Liberators

Pyotr Matochkin

Chapter Fifteen: Pyotr Matochkin

Sonolovichyrevko International Airport

October 14, 2008 0600 Rivymiyitevko time (0200 Krakozhian time)

The Antonov An-26 that landed on the runway of the Sonolovichyrevko International Airport was owned by the government of the Independent Republic of Rivymiyitevko, and the flag and seal of the Benin family painted on the aircraft's rudder and sides attested to that. Aside from the crew, only two people were onboard the Antonov: Konstantin Afanasiyevich Benin, president of Rivymiyitevko, and Dr. Pyotr Matochkin, a renowned Russian microbiologist who specialized in infectious diseases and biological warfare.

Matochkin was born on July 20, 1943 in Ufa, Russia, at the height of the Second World War. A near-fatal case of smallpox during his childhood had steered him towards a career in microbiology, and as soon as he graduated from the USSR Academy of Sciences, he was travelling around the world, examining new strains of disease and creating cures to combat them. But back in Russia, he was put to work in creating biological weapons that could be launched alongside the Soviet Union’s nuclear and chemical missiles. Upon the collapse of the Soviet Union, however, funding for biological warfare research was slashed to a bare minimum, and many of Matochkin’s colleagues had been pirated away by private companies with the promise of much higher pay. Only Matochkin was left of the original team, and he too was soon lured away from his laboratory by Konstantin Benin, who had given him a very lucrative contract for a year of working in the Sevenivov Research Institute.

“I hope that your time in the Institute would be worth your while,” said Benin as they stepped out of his Antonov.

“No, Mr. Benin, my only worry is that your people wouldn’t be able to understand my devilish algorithms,” replied Matochkin, and the two laughed like old friends.

“Speaking of your colleagues, Doctor, here they come now.” Benin pointed at a black Zil limousine that was parked beside another, larger limousine. Two men had stepped out and were walking towards Matochkin and Benin. The first one raised his hand and said, “Pleased to meet you, Dr. Matochkin. I am Dr. Ivan Movsarovich Bakhusov.”

Matochkin shook his hand, recalling that he was a senior when Bakhusov entered the Academy of Sciences. As he turned to face the other man, a smile crept into his face and he wrapped the man in a tight bear hug. “Mikhail Anastasovich Vebokov!” he said.

“Ah, Pyotr Ivanovich, it’s good to see you again!” Vebokov tried to return the hug, but his ribs protested under the pressure. “So, you’ve finally left the comfort of your apartment for a real job, eh?”

“Well, I had no choice, Mikhail Anastasovich. I’m the only one in our old division that could still understand those forty-year-old equations.”

“Well, it’s good to see that everyone has been acquainted with each other,” said Benin. “Now, I’ll be leaving you three here. Important matters await me at my desk.” He then got onto his limousine, which peeled out of the airport with astonishing speed.

“Being a president must be harrowing work,” said Matochkin as the three entered Bakhusov’s limousine. “I mean, he is younger than each one of us, yet he moves like my arthritic grandfather-in-law.”

“Yes, he does keep a busy schedule visiting the people and running the troops,” replied Bakhusov, sipping a glass of vodka.

“’Running the troops’?”

“You must be very isolated in that little lab of yours,” said Vebokov. “Krakozhia has invaded Rivymiyitevko. Now, you’re probably thinking why you were approached by Benin.”