumption most would survive- which wasn't the case. In that ward, most were end stages. She commented on how happy they looked despite knowing they were dying- and couldn't sleep for weeks.
Lynn had to slip a sleeping pill in her tea again. There was a general consensus we wouldn't tell her since she'd grown quite irritable- and as far as I know nobody's told her still.
There's no way I'd know if they did. I'm completely cut off from the world.
I've only been told the things I've been able to guess myself: There's an "ongoing effort" to retrieve me. The CIA has offered several Russian operatives they took into custody in exchange, the FBI has threatened the prime minister's and president's lives again, and the ICC has said they would drop any potential charges if I'm returned within forty eight hours.
Ivanov, of course, has rejected all offers.
He's only interested in one thing: that damn code.
I almost laugh. He has to be seriously delusional if he thinks the United states will give him even the first number or letter- I don't even know what it is. He would've been better off trying to get a family member of the Secretary of State or defense director... though immediate family has their own security details for those exact reasons.
Fuck. I'm going to die here.
What'll they have to use against the White House once I'm too far gone to hang on? They'll have to re- coordinate , try to come up with a better plan to get the code. While they're distracted, the White House- if they care at all, will destroy them.
Maybe it's the mental strain talking- but I'd do the entire world a favor by just dying.
If the Russian government fell....
The door of my little room swings open and an unfamiliar man slams a plate on the floor.
"Eat."
"Go to hell." I challenge him.
He just chuckles. "You first. I've never understood how you American press secretaries can blatantly lie to your people's faces."
"What are you talking about?" I shake my head. "Jesus- we tell the world what they need to know, and does your President not do the same thing? How can you defend him so blindly?"
"The president saved me. Eat."
"You gonna make me repeat myself?" I raise an eyebrow. "Go to hell."
"Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."
"Oh come on-" I sarcastically smile. "We both know how this ends. Let's not draw it out, shall we?"
I gesture to the door, knowing any chance I have at escaping isn't in this room anyways.
"If you insist-" he shrugs. "We do intend on making another video. Can you walk again?"
I nod.
Slowly, the restraints are removed again. I want to flex my fingers and stand up even slower, but there's a gun pressed to the back of my head. I'm forced to stumble towards the door with no feeling in half of my lower half.
I know it's a last ditch effort- that I should just accept death like I've told myself I would, but my eyes dart around looking for anything I could use.
They land first on the portrait of Ivanov's predecessor, a few feet to my left. Surely they won't miss it.
I wish I had more time to really think about the possible outcomes- but I don't. I have to act now.
Before my collector has a chance to shoot me, I lunge for the portrait. A grunting noise I didn't know humans could make escapes my lips as I slam the Canvas against the but of his gun as hard as I can. Surprised, his reaction time is just a millisecond too slow.
It slips from his grasps. I yank it through the the fabric and turn it around on him. The sound that follows from a bullet piercing his skull at such as close distance, I swear could be heard from the opposite end of the basement. Fuck. These motherfuckers don't use silencer attachments.
I give myself half a second to identify what kind of gun I'm currently holding on the off chance I stumble across extra ammo. It takes less than that to figure out it's a standard 9mm handgun. I make a mental note to grab whatever I see and shove it in my pockets as I start running with no sense of direction.
Kill everybody I see. Can't be that hard, can it?
FBI and CIA agents, no matter how much they hate it- are forced to all the time for their own safeties. I tell myself this is the same- if not a worse situation.
A longer hallway proves promising. I hear several sets of footsteps somewhere behind me but I don't look back. If I do..... I might as well sign my own death warrant. I take out two men and a woman standing at the bottom if a staircase. In my mind, the bodies are quickly piling up.
I've gotten two steps up before I'm yanked by my shirt and land flat on my back. The impact rips away any work my body's done trying to repair that little hole in my arm and blood starts flowing again. My gun slides across the floor.
A woman towers over and leans two inches away from my face while I'm still trying to recover.
"Fucking idiot-" she curses. "How far did you think you'd get?"
"Far enough for a diplomat from another country to see me I guess. Ya'll will not get away with this-"
"That's what the others have said-" she laughs. "Thousands of times, actually. It's getting quite old. Now we were about to come and get you for another video so we'll give you this chance-"
Instead of the one, several guns are now trained on me. Fuck.
"Walk."
I see Analise's children again and picture them at her funeral with their one living grandparent- a seventy six year old woman in poor health. I wonder how long the government compensation would last before they'd be unable to live off of it- and if Tanya would forcibly extend it or not.
I'd never be able to forgive myself if they did anything to her or Darrel.
I stand up, paying attention to every move I make and contemplating whether or not to attack one of them so I can go ahead and die the quick way.
"Don't be stupid." One of them seems to read my mind. "We know where to shoot you so you can't get out of this the easy way. Do you take us as the idiots?"
"No." I shake my head. "Idiots wouldn't have been able to pull what the president did. Of course- puppets are too stupid to understand they're puppets."
"Oh shut up he-"
"Saved you? Let me guess- you could barely keep a roof over your family's head until he plucked you out of the military to work on this 'mission?"
"You don't know anything about me."
"How many kids do you have- five? Six? What would you do if somebody did this same thing to them?" I continue, word vomitting at this point.
"That is none of your damn business-" he angrily spits. "Keep moving. Now."
"Or what? Y'all seem determined to cause me pain no matter what."
I know stalling is futile- that it's just prolonging the inevitable, but I feel like it's a survival instinct at this point.
"Now."
I gulp.
I don't have a choice in the matter- they've made that abundantly clear, so I give up again.
I'm guided back to that room, blood still trickling down my arm at a steady pace. Ivanov stands over the table again. My blood still stains it.
"I heard there was quite the issue in getting you here-" he shakes his head, walking around and getting as close as the soldiers will slow. "We won't have any more problems, will we? I saw pictures- her children are quite cute."
"I hope you suffer."
"Oh my друг/friend, that is your job." He chuckles. "Or rather... your country's job for now."
I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. The psychopath excitedly claps.
"You haven't heard? Wow I can't believe no one's told you! The American stock market has plummeted close to the point of no return in just hours. They're outraged and it's so beautiful! I'll have to admit- I was angry myself at first but Americans are funny when they're mad and calling for me to be killed, like their government hasn't already tried that." He laughs. "Y'all have never understood just how untouchable I am- but where were we?"
You....she...."
"Made a public announcement? Resigned her office? Biggest mistake of her life-" he chuckles as I'm being strapped down. "Who would just give up that kind of power?"
"Ones who care about people more....." I mumble.
Still, I can't help but agree with him. Presidential resignations are never a good thing.
He grabs one of the larger, sharper looking tools off the wall.