Black Flagged Apex by Steven Konkoly

the wrong foreign national…not many are sent home for taking out a Zaslon operative. You could have walked away from that street. Your job was done."
    "I didn't see it that way," she said, placing her glass back down on Berg's faux wooden seat tray.
    He poured her another drink and leaned back in his seat.
    "I guess we got lucky. The one black-ops trained agent assigned to the Stockholm embassy finds herself in the middle of the blackest op in recent history. Drinks are on me," he said and raised his glass again.
    "I'll take one of those," boomed a Russian speaking voice.
    "Looks like our friend is awake. Please excuse me for a moment," Berg said.
    The doctor barely glanced at Reznikov's vitals as Berg made his way down the cramped aisle. The scientist pulled at his restraints a few times and smiled.
    "Where could I possibly go? This is uncivil," he said.
    "I wanted to make it easier to wheel you out of the door over the Atlantic," Berg replied, dusting off his fluent Russian.
    "Such harsh treatment at the hands of my new friends. I assume we are friends?"
    Berg shook his head, wondering if the doctor would protest if he slammed his fist down on Reznikov's stomach.
    "How's my new friend looking?" he said to the doctor instead.
    The gray-haired, tired-looking physician opened a small black notebook and looked up at him. "He appears stable. His heart's electrophysiology is back to normal, though I wouldn't recommend giving him a drink. I predict a successful delivery."
    "Delivery? What am I, a slab of meat?" Reznikov said and pulled at his restraints again.
    "That can be arranged if necessary. Enjoy the sunrise, if you get to see one during the trip. It'll be your last. I've arranged a dark cell for you. Well off the grid. You're about to disappear forever, after a lengthy visit from your new friends," Berg said.
    "I told them everything," Reznikov said.
    "They were working under a timeline back in Stockholm. They won't be in any rush this time."
    "You already know everything. I sold the virus to Al Qaeda. The distribution center in Germany, the lists of addresses….everything. You stopped the plot, I assume. What the fuck else do you want from me?"
    Reznikov's heart rate had nearly doubled in the past fifteen seconds, indicating that Berg had hit a nerve.
    "We stopped the plot in Europe, but most of the virus canisters made it to the U.S. Your twisted ego and blatant insanity has put millions of American lives at risk. This doesn't put you in a good position. My superiors want to make sure you aren't hiding anything."
    "I'm not insane," Reznikov said.
    Berg could see that this was another raw nerve to be played. Reznikov didn't see himself as deranged. If he had any intention of discussing what Reznikov did to Monchegorsk, he was certain that the scientist would provide a "rational" explanation. The fact that he treated the sale of the virus to Al Qaeda so flippantly was a sure sign of his detachment from reality. He'd be sure to pass these observations to the interrogation team assigned to tear Reznikov apart mentally and physically.
    "Tell it to your interrogators," Berg said.
    He started to walk back to his seat to enjoy the rest of his drink, but Reznikov's next comment stopped him in his tracks.
    "The program isn't dead."
    He turned around slowly, pretending not to care. "What program?"
    "The Russian bioweapons program. Weaponized encephalitis is just the tip of the iceberg."
    "Are you saying that VEKTOR labs has a full-scale, active bioweapons program?"
    "Why do you think they wanted me dead so badly? Why they're doing everything in their power to cover up Monchegorsk and blame the city's demise on an insurgent uprising. That's pure nonsense."
    "What else are they working on?" Berg said, realizing that he sounded way too eager.
    "I think we need to discuss my future living arrangements before I go into any more detail."
    "A deal? You want some kind of a deal? We can torture the information out of you. It would be a lot