Short Story: The Final Curtain

Short Story: The Final Curtain

The unrest in Victory Square had been building all morning. In all his years as President, Viktor Kotik had never seen such an outpouring of emotion from the public. He could hear the crowd outside his window. Uncertainty paralysed his thoughts.

Nicoletta swept into the room. Her high heels clacked on the marble floor as she walked over to his desk.

‘Can you hear them, Viktor?’ She asked. ‘Those traitorous bastards are calling for you to resign. The nerve of these people - they even sing our glorious anthem.’

Still caught up in his reverie, Viktor looked at her blankly for a moment.

‘What are you going to do?’

‘My Darling Nicoletta, have I not dedicated my energy to lead this great nation? Have I not devoted my life to serving the needs of the people?’

‘All that and more my darling,’ she replied, ‘the people love you as much as I do.’ Viktor smiled. He could feel some of his confidence returning now that Nicoletta was by his side.

‘These,’ she waved at the window, ‘are nothing but malcontents and agitators stirring up trouble. You should have the police arrest them all before they spread more of their poison.’

It was at times like these that Viktor most valued his darling Nicolletta. She was a clear thinker, always knew the right thing to do. He trusted her above any adviser.

‘You are right as always, it would be unfortunate if these agitators were allowed to spread their lies and dissent amongst the population.’ He rose from his chair, empowered and decisive again. ‘I will call the Chief of the Security Police and have this rabble broken up.’

Viktor was a small man. His large hooked nose and beady eyes made him look like a wizened old vulture. He picked up the phone.

‘Get me General Markovich and be quick about it.’ He clattered the phone back onto its cradle and sat down in his chair. Now that Nicoletta was with him, he felt confident he would soon have the situation back under control. She was right; it was just a few malcontents. Once he had the leaders arrested, the protests would soon crumble and all would be right again.

General Markovich bustled into the room accompanied by Petric his nervous looking adjutant. ‘Comrade President,’ he bellowed, ‘the situation is very serious; I have received dozens of reports of unrest across the city.’

Before Viktor could reply, Nicoletta interjected. ‘And what are your troops doing to put a stop to it?’

Markovich bristled. ‘Madame, I regret to inform you that many of our troops are apparently defecting to join the mob.’

‘What! That is preposterous. Get your officers to shoot a few of the treacherous bastards. That will soon restore discipline.’

‘I’m afraid that the situation is already beyond such measures. In many cases, the junior officers are leading the defections. The chain of command has completely broken down and I have at least one report of an entire regiment defecting. We can no longer rely on the army to protect you.’

Viktor’s eyes flicked from his wife to the General and back again while Petric unrolled a map onto his desk and began marking areas thought to be under rebel control. He felt the panic rising again.

‘What can we do to restore order?’ He asked.

‘Very little Comrade President. I recommend that you and your wife leave before order breaks down completely.’

‘Leave?’ Viktor echoed in a voice barely above a whisper.

‘What? And have the country left to the mercy of the mob?’ Nicoletta was aghast.

Markovich looked at the President with mixture of pity and contempt. As a career soldier, he had sworn a duty to the leader of his country for good or for ill. The reward for his loyalty to this wretched man and his shrew of a wife was likely to be a firing squad. ‘Sir, it is my professional opinion that, if you do not leave within the next few hours, you will be taken into custody by the rebels.’

Viktor paled and swallowed hard.

‘We would both rather die!’ Nicolletta spat.

‘Madame Kotik, I am certain that is exactly what will happen if you stay here.’

Petric cleared his throat. ‘Fortunately Sir we do have an evacuation plan for just such a situation…’

Markovich turned to Petric. ‘We do?’

‘Yes sir, it was based on a nuclear attack scenario but the basic principle is the same.’

‘Well come on then man, out with it damn you!’ Nicoletta demanded.

Petric stiffened. ‘There is a tunnel located in the basement of this building which will take you beneath Victory Square and into the basement of the Supreme Court. We can radio ahead to arrange for a helicopter to land there and take you out of the city.’

Nicoletta gave a cold smile. Her deep red lipstick reminded Markovich of a fox with fresh blood on its jaws. ‘How quickly can you arrange this?’

‘We can be moving as soon as the President gives the order.’

All eyes turned to the President sitting slumped behind his desk.

‘Do it,’ he said.

Petric would remember the journey with all the vivid quality of a nightmare. A musty smell filled the tunnel. Mould coated the crumbling whitewashed bricks in black green swathes. Thick cobwebs hung in clusters from the low roof, brushing against his face as they walked. The President’s wife had delayed their departure from the palace while she collected her “essentials” from the Presidential residence. She carried these items in a succession of bulky Louis Vuitton bags. Her squawking echoed from the walls as she tottered along the length of the tunnel.

When they reached the end they went through a set of heavy iron doors then up winding stone steps to the Supreme Court.

They reached the top floor and the door to the outside. The sound of the mob grew louder once more, competing with the sound of the Helicopter. It sat perched on the rooftop, rotors beating the air like a giant green dragonfly. The crew chief was gesturing anxiously at them to get aboard. He pulled the President up into the belly of the machine and then held his hand out for the President’s wife.

‘Leave that stuff,’ he shouted over the engine noise. ‘Too much weight – we’ll never get off the roof.’

Nicoletta was about to protest when a muffled series of explosions came from below. The building trembled with the force of the blasts. Petric watched as Markovich took matters into his own hands. Before Nicoletta could argue, he grabbed the woman by the waist and pushed her into the helicopter. He then stooped, picked up a bag at random and tossed it in after her. The bag thumped into her backside provoking a shriek of outrage. He gestured to Petric. ‘Get on board, Nicolae.’

‘What about you, sir?’

Markovich glanced over to the stairs and then back to Petric. ‘They’ll be here in a few moments Nicolae – maybe I can buy you some time to get away. You might still have a chance. Whatever happens, my fate is bound up with the President, his wife and the things they have done.’

Petric nodded at his commanding officer. He saluted and clambered aboard the helicopter.

As they climbed away from the roof, Petric watched the General draw his service pistol from his holster and aim it at the doorway. He turned his head away before the shots came.

They had been flying for nearly twenty minutes when the helicopter lurched violently. The Kotiks had been quiet since they had left the Presidential palace. The President appeared to be catatonic while Nicoletta sobbed discreetly. Her smeared make-up made her look like a little girl playing grown up.

‘What’s going on?’ Petric asked the crew chief as the helicopter stabilised.

‘I don’t know. I’ll speak to the pilot.’ He made for the cockpit just as the helicopter rocked again.

Petric scrambled over to the window and looked out. He saw a sleek jet fighter take up station beside the helicopter.

‘There’s one on this side too,’ the crew chief announced.

Petric watched as the jet banked to expose an array of sharp pointed missiles slung beneath its wings. The message was clear.

‘Tell the pilot to take us down,’ he said.

The sun was sinking below the horizon as the helicopter landed in the small clearing. A reception committee made up of soldiers, local police and a smattering of armed civilians was waiting for them there. Petric stepped down from the helicopter and walked over to their leader.

The man was an army Major with a flushed face. As Petric drew closer, he caught a whiff of vodka on the man’s breath.

Petric took out his pistol and prepared to hand it over by the barrel. The Major looked at the gun as if it were an alien artefact.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘I am Captain Nicolae Petric, personal aide to General Markovich. I was ordered to escort the President and his wife.’

‘So it’s true then, they are both in there?’

Petric nodded.

The Major clapped Petric on the back. ‘Excellent. They just announced over the radio that a new provisional government has formed. These two,’ he waved towards the Kotiks as they stepped out into the field, ‘have been declared enemies of the people and are to be taken back to the capital to stand trial for their crimes.’

‘What about me?’

The Major shrugged. ‘Depends if you’re with us or with them,’ he said, ‘most of the security forces have joined the revolution but there are still a few die-hards that will need to be dealt with.’

Petric thought for a moment. He looked over at the Kotiks. A soldier had stripped Nicoletta of her fur coat and was parading around the field with it on while his comrades laughed.

He re-holstered his gun and offered his hand to the Major.

The firing squad cocked their rifles. The soldiers were all young conscripts drawn by lottery. Each man wore a black ski mask to conceal his identity from the watching news camera. Petric stood beside the camera watching intently.

‘Please, I beg of you… allow us to leave in peace. The country is yours now. We are no longer a threat to you… I have money, I can pay you, make you wealthy just let us go …please…’ Viktor scrabbled in the dirt. All semblance of dignity had left the man now. A mixture of tears and snot dripped from his nose to the ground as he continued to babble.

‘Get it over with you swine,’ Nicolletta spat on the ground. ‘I’d be surprised if any of you worthless traitors have the balls to pull a trigger.’ She grabbed her husband by the collar of his overcoat. ‘Get up Viktor. Don’t beg to these bastards. Show them you are a better man.’

The sound of gunfire startled the news cameraman. It was only one gun at first; the rest joined the chorus a second later. Viktor fell backwards as the bullets punched into him, puncturing skin and smashing bone. His hat flew from his head and landed several feet away as a shot hit him in the face. Nicoletta lurched forward even as the bullets tugged and tore at her body. She screamed as she fell to the ground – it was an ugly primal sound. The guns continued to fire even though there was little possibility that either could still be alive. The continued impacts gave a grisly impression of animation, making the bodies twitch in the dirt. Finally the firing stopped and silence returned to the clearing once more. A blue haze of gun smoke hung in the air illuminated by shafts of sunlight. An officer went over and kicked the bodies to make sure. One of the young soldiers in the firing squad pulled off his ski mask and vomited onto the carpet of pine needles and empty cartridge cases at his feet. Petric placed a hand over the camera lens.

‘Enough,’ he said. ‘It is done.’