Sunflower

February 27, 1973

Professor Anastas Bagramyan looked out from his dacha towards the Black Sea in the failing last light of day. Steel gray cloud hung low over the equally dark water. The waves had been stirred by a storm which had lasted all day with wind and rain. Now they hit the shore with a constant rush producing white foam and green gray water. Prof. Bagramyan sipped his tea and smiled slightly as he ran a hand through his thinning almost white hair. He loved this weather. Like the water this cold overcast weather always stirred his imagination and thought process. The waft of fragrance from the hot tea summoned a retrieval cue of his deceased wife Yanje. The image was quickly disrupted by a quiet curse from his young research associate who had been clacking away at a typewriter all afternoon until another jam made him stop.

“Damn machine.”, the associate muttered.

“There, there Iosif.”, Prof. Bragramyan shook his head.

“This thing is just a piece of junk, must’ve been used in the Purge.”, Iosif replied setting the keys and ribbon then suddenly realizing his stupidity at mentioning Stalin’s Great Purge.

“I mean……………….sorry Professor, I’m a bit tired.”, Iosif added.

“Have a smoke…………..take a break, there’s no rush.”, Bagramyan answered.

The Professor spied a small slightly yellowed black and white picture set in an oval frame of him, his mother, and father taken long ago when he was little, before Stalin’s Purge. Before all that madness, before the Great Patriotic War, when everything seemed simpler.

He was now 69 years old, retired or at least semi retired from the Academy of Micro Biology in Moscow. Born in 1904 in Ijevan, Armenia to typically poor parents he was an only child. They quickly moved far away from Armenia to the large town of Orenburg near the Kazakh border where his father found work on the trans Aral railway from Orenburg to Tashkent, a job he had for the rest of his life. His mother found work as a seamstress. As for Anastas Bagramyan he found school to be easy and the work simple. He made a few friends there but mostly occupied his time alone, fascinated by the tiniest of creatures such as insects and the teeming world at the bottom of a small creek.

He wondered how such things so tiny could exist yet they did, apparently oblivious to Anastas or the macrocosm around him. Did it go on, were there things smaller than what he could see, objects that looked up at a midge as a giant or him as a benevolent god?

He would never forget a man that he first saw around this time while his mother took him to get bread. This man was old, white hair, white beard, always wore the same clothes, always sat on the same creaky bench against the cracked white plaster wall of a house, leaning forward on an ancient cane. He looked at Anastas every time he and his mother walked by, he could even feel the old man’s eyes upon him as he walked away. It always unnerved him. It wasn’t so much what the old man looked like but it was how the old man sounded when he looked at Anastas. His breathing was always phlegm like and the man hacked a particular way into a light blue and white handkerchief. The sound was deep, loud and disturbing.

“Mama, what is wrong with that man over there?”, he asked her as they walked.

“He is sick, little bugs make him sick.”, she answered.

Little bugs? He envisioned the little insects he saw in the grass inside the old man making him hack and cough. He’d always remember that old man, his eyes, his skin, his hands and that handkerchief.

By the age of 12 young Anastas in addition to school went to work shoveling coal at the Orenburg railway yard. It was hardest in the winter, where his fingers felt like they would fall off from the cold. He loved seeing his father come by as engineer on a steam locomotive. When his father rode past on a track close by he would blow the whistle making it chirp four times. Anastas would smile and so would his father showing his gold capped teeth, his face dirty from the coal dust.

As much as his father wished deep inside for his son to work in a factory or even as an engineer on a train, he knew it wouldn’t be much of a future. A local pharmacist suggested Anastas apply for university. After all as the pharmacist noted the boy seemed to like biology and often asked him surprisingly knowledgeable questions regarding medicines. Anastas’ father kept that in mind. The State however always seemed to glorify the individual who got their hands dirty working the machines that kept everything moving even if all you did was dig ditches.

But such a future wasn’t meant for his son. A young son who would delight in showing the father and mother little insects, tiny flowers and the random patterns of snowflakes. How could Anastas who asked so many questions about the world around him, be expected to work in a steel mill or shovel coal for the rest of his life. The father knew that a university was his son’s only future.

The father had joined the Communist Party early becoming quite active in it in the hopes that his involvement would better his son’s choices at university. He ingratiated himself with local Party officials who took note of train engineer #261 Comrade Bagramyan and his very astute intelligent son.

In a few short years Anastas was accepted to Leningrad University where he wished to study some field revolving around biology. The Communist Revolution was nearly ten years old by this time and it pushed for students to concentrate on either physical or political sciences. What Anastas really wanted was to investigate the microscopic world around and within us. So he found his niche in microbiology. He discovered retired Professor Sergei Winogradky’s work on the soil nitrification fascinating but it was reading articles on virology and epidemiology that intensely grabbed Anastas’ imagination.

Late at night he’d see the old man from the town square in his mind, looking at him, coughing and hacking. He even appeared in his dreams. That old man’s eyes seemed to say so much. Cure me, kill me, or help me. Anastas was never quite sure which. However, one night he had a nightmare, where he found himself and the old man alone in the shady town square. It was a beautiful bright sunny day but there were no people anywhere. So strange. Anastas approached the old man sitting on the bench, his tired bloodshot blue eyes boring through him like he remembered when he was a child.

“What is happening here? Where is everyone?”, Anastas asked.

“It is all finished. It’s all gone.”, he replied.

Anastas turned and saw a plume of dark smoke boiling over the horizon from a huge fire. The old man began to laugh.

“Why are you laugh………….?!”, Anastas stopped in mid sentence as he saw a rivulets of black blood leak out from one of the old man’s nostrils.

“Idiot. You’re such a presumptuous monkey!!!“, the man raged pointing a finger with a long yellow nail.

Anastas awoke with an exhale of air. Thankfully the nightmare ended. It all seemed too real. Never mind there is so much yet to do he reminded himself. Indeed there was.

Within months he read, ate and slept everything that had to do with Virology. His main Professor a very strict hard nosed 65 year old man who was never easy to impress saw Anastas as one of his few golden pupils. This intructor named Budenny, frequently mentioned to colleagues that he’d never have another golden student before retirement. Not only was Anastas an equal to the 3 previous special students of Budenny but in the professor’s mind, he was in fact greater.

Anastas proved it, receiving his Doctorate with a ground breaking dissertation on the life cycle of a virus in June 1930. The world changed for Professor Anastas Bagramyan. The State was truly proud to have such a mind further it’s goal to be the world leader in science and technology.

By 1937 he was made head of the Saratov Regional Institute for Microbiology and Epidemiology. However, with success and a likely bright future came emotional strain for two reasons.

His mother passed away from cancer in the Fall of ‘37 and Stalin’s Great Purge was in full swing. Both took an emotional toll on Anastas to the extent that he felt that he may be unable to do his job at the Institute.

On one hand his mother who had lent so much support through her letters to him during and after his school years was suddenly gone, and on the other his father being accused by some mid level local Party official of harboring some nebulous anti Soviet sentiment.

His workload, losing his mother, his father under investigation by the Soviet Secret Police (NKVD)and now suspicion of his own activities by higher officials brought him close to the breaking point. With such proverbial dark clouds over him there was a silver lining. Because of his research most of it was already being categorized as “secret” an upper level bureaucrat in Moscow named Zakharkin effectively came to his rescue.

Zakharkin was intuitive enough to see a long term asset to the state and knew that if the typical Party dolts had their way they would jail if not execute both Anastas and his father. The local Party “bigwig” in Orenburg who pointed a fat finger at Anastas’ father for alleged anti Soviet sentiment did so for personal reasons. No surprise in the current environment. People were selling out their friends and neighbors in the mistaken belief that it would ultimately save them from arrest, imprisonment, or death. “Bigwig” in Orenburg was doing the same until one day he was picked up by the NKVD and never seen again. For all those years he had lived the good life as a local Party hack “Bigwig” ultimately stepped on someone’s shoes that were bigger than his, and as a result, his usefulness came to an end. Anastas, his father, and career owed their future to Zakharkin’s hidden hand in the matter.

The Purge was still in people’s minds when the Second World War began for the Soviet Union on June 22, 1941. Most banded together to fight the German invader by fighting at the front or contributing at the factories. Anastas who was 37 by this time still worked at the Institute. He felt distracted by the war and wished to help in any way possible. He was advised by high level Party members to stay at the Institute but to be ready at anytime in case his service was needed.

The call for assistance came in October 1942 when he and several members of his own staff were required to head south down the Volga River to a city named Stalingrad. Anastas and his 8 colleagues were to be used as medics and help with wounded and if necessary be surgeons even if they weren’t trained in such a skill. He did his best to review himself and everyone else on human anatomy which he had taken years ago as a fresh faced university student.

His close knit group moved south by riverboat to the war zone. Their first taste of it came from the distant rumble of artillery and flashes from explosions at night. The boat took them to a small village on the East Bank of the Volga some ten miles north of the city. From the village a truck would take them to the rear area of the Soviet lines east of the city. By daylight a massive plume of dark smoke could be seen hanging over the devastated city. Black, and gray smoke mixed with a brownish haze clashed against a cloudless azure sky.

Anastas got his second taste of war when their transport was strafed by German Stuka divebombers. They had been attacked several times, each time they got out of the trucks and ran for cover. The experience was both frightening and somehow exhilarating to be under such threat. He was awed by the spectacle of the Stukas climbing, winging over and diving not just on them but other targets nearby.

Stalingrad was hellish. The city revealed what war truly was, a tragedy on an epic scale. A person can read about war but to truly appreciate it’s horrific consequences one must become immersed in it. Anastas was assaulted daily by the sights, smells, and sounds of combat. This wasn’t some gentleman’s war in a novel, but true barbarism. He discovered how the human mind changes when experiencing things that no one in their right mind should ever witness.

His group quickly found themselves working day and night till time had no meaning, until his mind no longer told him to wince or duck to every shot or explosion. Anastas was immune to seeing the human body mangled, burned, scorched, and dismembered. He like everyone else both Soviet and German had become so numb as to be like mindless robots moving automatically to and fro.

Several times he made the dangerous Volga crossing by boat to Stalingrad under heavy shellfire. Each time he paid less and less attention to the Soviet soldiers shouting for help flailing nearby in the water or the occasional thump as the boat hit lifeless bodies drifting by. Every trip to help and gather wounded back to the makeshift hospitals was a near suicide mission. Snipers, machine gun fire and mortar shells raked the ruins. Rats and lice made good the awful conditions that existed. The screams of the dying and wounded no longer bothered Anastas.

Four times he and a squad of stretcher bearers made their way up the large hill overlooking the city known as Mamayev Kurgan. So valuable was this hill that both sides tore each other to shreds to take it from the other. Anastas had been hit once in the leg and arm on a trip up the slopes of the infernal hill. Because of the freezing cold which now existed the dead and parts of dead bodies were as hard as stone. Gathering the wounded was a near superhuman effort to bring from Mamayev to a bombed out Post office building a few blocks away. Most of the time the wounded died by stray bullets and shrapnel by the time they reached this forward hospital but Anastas and the other medical personel had a job to do.

On the 19th of November Anastas in accordance with his academic backround was given a commission in the Red Army for the rank of Lt. Colonel. Coincidentally that same day the vast German Army trying to take the city was enveloped and surrounded by the Soviets. The turning point in the war against the invading Germans had begun. His few surviving colleagues gathered around him in a tent, and with some Vodka, raised a toast to Lt. Col. Professor Anastas Bagramyan, Stalin, and Mother Russia. It was that night when he received a letter from the Communist Party that his father while operating a train in Western Ukraine had been killed on June 28th, 1941 during a German air attack. His comrades looked at him sit and solemnly read it aloud. Everyone left to give him a moment to himself.

He just sat on the edge of a cot, the letter dropping from his hand onto the cold ground. He couldn’t cry for some reason. No matter how much he thought about his father he couldn’t bring up the tears. Anastas wanted to. He became angry with himself, the war, the suffering, and the horror of it all. The screaming, cursing, yelling, the sounds of death rattles he couldn’t erase from his mind. He began to pound both fists on his thighs over and over in a frenzy. His dark hair fell across his forhead, his face contorted. He was struck by a desperate need to express himself to acknowledge he was still a human being. That’s what it took. That finally dredged up the tears. Tears for his father, mother, tears for every soldier who died before him begging Anastas to save them. Tears for the maimed, the dead, the dispersed, and the lost. Anastas felt a weight being released from his shoulders. From that night onward, he never cried again.

The fighting for Stalingard ended in January 1943 amidst the bitter raw cold Russian winter. The Soviet 62nd Army which Anastas and his colleagues had been assigned to, held out against all odds amidst the frozen rubble. It’s General, Vasily Chuikov had help defeat the mighty 6th German Army in a battle of attrition. Anastas who had been awarded the Medal of Bravery was assigned to serve under the victorious Chuikov for the remainder of the war as head of a Medical battalion under the newly formed 8th Guards Army. Only units that distinguished themselves in battle through bravery and sacrifice were given the title “Guards”.

So Professor Bagramyan trained to research and teach wearing clothes than befitted a scholar, wore military brown and marched west towards the ultimate goal of taking Berlin and defeating Nazi Germany. It was there in April 1945 that Anastas was nearly killed in fighting that surpassed Stalingrad in it’s ferocity.

His near death experience did earn him the Order of the Red Star, not that he was out to be rewarded but his act of bravery a few blocks east of Potsdamer Strasse merited it. That day would always stand out in his memory not only for what he did but rather the moment he met his wife to be, Yanje Kazakov.

What brought the two together began as another day of intense clashes. Berlin was aflame from one end to the other, it appeared that not a single building was untouched, rubble covered every inch of ground, and a massive pall of haze and smoke obscured the sky. The din of battle was continuous.

The 8th Guards Army had been fighting tooth and nail all the way since coming into the city days ago and the German will to fight, was incredibly vicious. Young German boys clad in black uniforms brazenly used anti tank bazookas known as Panzerfausts to destroy Soviet tanks by the dozens. In addition to these boys, more experienced German and foreign volunteers such as the French, Norwegians, Flemish, Danes, Dutch, Latvians in the Waffen SS, and regular German Army units offered considerable and organized resistance.

Anastas was ordered to direct his medical battalion to follow a Soviet tank regiment that was advancing through a small square not unlike the one he and his mother used to walk across in Orenberg. Suddenly, all hell broke loose when the tanks ran up against a fanatical SS detachment from the “Nordland” Division bent on stopping them at all costs. Four tanks brewed up from Panzerfaust hits, one tank exploded so violently that it’s turret was thrown over into the next block. Supporting Soviet infantry were cut down by a hailstorm of bullets coming from three directions. Anastas watched as men were cut in half, dismembered and beheaded from bullets and shrapnel. Tank crews desperately tried to extricate themselves from their burning tanks and escape to the rear, but many were badly wounded.

Anastas instinctively ran out on the large square towards the burning tanks to help rescue the injured tankers. As he ran bullets snapped by his ears, several bullets made holes in his uniform, hat and boot heels but he kept going. Anastas heard a shout from his side to give covering fire which helped keep the German’s heads down for a moment. He got up onto the first tank and helped pull the commander from the hatch. The tankers black padded helmet and olive colored uniform were smoldering as Anastas put him on his back and ran towards his own lines.

More Soviet tanks and infantry arrived on scene resulting in a massive firefight. Undaunted Anastas ran back and forth with the help of other stretcher bearers to rescue over a dozen wounded tankers and bring them back to safety. He was operating on adrenaline at this point when another Russian tank exploded sending it’s commander into the air. He landed about 100 yards away from Anastas’ position writhing in pain his screams drowned out by the din of battle, the rest of his tank crew dead. Bullets ricocheted around the injured man as the Professor took off to rescue him. This time a sergeant and lieutenant tried to stop Anastas from going, it was just to dangerous and the tanker was simply out of reach, but he slipped from their grasp when a German shell exploded nearby sending the sergeant and lieutenant diving for cover.

One hundred yards seemed like a hundred miles. The faster he ran the farther the wounded tank commander appeared. Anastas’ legs felt like spaghetti, and he swore as a bullet buzzed by his face and dirt in his right eye. Suddenly he found himself somersaulting to the left from some powerful push. A German mortar shell exploded not far from him, flinging him into the air like a rag doll. He lost all concept of time so he had no idea how long he had been laying on the ground being showered by dirt, and bits of concrete. Anastas tried to focus on the tanker, who had stopped moving by now. From where Anastas was, the commander appeared as if he was taking a nap.

His head cleared a bit as Anastas staggered to his feet and made it a few feet forward when a yellowish white flash appeared all around him. He lost consciousness. When he awoke he thought he could still hear the fighting which in reality had been over for two days since Germany’s unconditional surrender. Anastas was lucky. The blast was from a German Panther tank’s shell. If it hadn’t been for the blackened hulks of two Soviet tanks his body would’ve been torn asunder. Now he found himself on a cot in a field hospital, his face peppered with little stitches and a thumping headache.

The headache disappeared after a week. His physical recuperation took over two months during which time he found himself stationed near Berlin in the newly established “Soviet” zone. There wasn’t much to do except help evacuate the walking wounded onto trains going back east to the Soviet Union and oversee supply inventory. However, he did find he was the object of interest of a nurse named Yanje Kazakov.

Anastas didn’t even know until a lieutenant serving under him kept noticing the same girl coming back time and time again for supplies. Everytime she dropped by, she would look to see if Anastas had noticed her. He finally did after her sixth visit. His lieutenant thought Anastas was blind not to have noticed her from the beginning. Anastas’ nearly came to the same conclusion when he fist laid eyes upon her.

Sergeant Yanje Kazakov was a very stunning 17 year old blue eyed brunette from Ulan-Ude in east Siberia. Her olive green uniform hid her incredible womanly figure quite well and nicely clashed with her porcelain white skin. Her father like Anastas’ had both worked for the Trans Siberian railroad, and both had been engineers. Her father unlike his was still alive and operating trains for the military. Her loss came in the form of losing two older sisters who died during the war. One was killed operating a tank in 1942 the other while operating an anti aircraft gun in 1943. She had joined the Army soon after, lied about her age to get in and was posted as a nurse much to the utter dismay of both her father and mother who didn’t want to lose their third and only surviving child.

Yanje had never developed feelings for anyone at the advise from a Captain who while close to a nervous breakdown himself had enough mindset left to tell her that making friends would only lead to disaster and heartbreak in the end. She held out until she first noticed Anastas in May when he was brought in to the medical tent after his near death experience. Bloodied and bruised it was she who helped an orderly lay him down on a cot. Ever since she had a friend keep an eye on him for her.

Before long both were obviously quite a pair, but staying together was the problem. He wanted to get out of the army and so did she. The question was when would they be discharged.

That problem was quickly answered within the next few months the Soviet armed forces put in place a huge demobilization program releasing both of them and millions of others.

She went to visit her home in Ulan Ude and he to see his mother in Orenberg. Anastas was saddened to hear from a neighbor that his mother had passed away in August 1944 from an apparent heart attack. The neighbor said the stress of worrying about his safety and the loss of her husband were the likely cause.

He sat down beside her headstone laid flowers and talked to her all afternoon. He let her know he was fine and he had met a beautiful young woman who perhaps he hoped to marry. Anastas was deeply hurt that his mother died never knowing if her son had survived the war. He touched the headstone and reassured her. He was just fine.

Anastas wrote a letter to the Saratov Institute letting the acting director know he was ready to return to work as Professor Anastas Bagramyan. He received a reply three weeks later telling him to go to Tomsk where he was to see the director of Microbiology at Tomsk State University. The letter did not say what job was offered but Prof. Bagramyan didn’t care. Finally he would get his hands on books, articles, and research. Perhaps teach a new group of aspiring students. What a change that would be from fighting and dying in a war. He quickly made arrangement with the local Party officials for moving and travel permits as well as moving out of his childhood home.

He had all his mother’s and father’s items packed, permits ready and train ticket when finally he was off to Tomsk. The train ride was long, arduous but he thought about Yanje and wondered how she was doing at home. He had a plan to bring her to his new job as quickly as possible so that they could be together and get married.

When he arrived at Tomsk he was pleasantly surprised to see a city that was already on it’s feet after the war. There was heavy industry in place, put there just after the German invasion began to keep it safe from being destroyed and the city was the cultural, political and educational center for miles around. There were students already attending two universities and Prof. Bagramyan was amazed to see them. He hadn’t been on a campus since 1930, so much had changed.

It took him a few weeks to get settled by the time he went to see the Director of Microbiology a Professor Piotr Kirponos who was a short man, balding with white hair who seemed to have a genial personality. Anastas’ work at the Saratov Institute before the war was part of the curriculum at the department. Kirponos offered him a position as an instructor and research fellow. He told Anastas not to be too surprised if he found himself somewhat of a local sensation within the Biochemistry and Microbiology students.

Six months later Prof. Bagramyan had a very welcome arrival at his office door. It was Yanje Kazakov. He had sent many letters to her asking how things were and if she would like to get married. Naturally she answered yes. They were married with quite a few faculty as guests on June 28, 1950.

They both lived in a modest apartment and he managed to get Yanje to be his assistant, typing his notes and lectures. He took her to his laboratory and essentially showed her what his current research dealt with. Anastas recalled how she told him in Berlin how much she hoped for an education and he saw to it that she got one. She had a keen interest in mathematics and began studying for her degree in the Fall of ‘50.

From 1950-1953 the enviornment reminded Anastas a bit like the years of the Great Purge. Their leader, Josef Stalin was in declining health and a new war in Korea was raging. As a matter of fact a whole new type of war was ongoing worldwide, the one between the East against the West. It was a sort of cold war. As a matter of fact someone in the West called it just that, the Cold War. It was an age of espionage, and spy rings and everyone was suspect. Anastas told Yanje not to engage in any unnecessary conversation with any stranger since the Ministry of Internal Affairs (MVD) and the Ministry of State Security (MGB) was most likely watching everyone.

The tension and fear was everywhere and Prof. Bagramyan was so worried the purges and arrests were to come anyday. Once during a lecture he thought one student was an informant for the secret police. It simply didn’t matter if you hadn’t done anything to raise suspicion. Anyone could point a finger and that would be enough to have you arrested and sent to a gulag.

Suddenly on March 6,th 1953 everything changed. Anastas arrived home shaking off the cold and Yanje was making dinner when she told him if he had heard the news on the radio. He replied no. She told him Stalin had died. Anastas just stood there for a moment with a blank look on his face, then a smile. They both hugged and kissed each other. The rule of the Georgian beast was over, finally over. That night they celebrated with a bottle of vodka with dinner. He raised a toast and she smiled back raising her glass.

“To you my beautiful sunflower.”, he said.

It was 1964 when Prof. Anastas Bagramyan was approached by a man working for the Army who had an important job lined up for him. The Professor was told that the work was vital for national security and thus ultra secret. He and his wife would be moved to a “closed city”. He would be given the rank of Colonel in the Medical Services of the Soviet Army although he would not actually serve in uniform. His official mission was to work on new “imaginative” avenues to biological defense. In reality he was asked to work on new strains for offensive biological weapons. His wife would be given a position using her knowledge on mathematics for Cryptanalysis or breaking codes.

These “closed cities” were off limits to foreigners, even Soviets citizens were barred if they did not have special clearance. The name of this city was Tomsk 77. This city had everything a person could want or need within it’s guarded perimeter. There were dozens of such secret cities all over the Soviet Union. None of them officially existed and none of them were on any map. There purpose was to be centers for military research. The name Tomsk 77 was used by the Soviet postal system as a kind of zip code. In this case, the 77 meant that the “city” existed 77 kilometers west of Tomsk. The city name Tomsk was used as a place marker. Only high level officials knew in which direction: north, south, east, and west, the “closed city” stood.

By January 1965 both Professors, Anastas and Yanje Bagramyan moved into their very spacious apartment at Tomsk 77. The stores were stocked with goods unavailable to the ordinary Soviet. There were cinemas, playgrounds and schools for the children. The Soviet authorities went to great lengths to ensure that their most prized intellectuals working for the State were well taken care of.

One could sense the intellectual energy buzzing everywhere. To be amongst so many educated people involved from a wide variety of fields should’ve been a paradise to the Bagramyans. In a sense it was but the pressure to produce results in applied research reminded all why they were here in a closed community.

Yanje for example was given a task to analyze the newest Israeli military codes. Anastas was to be given a special job in the near future.

Both he and Yanje enjoyed walking in the park and discussing the latest news and gossip from their respective departments. He was truly happy in life and he felt lucky to be with her and to be in this place helping his country in any way possible. Both of them had been through so much, seen and been part of so much pain and suffering that in a way they knew their future had to be positive.

It was a beautiful Spring day and it appeared Winter had finally left for good until next year. They walked in the park and sat down on a bench and took in the sun’s warmth. It felt so good to be alive. He smiled at her, kissed her neck and whispered his pet name for her “sunflower” in her ear. She just laughed. He wanted to bring up the idea of having a child but was a little nervous in asking. After all she had worked so hard to get her degree and was doing important work. She seemed content no need to disrupt that with a child. He noticed her rubbing her left temple again. He saw her doing that several times during the morning. Anastas asked her if she had a headache. She smiled and nodded. Yanje always got headaches and was given some special powder from the pharmacy to deal with them. Sometimes it worked other times it didn’t. They went to a little café where she got a glass of water, poured a small wax paper envelope of the powder and drank it. She seemed fine afterwards. Yanje only complained of a slight headache later that night right before bed.

The next morning Anastas got up and touched her shoulder.

“Sunflower, time to get up.”, he said.

She didn’t respond. He went to the bathroom and came out afterwards and saw her from the doorway. Sothing didn’t look right. He walked over to her side of the bed and touched her arm to nudge her awake.

“Sunf…”, he recoiled a bit.

Her skin was cold. He put a finger to her neck for a pulse, he found none. He immediately went to the telephone saying aloud the word “No” over and over again. He called for an ambulance.

She was pronounced dead by the doctor. Another doctor several doors down the hallway ran to Anastas’ apartment. He shook his head after checking for sign of life.

Anastas just stood there in the bedroom in his pajamas. He felt like he was having an out of body experience. None of this felt real. His face showed no emotion as the ambulance crew put his wife on a stretcher and covered her with a blanket. A number of neighbors came in and offered their condolences. He simply stood there whispering the name “Sunflower” again and again. How and why did this happen. How could she be here one minute and gone the next he wondered. Why?

The autopsy revelaed she had suffered an brain aneurism and had died in her sleep. The doctor telling him assured Anastas that she did not suffer any pain and that her death was very quick. That was all he could say to console the bereaved man.

He spent the next few weeks thinking about fate and why his wife had been taken especially after all the people they had saved during the war. Was life truly this cruel and cold? Was there any real justice for those who gave and sacrificed? In their bedroom he tried never to look or even catch an eye of her side of the bed. It was simply too painful a reminder.

On May 21, 1965 he met with several senior Army and KBG officials. One Army General was specifically involved in Biological warfare and it’s applications on the tactical and strategic level. His name was Major General Yuri Golubev. He apparently was to military affairs what Anastas was to the field of science. In other words something of a progeny. General Golubev was looking to add as many stars as possible to his rank and did so with alacrity. Something about germ warfare fascinated him since he was a boy. He looked into Anastas and knew he found a man who saw things his way. Golubev dismissed the Party hacks as useful dolts. He held the scientists on a higher plain but they had to be watched for their “consciousness”. Scientists often had an ethical barrier which prevented them from greater achievement Golubev thought.

So it was on this day that Gen. Golubev gave Anastas a mission to find the ultimate bio weapon. He asked Professor Bagramyan what his thoughts were and if it could be done. Anastas replied it could theoretically be achieved given enough time. Yuri took Anastas into another room and sat him down at a small table where he asked quite a few questions. The session lasted all afternoon. Professor Bagramyan felt as if he was being interrogated, his brain picked for every piece of information regarding viruses especially those in the influenza and pneumonic plague category. At the end of the session Yuri handed Anastas a folder which was stamped “Object 70” on the cover.

Golubev wanted Anastas to create a strategic bioweapon capable of withstanding high levels of radiation, with the physical properties of A-prime influenza and pneumonic plague. He went on to add that the virus must be able to kill/incapacitate the infected person within 48 hrs, have extreme level of lethality and be airborne. Airborne viruses spread quicker than those that required physical contact because an infected person could disseminate the virus by coughing, sneezing, even breathing.

Anastas scratched his head thinking. It could be done but he’d have to start from scratch he told Golubev. Yuri answered that a special shipment would arrive to Anastas’ lab later in the week. It was a small package of preserved specimens of lung tissue taken from victims of the Spanish Flu pandemic of 1918-1919. The victims had been buried in the permafrost up beyond the Arctic circle and because of the soil conditions the lungs still contained the viral influenza that killed them. That little shipment would be incredibly useful.

Without thinking it over too much Anastas signed his name to a form which gave him enormous power over a program that few would know about. He was to send progress reports to Golubev only. “Object 70” would ultimately give the Soviet Biological Warfare program a boost that it so desperately needed in a time where nuclear weapons ruled the roost.

They both stood up from their long discussion, shook hands, when Professor Bagramyan looked at Major General Golubev and asked if he could attach a code name for his project. Yuri got out a pen to write it down on the cover of his own copy of “Object 70”.

“What is the name you wish to call it Comrade Professor?”

“Sunflower.”, Anastas said.

“Professor? Professor Bagramyan?”, Iosif said.

“Eh? Mmm?”, he answered.

“You seemed a bit lost in thought. I was saying that there are some headlights coming to the house.”, the graduate student nodded.

“There are? Eh………yes I see. Huh…..I wonder.”, the Professor strained to see from the window.

Two jeeps pulled in front and several uniformed men got out. They approached the front door and knocked. Prof. Bagramyan opened the door and found himself confronted by two three KGB soldiers. One was an officer, the other two lower ranks who carried assault rifles.

“Comrade Professor Anastas Bagramyan?”, the officer asked blandly shining a flashlight.

“Uh yes? Who are y…”, he was cutoff.

“May we come inside?”, he asked as he entered.

“Well of course…………..come in.”, the Professor replied.

“You……..wait outside.”, the Major ordered one of the two soldiers.

“What is the trouble Major?”

The Major held a photo of Bagramyan and looked at it, then at the Professor’s face, then back to the photo.

“I am ordered to deliver you to an awaiting helicopter. Please bring something warm to wear.”

“Professor Bagramyan………..what is……?”, Iosif interjected.

“This does not concern you!”, the officer glared.

Anastas motioned with his hand for Iosif to sit back down.

“Please Iosif, I must go with these men. Finish typing up my notes will you. I will return perhaps in a day or two. Look after the place. Mmmm?”

Prof. Bagramyan went to his room to get a coat, hat and gloves. The other guard followed him. When Anastas came back out into the living room he shot a weak smile at Iosif and left with his KGB escort.

It turned out to be a rather long journey. First by jeep to a military helicopter which flew to a nearby airport, then by a military cargo aircraft to a small town called Petropavl. The whole time he was escorted a squad of KGB personel until they dropped him off in front of a rather pretty aqua and white small building which turned out to be the town’s hall. A guard led him inside and showed him into a large reception sized room before closing the door behind him.

There were several high ranking people milling about, some sitting another on the telephone. A rather large fat 3 star KGB General who looked like a bald Orson Welles was busy nursing a bottle of vodka and a Cuban cigar. Everyone stopped when Professor Bagramyan entered. A typical looking apparatchik with wavy white hair and thick black rimmed glasses walked from behind a desk and extended a hand.

“Ah Comrade Professor Anastas Bagramyan. Finally. I trust your trip was not too uncomfortable. I am Oleg Khomenko, Deputy Assistant to the Minister of the Interior. The man smoking the cigar is KGB Comrade General Kiriil Kurochkin, and I believe you know this young man over there as one of your former students Comrade Professor Daniil Dmitrov.”

“Ah yes Daniil, how are you. Your student’s behaving I hope.”, Anastas smiled.

“Yes Professor of course.”, Daniil nodded.

“Hmmmmph!.”, grunted General Kurochkin.

“Please Comrade Professor Bagramyan pay no attention to Comrade Kurochkin. I don’t believe he takes a liking to faculty.”, Khomenko added.

“Most certainly not.”, Gen. Kurochkin grumbled.

“I’m afraid I’m at a bit disoriented gentlemen. I don’t know where I am, or why.”, Anastas asked.

“Please have a seat Comrade Professor. Uh, anything to eat or drink perhaps?”, Khomenko asked.

“Ah some tea and a cigarette if possible.”, Prof. Bagramyan asked.

“Of course….ah Lieutenant please, make that two teas…and a box of cigarettes.” Khomenko ordered.

The KGB Lieutenant snapped his heels and left.

“Comrade Professor we’re in the town of Petropavl some 350 kilometers west of Omsk. You have been called here…………”, Minister Khomenko was interrupted by the KGB officer returning with the tea and cigarettes.

“Ah yes that is fine, you can leave us Lieutenant.”, he waited for the officer to leave before continuing.

“We’re 350 kilometers from Omsk. There has been some sort of incident or accident just southwest of the city in a town called Berezovka. You see on this map?”, he pointed.

Anastas nodded sipping the tea.

“Have you ever heard of Omsk 41?”, Khomenko asked.

“No I’m afraid not. Why what’s there.”, Bagramyan shrugged.

Kurochkin grumbled then laughed.

“You mean you really don’t know. Do you think we’re stupid eh?”, his blue bloodshot eyes glared at Anastas.

“No I don’t know. What is so important about Omsk 41?”, Bagramyan asked.

“Comrade Professor, the locality has a facility to house several biological pathogens. All are considered dangerous. We have obtained a very sensitive list that has all the pathogens held there. Do you recognize any of them?”, Khomenko handed Anastas a piece of paper.

Professor Bagramyan put on his glasses and looked at the list. He went down the names of the pathogens such as Marburg and other hemorrhagic samples, tularemia, botulism, smallpox, anthrax, cholera, diptheria, microbial fungi, sunflower, dysentery………….”, he straightened his back and read through the list this time going down each name with his finger.

Sunflower…………………………..a lump built up in his throat. His heart skipped a beat. Anastas felt lightheaded, cold and hot at the same time.

“Can’t………………………………...no.”, he wimpered.

He thought it must be a typographical error, a mistake some clerk made. It couldn’t be. However, in the back of his mind that name existed to describe only one pathogen and that one was his making.

“Ha! He knows! Look at him! He and that idiot Golubev worked together. Now look!”, shouted Kurochkin.

“Enough!”, shouted Khomenko.

“It………….it……ah…..yes………uh Sunflower…..yes that name is familiar.”, Anastas said clearing his throat.

His vision was a blurry. A vision of that old sickly man from Orenberg seemed to be sitting in a chair near Professor Dmitrov. He was laughing pointing a bony finger at Anastas.

Bagramyan shook his head.

“General Golubev …………uh yes where is he……….he can confirm….”, Anastas said.

“He’s dead. Two years ago in Egypt. A Jew in an American fighter plane blew that bastard to pieces.”, Kurochkin replied downing yet another shot of vodka.

“He……….died?”, Anastas was astonished.

“Comrade Professor Bagramyan. There are many pathogens on that list. Now Professor Dmitrov has been in communication with all the hospitals in Omsk. They are describing many patients with influenza symptoms, high fever, and a buildup of fluids in the lungs. Does that sound like this Sunflower?”, Khomenko asked.

“Yes. God.”, Anastas felt weak.

“Is there a vaccine Comrade Professor?”, he added.

“N……………….no. None that I’m aware of. There wasn’t supposed to be.”, Anastas replied.

“Dammit!! I knew it. These eggheads with their little machinations! I should kick you outside and have you shot!! Damn Armenian traitor!”, Kurochkin exploded.

This time Khomenko said nothing about the General’s outburst.

“Sunflower was destroyed in a fire. In 1970, there was a fire at the lab where the sample was kept. The whole building was destroyed, nothing was left but ashes. Golubev told me.”, Anastas explained.

“Yes, there was a fire and the laboratory was completely gutted with all biological pathogens, except one. Golubev had someone take it and set the fire most likely. He kept it hidden in Omsk 41. We went through his paperwork kept on file at Lyubyanka and found that list. We also found your name mentioned on another document. Golubev was interested in making a weapon that would assure the enemy’s demise if we had been defeated somehow on the nuclear battlefield. It sounds crazy but there you have it. He chose you Comrade Professor Bagramyan because of your stellar academic research in viruses. He knew you could bring this pathogen to light.”, Khomenko explained.

“But Golubev must’ve answered to a higher authority? He was only a Major General at the time he got me on the program. There had to be others who were aware of my Sunflower.”, Anastas replied.

“There are. One we believe is or was a Comrade Marshal Viktor Suslov. I say was, because he was killed in an airplane crash six months ago in Africa. His papers were checked and we haven’t found anything yet, but he did keep in contact with Golubev and both were against any kind of treaty banning bio-warfare research. As for the names of the other they are being checked but to what end now is the question.”, Khomenko added.

“What about a damned vaccine. I need a vaccine!”, Kurochkin blurted out.

“How long would it take to produce one Comrade Professors?”, Khomenko looked at both Anastas and Prof Dmitrov.

“Months.”, both replied.

“Six months maybe more.”, Anastas added while Daniil nodded.

“Six months!! We don’t have six months……………..we may not even have six weeks!”, shouted a red faced drunk Kurochkin.

“Comrade Professor Dmitrov what are the figures from Omsk?”, Khomenko asked.

“At last count 5,135 infected. 228 dead within the past 84 hours. That number will grow geometrically every hour, every day.”, he answered.

“Containment, absolute containment of the area from that facility to Omsk must be implemented.”, Anastas said as he rose from his chair looking at a regional map.

“That is already in place my dear Professor Bagramyan.”, growled Kurochkin.

“As you can see on the map Comrade Professor the 68th Tank Division and the 56th Motor Rifle Division have sealed off the city and facility. No one gets out. No one. Several have tried from Omsk 41 and were shot, their bodies burned as a precaution. However, in light of the fact that there is no viable vaccine and the containment we have placed will eventually be broken, a more harsh action has been considered and will be decided upon later today when members of the Central Committee meet.”, Khomenko said looking out a window.

“What measure?”, Anastas asked.

“Nuclear option.”, Khomenko added solemnly.

“What!?”, Anastas replied.

“Idiot! Yes, we are going to bomb our own people!”, Kurochkin shouted propping himself up next to a couch.

“It’s the only way Comrade Professor Bagramyan. Even your colleague, Dmitrov agrees. We have to in effect cauterize the infected area. Two devices will be used. Dropped by senior flight crews volunteering for the job. They’ll know everything, they have that right. One device for the facility and a much more powerful one for the city. The troops will be pulled back before the bombs are dropped. Any survivors will be shot or killed with nerve agent. There is simply no other way I’m afraid. The Americans will be told there’s been a crash of a bomber carrying a nuclear device on a training mission, causing a most tragic accident to the people of Omsk. The story should work. If not well perhaps it doesn’t matter. Anyhow the main issue is to keep the pathogen from getting out. If it gets to Moscow, Tashkent or Leningrad then it means the game is up. I suspect our chances after destroying Omsk will be small at avoided a pandemic. The odds are simply not in our favor. Don’t you agree Comrade Professor Bagramyan? After all you know the power of this Sunflower. It seems to be doing a very good job so far, I imagine in a few months it’s job will have been done period, there won’t be anyone else to fall sick and die. Eh Professor?”, Khomenko raised an eyebrow.

Anastas looked away and saw the phantom old man sitting, grinning at him. “Presumptuous monkey!”, he imagined him saying.

“I truly am.”, Prof. Bagramyan muttered to himself.

“I have to go Comrade Khomenko. I’m attending that meeting tomorrow in Moscow. I trust this man will be arrested and executed for his act of treason against the peoples of the Soviet Union!”, Kurochkin said buttoning his tunic festooned with medals and multi colored ribbons.

“I don’t think that is prudent.”, Khomenko replied.

Kurochkin who was obviously drunk and wavered a bit on his feet put on his visor hat upon his shiny bald head. His blue eyes were wide open as he glared at Khomenko while steadying himself on the seatback of a chair.

“Prudent? This intellectual has done damage that no one can even comprehend! Have you lost your mind Deputy Minister! Shall I be the one who puts this Armenian on trial right here and now and find him quite guilty of usurping this great nation with his micro machinations!!”, he boomed.

“You’re drunk General. Moscow is waiting.”, Khomenko picked up a phone to call in his bodyguards to escort Kurochkin out.

“What are you doing eh? Huh? Calling in your people. Very well!”, the General walked over to the double doors opened them and shouted an order for his aide to call in a squad of KGB soldiers.

“General you’re under my authority. I am in charge of the situation here. Not you. Your soldiers are subordinate to the Ministry of the Interior!”, Khomenko yelled.

“Hurry come on quickly you lot!”, Kurochkin waved in ten armed KGB soldiers.

A few seconds later eight bodyguards dressed in suits and overcoats rushed in and formed a line in front of their Deputy Minister.

Professors Bagramyan and Dmitrov stood against a far wall watching this insane show. It reminded Anastas of a weird Western movie. All it needed was John Wayne to come in.

“Huh! So you’re siding with those miscreants. Very well. I place you Comrade Deputy Minister of the Interior Oleg Khomenko under arrest. As such you are guilty of sedition and thus to be executed by firing squad.”, the drunk General spewed out.

“No Comrade General I am placing you under arrest for undermining my authority!”, Khomenko replied defiantly picking up the receiver to desk telephone.

“Men!”, Kurochkin yelled out.

Both sides leveled their guns at each other.

“You scum Khomenko get……..put that damn phone down or I shoot!”

The General pulled out his Makarov pistol from it’s black holster.

“You’re making a mistake Kiriil.”, Khomenko said.

“I’m General Kiriil Kurochkin you stinking traitor…………….SHOOT!!”, he screamed.

For a second nothing happened or at least that’s how Anastas felt, as everything was going in slow motion. The General fired first, his shot winging a bodyguard in the shoulder. The bodyguards replied with bursts from their AK-47 assault rifles. The bullets ripped open Kurochkin’s fine tunic and sent the fat man reeling back his visored hat flying away. His soldiers instantly fired back adding to the incredible din of screams, and gunshots. Empty brass shells, chipped plaster, torn books, glass flew everywhere and the big hanging chandelier crashed to the floor.

Both Professors dropped to the floor as bullets now flew in every direction. Anastas saw Khomenko fly backwards and hit the wall his bodyguards doing a funny jig as they were riddled with lead. Kurochkin was dying as he lay spread eagle on the wooden floor, his soldiers tried running for cover but were gunned down. A badly wounded Sergeant fired his last few rounds into an equally injured bodyguard. Soon after his eyes glazed over, he let out a moan and flopped face down on an ornate rug.

In what seemed like minutes took only seconds. All was quiet. The large room was heavy with the scent of cordite. Both Bagramyan and Dmitrov got up, and began to leave their footsteps crunching on shattered glass and plaster. Anastas looked over to Khomenko who was quite dead. He glanced over to the lifeless General who lay like a beached whale, his eyes wide open staring up at the ceiling.

“Anastas! Come on! We have to get out of here now!”, Daniil motioned.

They both ran outside using a side entrance. The air was cold and refreshing and both breathed in deeply. It wouldn’t be long before others came and he didn’t want to be here when they did.

“I have keys to a jeep Anastas. Come on!”, he yelled as Bagramyan looked into a Lada.

“You go Daniil!”

Dmitrov ran over to Bagramyan.

“Anastas we must go together we can get away.”, he said adamantly.

“I’m taking this car. You go on. Go to your family Daniil.”, he replied soothingly.

Dmitrov just stood there looking into his former professor’s eyes. He could see tears forming and suddenly he knew where Prof. Bagramyan was going.

“You can’t Anastas. The city will be wiped off the map, you’ll die!”

“I know………………………………...but you see it’s my fault…………everything.”

“That isn’t true!! It was Golubev who tricked you! He set the fire, he stole the sample…………not you!!”

“But I was a fool to create it. I just wanted to see if it could be done.”, Anastas shrugged.

“Please think! There’s no point Anastas.”

“I can help the people in Omsk like I did in Stalingrad. That’s something. When the bomb comes it will be my punishment. Now go Daniil…….please!”

Professor Dmitrov quickly trotted to an Army jeep and pulled away. Before he set off he saw Anastas Bagramyan get in the blue Lada and drive off east towards Omsk. He watched as the red tail lights couldn’t be seen anymore.

“Goodbye Anastas.”, Daniil said as he drove heading west.