Chapter 23: Zero Hour Confrontation
Alma-Ata TV Tower, 12 March 1990, approaching midnight
It was witching hour in Alma-Ata. The city was shrouded in a cloak of darkness. Sofya Vedenina silently rode the lift to the top of the Alma-Ata TV Tower. She arrived at the top observation deck, which at this late hour seemed to be deserted. The night sky stretched above, a vast canvas dotted with stars, and the city lay below, its twinkling lights like a sea of fireflies.
Sofya stepped out onto the observation deck, thinking she was alone. The cold night air made her shiver, a feeling she was used to in the world of espionage. But her trained senses told her that someone else was there, a figure sitting quietly by the railing, hidden by the darkness.
Sofya's footsteps echoed softly as she approached the solitary figure. Getting closer, she could see the person wore a fur cap, with medium-length dark hair. Sofya could not yet see the details of their face.
"Good evening," Sofya greeted cautiously. "I was told to meet Crimson Lady here."
As Sofya's eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see more details of the figure. It was a woman in her fifties, with fine lines on her face that told of a life well-lived. She had thoughtful eyes that suggested a quiet intelligence, and her confident posture suggested that she was used to being in charge. Her hands were calmly resting on the bench beside her, and she seemed to be unaffected by the cold night air, as if she were used to the harsh conditions of both the physical and political worlds she had navigated.
In other words, the woman was a seasoned veteran of life, and she was clearly not to be trifled with.
Her face has a mix of European and Asian features, a common sight in Central Asia. She is wearing a loose-fitting dark overcoat that hides her figure, and underneath it is a simple blouse and skirt. It is an outfit that is clearly chosen for practicality rather than fashion, perfect for clandestine meetings in the cold Alma-Ata night.
"Your accent. You're from Moscow, aren't you?" the woman inquired, her voice calm and composed. She spoke with a certain gravitas that suggested a deep understanding of the world they inhabited.
Sofya hesitated for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Yes," she replied, her tone neutral.
The woman, however, didn't leave Sofya hanging for long. She continued, her tone casual as she gestured towards the towering structure they stood upon. "And do you happen to know who built this place, the Alma-Ata TV Tower?"
Sofya felt a subtle tension in the air, sensing that the woman's question might be a test, a probing of her origins and loyalties. But she happened to know the answer. "I believe it was built on the idea of Dinmukhammed Konaev, the former First Secretary of the Communist Party of Kazakhstan," she ventured cautiously, "inspired by Moscow's Ostankino Tower."
The woman nodded, her expression revealing nothing. "Correct," she acknowledged. "You're well-informed."
Sofya couldn't help but feel a growing curiosity about this woman who had chosen the top of the Alma-Ata TV Tower as their meeting place. It wasn't a typical location for clandestine meetings, and it added an air of mystery to the encounter.
Before Sofya could voice any further questions or concerns, the woman continued, "I know you are KGB agent Sofya Vedenina, and you're here because Duisenov informed you. He works under me."
Sofya, realizing that the older woman knew her identity, carefully chose her words and said, "Yes, I was instructed to meet someone here. I was told to meet Crimson Lady."
The older woman's thoughtful eyes regarded Sofya with a hint of amusement. "Crimson Lady is my code-name," she confirmed, her tone remaining composed. "I am the chairwoman of the KGB's Kazakhstan branch."
Sofya was surprised to learn the true identity of the woman she was meeting with. She had expected someone high-ranking, but the chairwoman of the KGB's Kazakhstan branch was beyond her expectations. Sofya managed to stay calm and showed respect to the woman's authority. She remembered that Duisenov told her that the orders for the blackmail mission came from the KGB's Kazakhstan branch, which meant that this woman could be the mastermind behind the plot.
"And do you have something for me, Miss Vedenina?" the chairwoman inquired, her voice carrying the weight of their clandestine meeting.
"Yes," Sofya admitted, her voice low but steady. "I have the documents and photographs from Pyotr Rozagin."
Sofya took a deep breath, realizing the importance of this exchange. Without wasting any time, she unfastened her briefcase and opened it. With deliberate care, she retrieved a set of documents, the contents of which were purported to be Pyotr Rozagin's plans for cultural reform within the Soviet Union.
The chairwoman's eyes, still filled with the wisdom of years spent in the shadows, studied the documents Sofya presented. With her gloved hand, Sofya handed over the first part of the exchange, the set of documents. These papers were purportedly Pyotr Rozagin's plans for cultural reform within the Soviet Union, a potential treasure trove of sensitive information.
The chairwoman's keen eyes never wavered as she accepted the documents, her fingers brushing lightly over the contents. Yet, it was apparent that her primary interest lay not solely in the papers before her.
Her gaze remained fixed upon Sofya's face, a gaze that pierced through any pretense. "Tell me, Sofya Vedenina, did you manage to secure Pyotr Rozagin's full compliance?" she inquired, her tone holding a note of expectation.
Sofya, unflinching under the chairwoman's scrutiny, met her gaze squarely. "I have used the necessary methods to ensure his cooperation," she replied, her voice unwavering. "He understands the consequences of non-compliance, both personally and for his precious cause."
The chairwoman's gaze remained unwavering, her demeanor reflecting the seriousness of their mission. "And what happens if Rozagin were to change his mind, Miss Vedenina?"
Without hesitation, Sofya responded, her determination clear. "I've left no room for doubt in his mind, Chairwoman. Should he even entertain the idea of betrayal, I made it abundantly clear that the incriminating photographs we possess would find their way to the public eye, the Communist party, and his wife, Dita. He knows that his reputation, his career, and his personal life would be in ruins should he cross us."
The chairman nodded in understanding. "Good. We must ensure that our leverage remains potent."
Sofya proceeded to her next inquiry, her respect for the chairwoman's expertise evident. "What would you advise me to do with the photographs now, Chairwoman? Should I retain them or dispose of them?"
The Crimson Lady's calculating gaze remained locked onto Sofya's, a testament to her strategic acumen. Her decision was swift, reflecting her astute judgment.
"Show me the photographs, Sofya," she requested, her tone unwavering.
Without hesitation, Sofya reached into an inner pocket of her suit, retrieving a sealed envelope. It contained the damning evidence that had secured Rozagin's cooperation. She handed it to the chairwoman with a deliberate and steady motion, understanding the gravity of their exchange.
However, just as Sofya extended her hand to pass the envelope, an unexpected and perilous interruption occurred. A fiery object hurtled across the observation deck, blazing a trail toward Sofya with dangerous intent.
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Lift going up to the topmost observation deck, Alma-Ata TV Tower
Maxine had always been fond of baseball. From a young age, she displayed an innate talent for throwing baseballs with incredible precision. In fact, she was better at it than her twin brother, Maximilian, and had once dreamed of pursuing a career as a professional baseball athlete. But life had different plans for her, leading her down the path of espionage as a CIA agent.
During her CIA training, Maxine's exceptional throwing skills didn't go unnoticed by her instructors. It all began with a simple demonstration during a physical fitness evaluation, where she effortlessly exhibited her pinpoint accuracy in launching baseballs. Recognizing the potential in her unique ability, her instructors encouraged her to explore and refine it further.
She dedicated countless hours to perfecting her throwing techniques, adapting her innate talent to various objects. Whether it was knives, grenades, mailing tubes, or even small objects as tiny as coins or dice, Maxine consistently hit her targets with uncanny precision. Her instructors marveled at her ability to transform seemingly everyday items into deadly projectiles.
In her current mission, Maxine had already put her remarkable throwing skills to practical use. First, during the exhibition opening ceremony at Istanbul Archaeological Museum, she had subtly dropped a small listening device into Pyotr Rozagin's suit pocket, all while maintaining her cover as a guest. Her precise aim had ensured that the device went in unnoticed. Then, during the confrontation with Isabella Luciani at Rumeli Hisarı, she had used a well-aimed stone to disrupt Isabelle's dangerous attack, turning the tide of the encounter in her favor.
As she rode the elevator to the topmost observation deck of the Alma-Ata TV Tower, her mind raced through various scenarios she might encounter, especially the potential confrontation with Sofya Vedenina and the chance to thwart the blackmail plot by neutralizing the incriminating photographs, if Sofya happened to bring them with her there.
Maxine assessed the items she had gathered: a vodka bottle with some vodka remaining, a cigarette lighter, cleaning cloths, paper towels, and paint thinner. Her CIA training, encompassing subjects in science, history, and quick thinking in critical situations, kicked into high gear as she formulated a plan. Lessons in chemistry, World War II, and mass protests rushed through her memory. With practiced hands and a composed mind, she began crafting an improvised Molotov cocktail.
She poured the paint thinner into the half-empty vodka bottle, mixing it with the remaining vodka to create a flammable concoction. A dry cloth and a paper towel were ingeniously fashioned into a makeshift wick.
Maxine placed the Molotov cocktail in the empty trash container within the trolley, ensuring it remained concealed. She held the cigarette lighter in her hand, prepared to ignite the makeshift weapon if the situation demanded it. As the elevator continued its ascent, she braced herself for whatever challenges awaited her at the top of the tower.
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Midnight had arrived as Maxine reached the topmost floor of the Alma-Ata TV Tower. The lift door opened soundlessly into the enclosed observation deck, a space devoid of any furniture, surrounded by windows and crowned by a roof. It offered an unobstructed view of Alma-Ata from above, with the city's lights scattered like stars beneath the vast, dark sky—an awe-inspiring sight. However, Maxine had little time to appreciate the view as her focus was firmly on her mission.
As she exited the lift, pushing the janitor trolley which carried cleaning supplies and her concealed Molotov cocktail, she noticed Sofya Vedenina some distance away. Sofya was engaged in a meeting with a middle-aged woman who wore a cap, the details of their exchange unfolding before Maxine's eyes. Sofya had pulled out an envelope, and its contents were revealed—photographs.
Maxine's heart quickened as she grasped the gravity of the situation. The very photographs that were central to the blackmail scheme lay exposed. Sofya remained oblivious to Maxine's presence, fully engrossed in the covert rendezvous.
Without a moment to lose, Maxine swiftly pulled out the Molotov cocktail she had prepared and ignited it. The cloth wick flickered with an ominous orange glow, casting eerie shadows in the dimly lit observation deck. Concealed in the shadows, she took careful aim at the unsuspecting duo, her honed throwing skills ensuring accuracy. The flaming projectile arced through the air, closing the distance between them rapidly. Maxine braced herself for the impending chaos, fully aware that the consequences of her actions would echo through the night.
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In the eerie silence of the Alma-Ata TV Tower's observation deck, Sofya Vedenina's senses sharpened as she detected a sudden disturbance. It was the unmistakable sight of something flaming hurtling toward her, but its trajectory was peculiar—too high and with a straight, unyielding path rather than the typical parabolic arc of a thrown object.
Initial bewilderment gave way to a horrifying realization as the fiery projectile drew closer. Sofya's sharp mind pieced together the puzzle in an instant: it was a burning Molotov cocktail bottle. The seemingly errant trajectory was deliberate—it was aimed at the ceiling directly above her.
As this grim comprehension settled in, time seemed to slow to a crawl. The incendiary device collided with the overhead structure, its glass bottle shattering with a deafening explosion. A torrent of flames erupted, showering Sofya and her enigmatic companion with fiery droplets, unleashing chaos and panic within the enclosed space. The acrid stench of burning alcohol and turpentine permeated the air, assaulting their nostrils.
Amidst this fiery turmoil, the envelope containing the damning photographs slipped from Sofya's grasp. It tumbled toward the inferno, and just as Maxine had intended, the flames caught hold of the envelope. It began to smolder and burn, giving off the faint scent of charred paper, and the precious contents within threatened by the encroaching fire. Sofya immediately tried to reach the burning envelope, to put out the fire and save the important photographs. The intense heat of the flames washed over her, like a blistering wave of fury.
However, her efforts were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a gunshot, echoing in the cacophony of chaos. It sent a jolt of adrenaline through Sofya's veins, and she had to pull her hand away from the envelope. The danger had escalated, and Sofya realized the presence of another person causing this fiery nightmare.
Determined to thwart Sofya's attempts to extinguish the fire consuming the photograph envelope, Maxine swiftly drew her pistol and began firing in rapid succession. Gunshots rang out, the muzzle flashes illuminating the chaotic scene.
Sofya reacted swiftly, drawing her own weapon in response to the unexpected threat. Her trained instincts kicked in, and she fired back at the approaching threat. Loud bangs erupted in the confined space, each bullet exchanged punctuating the chaos that had engulfed the observation deck.
Meanwhile, the Crimson Lady, who had retreated to avoid the flames, found herself initially stunned by the sudden turn of events. However, her extensive experience swiftly resurfaced, restoring her composure. She assessed the volatile situation, prepared for the necessary action amidst the tumultuous spectacle that unfolded before her.
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Within the enclosed observation deck atop the Alma-Ata TV Tower, chaos reigned as flames flickered overhead, casting unsettling shadows in the dimly lit space. Maxine, armed with a Glock 19 pistol, and Sofya, wielding a Makarov PMM, locked eyes in a deadly standoff.
Maxine fired a series of shots in Sofya's direction. Her main intention was to keep Sofya engaged and away from the flaming envelope. Her shots were precise, yet her marksmanship paled in comparison to Sofya's.
Caught off guard by the sudden eruption of gunfire, Sofya promptly returned fire with her pistol. The deafening reports of their firearms echoed in the confined space, punctuated by the occasional spark as bullets hit metal or concrete. Amid the chaos, the acrid scent of gunpowder hung in the air, a grim reminder of the deadly exchange.
Maxine's unwavering resolve to keep Sofya at bay encountered a harsh reality as she soon comprehended the extent of Sofya's shooting prowess. One of Sofya's shots found its mark, striking Maxine's chest. The Kevlar armor vest Maxine wore did its job, preventing the bullet from penetrating her torso. However, the impact was still powerful, like a powerful blow that sent Maxine stumbling backward. She winced from the force of the blow but managed to maintain her grip on her gun.
Even in her staggered state, Maxine managed to return fire, a stroke of luck causing a bullet to graze Sofya's shoulder and draw blood. Sofya flinched as the bullet grazed her shoulder, causing a searing pain. She knew she couldn't let her guard down, even for a moment.
Despite the burning pain in her shoulder, Sofya saw her opponent fell and seized the opportunity to address the fire consuming the envelope. She bent down to reach for it, but before she could fully attend to the blaze, Maxine seized another chance and fired another shot. This bullet struck perilously close to Sofya, compelling her to momentarily abandon her efforts.
Recognizing that her opponent remained a formidable threat, Sofya couldn't relent. Maxine, still grappling to regain her footing, became the target of two more quick shots from Sofya. The gunshots reverberated through the enclosed observation deck, each shot echoing like a thunderclap in their ears. The bullets forced Maxine to dodge and, despite her Kevlar armor protecting her torso, endure impacts that felt akin to kicks and stomps. Maxine let out a pained cry but managed to rise, albeit with considerable effort.
Amidst the intense firefight between Maxine and Sofya in the enclosed observation deck, the Crimson Lady had managed to avoid getting involved in the violence. However, she couldn't do anything to rescue the photographs, and as she observed the unfolding chaos, she noticed with dismay that half of the envelope had already been consumed by the flames. The valuable contents were at risk of being lost forever.
With a sense of resolve, the Crimson Lady pulled out a walkie-talkie and called for backup. Her voice remained composed as she relayed the dire situation to her associates, requesting immediate assistance.
Meanwhile, the firefight between Maxine and Sofya approached a critical juncture. Maxine, realizing that her ammunition was running dangerously low and the undeniable disparity in shooting skills, assessed the situation. She glanced at the burning envelope, recognizing that the fire had devoured more than half of its contents. The photographs were on the brink of destruction. It means a big part of her mission would be finally complete—the photographs ruined, and the blackmailers would no longer be able to threaten Pyotr Rozagin.
With a sense of desperation, Maxine made a difficult decision. She fired her last three bullets at Sofya, hoping to wound or incapacitate her adversary, if not eliminate her altogether. Two of the shots found their mark; one pierced Sofya's thigh, while the other grazed her side, causing the KGB agent to scream in agonizing torment.
After emptying her gun, Maxine turned to escape, her body aflame with searing pain from the injuries sustained during the firefight. Her thoughts raced as she tried to reach the door to the emergency stairs, her vision blurring at the edges.
Seeing her adversary trying to flee, Sofya took aim, intending to fire a lethal shot at their head. However, the pain caused by gunshot wounds in her thigh and side caused her to miss. Instead of hitting the head, the bullet struck Maxine's back, which was fortunately protected by the bulletproof armor vest she wore.
The exchange of gunfire had taken its toll on Maxine. Even though the reliable vest's protection prevented open wounds, the cumulative force of four bullets had left her severely bruised and mired in agonizing distress. The final shot that met her back knocked her down, and she collapsed on the floor. Her body, incapable of enduring further punishment, yielded to the overwhelming pain, and her vision dimmed. Maxine's world began to spin, and she teetered on the precipice of unconsciousness.
As the relentless flames consumed the photographs, their mission slipping through their fingers, Sofya's frustration and anger reached a boiling point. She screamed in rage and pain, her body bearing the wounds inflicted by Maxine's bullets, and her hopes of salvaging the photographs shattered.
Sofya hobbled toward her fallen adversary. The Crimson Lady followed closely, their footsteps resonating amidst the tension and despair. With trembling hands, Sofya grabbed her opponent's head, trying to see the face of the person who had thwarted her mission. Recognition flashed across her face, and she screamed, her voice dripping with fury. "You! Maxine Remington! CIA!"
Sofya's mind raced as she remembered their previous encounter. Two years before, Maxine Remington had been aiding that East German traitor Woitke, who had sold vital state secrets to the Western bloc, and Sofya had thwarted their plans by orchestrating a bomb attack that killed Woitke. However, she had never confirmed Maxine's demise in that explosion, and now, seeing Maxine alive and well, Sofya realized her mistake. Maxine had resurfaced to disrupt her mission, and Sofya was determined not to let history repeat itself.
With a swift and resolute motion, Sofya cocked her Makarov PMM and pressed it firmly against Maxine's temple, her intent clear—to end the CIA agent's life then and there. The weight of the gun against Maxine's skin was a chilling reminder of impending death. Sofya's finger hovered over the trigger, and her voice was cold and resolute. "You won't escape this time, CIA."
Maxine, on the brink of losing consciousness, could feel the gun against her temple. Her mind raced with thoughts of the mission, and of her life. She knew that if Sofya pulled that trigger, everything would be over.
One last thought before Maxine's consciousness shut down: Is this the end?
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