Rainbow Six: November Sun

38: "MR. LEBEDEV"

13:33

STREET LEVEL - EAST SIDE
CORNER OF 7TH & M STREET

Viktor Sidorov walked briskly on the sidewalk towards the looming convention center. The walkways were crowded with the turnout for the political summit, and he took a deep breath as he shouldered past some men in business suits.

This was it.

He knew that his comrades were in place in their predetermined positions, probably just as nervous as he was. How strange it was to have prepared for a moment for so many years, and then be so internally tested when it finally arrived - even if it wasn't going to happen exactly as planned.

Matvei was supposed to be there. The leader of the entire movement, absent from a strike that was supposed to have been the final statement of anger, a last scream of fury at the lawless, brutal killings of so many innocents at Beslan School Number One.

The strike on the Joint Summit was indeed originally to have ended with a mushroom cloud over Washington, D.C. But Matvei was not able to acquire the bomb, and so now Viktor and his men were left to their own devices... which, though formidable, paled in comparison to a nuclear blast.

It would not be of Biblical proportions, but they would still make their statement.

The man clutched at the duffel bag over his shoulder and tightened his grip on his camera slung over the other; he kept tugging at the Media Staff badge hanging on a lanyard at his neck. Posing as a member of the media was not as simple as it sounded - it involved counterfeiting documents and the badge itself with notable quality, as well as installing false records in pre-screened security databases.

Not easy at all, but they had managed. They didn't all get degrees in engineering and computer science for nothing. Now, the D.C. attack rested on Viktor's shoulders, and he gathered his wits as he approached the security guards at one of many side entrances restricted to staff only.

Matvei had his own problems, now. He had to acquire the bomb and carry out the final strike without Viktor and the others. The least Viktor and his team could do was their part in making November Sun's message known even further.

Viktor neared the security guards. Four were on-site security staff, and two police officers flanked them. One of them had a K9 unit on a leash.

Viktor smiled and slowed to a casual pace, holding up his badge. "Good morning."

"Morning." One of the guards motioned him forward and pointed to a bin on a small conveyor belt. "Please empty your pockets and place the contents into the bin. Set your bag on the belt."

Sidorov nodded and obeyed. He took care not to watch the police dog sniff at his bag.

The security guard beckoned him forward through the metal detector. "Step forward. Remain in place."

"Sure." As Viktor did so, he saw the K9 officer tug his dog gently away from the bag, satisfied that there was no suspicious contraband. One of the other security guards was watching a screen that had scanned the contents of the bag, and he nodded to a third colleague standing nearby, who promptly opened Viktor's bag and rummaged through it.

Viktor decided to take a chance and act his part. "I need to get my station set up, guys. It's just my camera and gear. I'm with RIA Novosti, Moscow."

The guards didn't answer, and the man kept his mouth shut and waited for them to finish their search. They would not find anything incriminating, after all.

"Looks good," one of the inspectors announced. "You're clear, Mr. Lebedev."

Viktor Sidorov flashed a grateful grin and shouldered his gear. As he entered the first floor of the convention center, he pulled his phone from his pocket and opened his contacts. He walked briskly toward one of the nearby escalators as he hit SEND.

"Da?" came the voice on the other end.

"Is everyone in place, Dmitri?"

"All set."

"Good." Viktor leaned on the railing of the escalator as he rode up to the second floor. The crowded convention center was filled with the inaudible chatter of a hundred conversations bouncing off the tile and walls, one indiscernible rumble unaware of the terrorist in its midst. "I'm heading to the second floor."

"Sergei said package is in place. Door's open."

Viktor took a deep breath and checked his watch. He stepped around a businesswoman and apologized by polite habit. "Okay." He exhaled sharply. "For Beslan."

"For Beslan. I'll see you soon on the other side, brother. We all will."

"Good-bye, Dmitri."

Sidorov hung up and steeled himself against the gathering butterflies that bounced about in his gut. Thousands of people had shown up for the Joint Summit, so many that he had to sidle his way through the indoor crowds and steer around clusters of businessmen, press, political analysts, and tourists.

A man walked by holding his young son's hand, and Viktor stared at them both for a solemn moment. The sunlight shining through the enormous floor-to-ceiling glass panes shimmered into an ethereal glow as time seemed to slow. The noise of the people around them all merged together into one drone that echoed off the walls of Viktor's mind.

The boy and his father stepped in slow motion. The father was saying something that coaxed a goofy grin from the child's animated face.

Viktor froze. His heart iced over.

It was suddenly September of 2004 in Beslan, North Ossetia. Viktor was a twelve year old boy again. He was surrounded by his fellow classmates, all huddled together in a dark classroom. He was trying to calm his younger ten year old brother, Arkady.

Gunshots. A Chechen insurgent in camouflage shouted something Viktor couldn't understand. He and the boys and the girls cowered as two Chechens rushed into the room, rifles in hand.

An explosion outside. Another. Shots fired.

Viktor grasped his little brother tightly. He and the other children all screamed as gunfire riddled the classroom window. The head of one of the Chechens snapped back violently as a Russian bullet found its mark.

He embraced his little brother and tried to pull him away from the windows. The Spetsnaz rocket hit the building.

The wall shattered into a thousand pieces of stone, drywall, and glass. Shards scraped Viktor's cheek. The blast sent him, Arkady, the remaining Chechen gunman and a score of other children flailing through the air.

The wounded screams of the surviving children were too much for Viktor to revisit, even in the shadows of dreams. It was at this point he always snapped out of it, back to the present.

He was back, now - back at the convention center. His heart pounded. The flashback had dipped him into a cold sweat.

Viktor tore his eyes from the boy and his father and continued onward.