Doing Lunch

by Doing Lunch Free(Lit)

  “The person I want you to kidnap is my nephew in Los Angeles.”

  “Mikhail Debenov?”

  “Ah, you have my entire background memorized, do you, Medansky? Then you should also know his other residence.”

  “A condominium on Maui.” Alexi smiled, having been pleasantly surprised at the accuracy of Medansky’s information. The premier now understood how so many people disappeared with KGB assistance. This organization knew where you were and they certainly never told anyone where they put you.

  “How soon could you get him here?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “Good.”

  “Will I have assistance?”

  “What will you need, Medansky?”

  “A submarine and some of our navy’s top commandos.”

  “Of course.”

  Alexi would have offered Medansky a drink to toast the endeavor but he did not want the Absolut disappearing too quickly. If he had to reorder the vodka too often, Volitov might begin thinking that he was becoming an alcoholic since the term substance abuser had not yet permeated Russia. Alexi did not want his aide to get the idea that the pressures of the job were getting to him after just such a short time. Alexi knew that the only thing that was getting to him right now was his golf game.

  “Ever play golf, Medansky?”

  “I have heard of it. It is an American game, no?”

  “Yes. Want to try a little of it?”

  Freeze brain must have struck the KGB leader because he sat there almost motionless, his eyes appearing to be searching for something to focus on. Alexi started to wonder if this member of the intelligence community, a man widely known for his intimidating tactics, was fearful of the unknown? Finishing his vodka, Alexi rose and moved toward the closet. His sixth sense told him that Medansky had found something to focus on, and that something was him.

  Opening the closet and removing a second putter that Mikhail had given him as a throw away, Alexi moved toward the other end of the room where he set down the putt returner in a new position. Slowly he stroked the ball that he had placed in front of him. When he went slightly right, he glanced up at his guest and noticed a smug smile. Alexi expected that since he had always pictured Medansky as a man who enjoyed watching people fail, he would enjoy this moment. Alexi was glad he accomplished his goal by lining the putt up a little right. Hell, had he been really playing and lined the putt up the way he really thought it would go, he might have one putted the green.

  “Here!” offered Alexi, putter raised in one hand.

  “But I have never...”

  “Try it, Medansky, it will help get rid of the stress.”

  “I have no stress, Mister Premier.”

  “Oh but there must be, Medansky. It must be impossible inside your head trying to remember separately all the people that you already have the goods on and those you want to get the goods on.”

  Smart enough to know that the premier was mocking him, Medansky had enough sensibility about him to know that he could not merely storm from the office. He was not the superior in this situation and that bothered him. He loved power; he loved control. Wanting to silence the premier in a diplomatic way, he knew he would have to be cautious in his approach. The KGB chief quickly stood up and took hold of the putter.

  “I should just aim for that machine?”

  “Yes.”

  Medansky dreaded this situation, hated being second fiddle to anyone. He knew that Alexi not only had the power to remove him from his comfortable position, but could also get him sent to a work camp. He knew what that was all about and did not want any part of that situation. The profile that his agents had drawn up of Alexi was that he was mild mannered, compassionate and of great intellectual capacity. His agents had been wrong before and if they were wrong, he would be the one to pay the price.

  Leaning over the one remaining ball, Medansky, who had never done anything like this, attempted to recall how Alexi had just performed the feat. Playing the action back in his memory, he knew it did not take training since childhood to do this. He knew he could do it. Taking a stroke, the ball went flying into the wall and caromed back, almost striking Alexi.

  “Premier! Premier!”

  “Don’t worry, Medansky, I am all right. The ball did not hit me. You must try it again.” Alexi could see in the man’s eyes a pleading that almost said, "Please, don’t make me."

  “Medansky, you must try it again. Please. Just a little softer with your swing, a little easier.” The worried look that was coming back at him struck Alexi funny since he had heard stories about how the KGB chief loved the feeling of power that he had over people. Now here he was feeling helpless. Maybe this would be a catharsis for his soul.

  “Would you feel better if I got under my table?”

  The smug smile that Medansky flashed was enough to get Alexi to do just what he had offered to do. The area under the desk was obviously made for a much larger pussycat since Alexi almost had enough room to stretch his legs.

  “Okay.”

  Feeling a little looser with the premier very close to him, Medansky stood over the ball again. Studying the situation and really not certain what he was supposed to be looking at, he still wanted to make a good impression.

  “Just take it back nice and slow. Nice and slow, Medansky.”

  Always obedient to orders, he brought the club back slowly. It was moving back almost as slow as Iran was moving forward. Coming to a complete stop with the club head still in a freeze mode, Alexi looked at him in wonderment.

  “Okay, Medansky, bring the club forward. Slowly, very slowly.” Somehow the premier’s words reached the free-floating neurons within Medansky’s cerebellum. The putter moved forth and when it struck the orange ball, it sent it directly into the center of the ball return.

  “Very good, Medansky,” exclaimed Alexi, as proud of himself for the instructions he gave as he was for Medansky’s success. The new instructor knew he had to shake hands with the student after his success and he hurriedly climbed out from under the desk.

  “I am sorry, premier.”

  “What for, you did good.”

  “But I do better than you.”

  “That’s the idea of competition. If I want to do better than you, I must practice to do so. Want to try again?”

  This situation was something new to Medansky. Being in the KGB, he knew he could never trust those around him. He himself could easily recall two or three people he had gotten rid of while on his way to the top. He now began to wonder if maybe Alexi was setting him up with the mission. What a bad situation he was in if the premier was setting him up because he could not refuse the position if he wanted to help the Russian people.

  “Come on, let us try it again. You want to go first, or should I?” Medansky handed the putter to the host who quickly retrieved the two balls. Setting up his shot, this time not playing any games, his putt missed the edge by about an inch. Handing the putter to Medansky, he found less reluctance this time. Leaning over the ball and again almost becoming a replica of a film freeze frame, Medansky methodically pulled the putter back and the slow forward movement gave little force to the putt. While straight, it never got up to the ball return.

  “Never up, never in.”

  “Never up, never in?”

  “Yes, it just means that if you don’t hit a putt hard enough to reach the cup, it doesn’t have a chance to get into the cup.”

  “First I hit golf ball too hard, then not hard enough. This game will make me crazy.”

  “You’re starting to get the idea of this game. Want to keep going?” The addiction was striking Medansky fast. He figured that if he was being set up, he might as well enjoy himself as much as he could. The evening wore on with both men making some putts and missing most. The most rewarding thing for Alexi was that in the morning he was only going to have to call maintenance to repair two holes in the wall.

  The two men ended the evening with a stop at the nineteenth hole, the bar. In
this case it was several shots of vodka until the bottle was filled with just air. Alexi sensed that if golf ever caught on in Russia, vodka sales could soar. He knew that the nineteenth hole would have at least one steady customer, Medansky.

  The city of Honolulu, located on the island of Oahu, was always like a beehive during the day. While the city was home to many businesses that served the Pacific Rim, the numbers of tourists that flocked there were the reason that the streets were filled with so many pedestrians during the daylight hours. The two KGB agents that Medansky assigned to follow Mikhail Debenov quickly made note of the environment.

  The two agents, Boltran and Guska, were seasoned agents who were hardened from their years of KGB experience. They were specifically selected because of their credentials of working in a tropical climate. Previously, they had performed assignments in Tokyo, Singapore and Hong Kong. The Kremlin had been pleased with their work except for the enormous expense they were claiming for Sushi. The Kremlin, after much controversy, decided to pay them. Even the Kremlin understood that everything could not be accomplished through intimidation. Occasionally they realized that they had to keep the employees happy. Particularly ones that had information you needed.

  They had begun following Mikhail right after breakfast. It was not until lunchtime that they lost sight of him. They were afraid that the man they were supposed to keep under surveillance might have caught on to them since he went into a Frederick’s of Hollywood, causing the two to become distracted. This was something that the KGB school had never anticipated.

  The agents figured that they could catch up with him eventually and the afternoon was a pleasure. There were just enough tropical breezes to make it comfortable to be outside. They had a reputation for being different.

  “So we’re here, let’s do something, Boltran.”

  “The other side of the island maybe?”

  The two exchanged devilish smiles and quickly walked down into the subterranean garage where they had parked their vehicle. Wanting to look like they fit in and feel the part as well, they rented a small open top jeep that was merely covered with a canvas. They figured that with their shorts and sneakers, no socks, no one would suspect them of being spies. It had never occurred to them that when people came to the islands, it was for vacation, not spy gazing. Moving through the city quickly, they found themselves traveling along a road in search of a cutoff. With Boltran driving, Guska was in charge of the map.

  “You will turn right a little ways down,” declared Guska just at the moment they were passing the cutoff. Boltran never noticed because his eyes were transfixed on the beauty of the Pacific that rolled in gently on the beaches of Oahu.

  “Did you hear me, Boltran, we will turn right a little ways down?” increasing the volume of his voice in the hopes of getting Guska's attention. That Boltran’s head was still turned toward the left, Guska was convinced that Boltran did not hear a single word; he might as well have been on vacation with his wife. Frustrated with his colleague’s reaction, Guska felt that this information was important for Boltran to know, especially since they had decided to go to the other side of the island and they needed to get on that road to get there.

  “Boltran!” While accomplishing its purpose of getting Boltran’s attention, he found his face pressed against the windshield with Boltran’s sudden stop.

  “What? What do you want from me, Guska?”

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes, you said Boltran...you screamed Boltran like you didn’t know who I was.”

  “Did you hear what I said before that?” was Guska’s question in a monotone voice, wanting to calm the situation.

  “You said something besides Boltran?”

  “Yes, I said we must turn right a little way down.”

  “Oh, okay.” Pulling away, Boltran again turned to his passenger. “Aren’t you glad I told you to wear that seat belt?” Totally infuriated with Boltran, Guska would like to count to a thousand so he could keep his cool but he was afraid they might be on the other side of the island before he finished.

  Traveling at the maximum speed along the road for an additional twenty minutes, they found themselves at a dead end. While the dead end left the two men atop a cliff with a panoramic of the Pacific Ocean, it was not a sight they wanted to see.

  “The only turnoff here, Guska, is about twelve hundred feet down, not right.”

  “We missed the damn turnoff, Boltran! We must have missed it when you had your head turned looking at the ocean. You want ocean, you want water, look out there right in front of you.”

  “Oh let’s go back to Honolulu.”

  “No Boltran, we go to north side of island. We will find Mikhail later. We know he will be here all week for business.” Backing up the jeep, Boltran did a U-turn when he found enough road space to do it. Picking up the pace, the two Russians were now retracing their mileage at about twenty miles over the speed limit. Enjoying the scenic adventure and immersed in conversation, they failed to pull over to the side of the road when flashing lights and a siren were directly behind them. Maybe the siren was not in Russian.

  Pulling alongside the two foreigners, the officer on the passenger side realized that the drivers were oblivious to the police car. Leaning out his window, he screamed to them to pull over, finally catching the attention of Guska. Seeing the officer pointing toward the side, Guska told Boltran to pull over.

  Having gotten the two spies to respond to his commands, the officer got his partner to pull up behind them and then he stepped out of the car. Approaching the two, Boltran and Guska spoke a broken English, one that should actually be described more as a shattered English. It was so scrambled that it sounded like a code to the officer.

  “You are what is called...?"

  “What is called? What are you talking about?” responded the officer in confusion, having no idea what Guska was trying to say to him. “You were going too fast.”

  “Fast?” questioned Boltran, putting on the dumbest expression that he could at the moment. It had Guska fooled; he thought it was real. The officer leaned into the car and placed his finger at the point that read 35 miles per hour on the odometer.

  “Can I see your license, please?” Boltran looked at Guska whose little movement of his eyelids conveyed a message that Boltran quickly understood. Reaching into his back pocket and removing his wallet, the driver handed the officer the document that was an international license.

  “Russian?"

  “Yes, very.”

  “Here on vacation?”

  “A visit.”

  “Well I shouldn’t be a judge, but you two look a little on the white side. You ought to hang around in the sun a couple of days and try to get a tan. You know, something to take back with you.”

  “Tan. Sounds good.”

  “You could only go this fast,” advised the officer as he again placed a finger on the odometer at the thirty-five numerals.

  Guska leaned over and put his finger on the spot that marked 55 miles per hour.

  “Not this fast, no?”

  “No, this fast,” reiterated the police officer, tapping his finger on the 35.

  “Good, we do that fast.”

  "Okay gentlemen, and please drive carefully. Have a good day.”

  The officer climbed back into his car and disappeared down the road in search of some more people who thought fifty-five in a thirty-five was good. Maybe next time they’ll be American so he could give them a ticket. Guska and Boltran could not help chuckling, feeling they put something over on the officer. Everything they had learned at traffic school in Moscow had come in handy.

  Guska leaned forward and studied his face in the rear view mirror.

  “Boltran, you know my face is white.” His friend leaned over and attempted to see his face as well in the small mirror. Indeed, his face was as white as a mime as well.

  “We will get a tan.” They quickly drove down the road until they saw a beach area where quite a few inhabitan
ts were playing in the water or just laying on the sand under the sun trying to get that thing they call a tan. Hell, the sun’s rays were free, cheap enough. Pulling the car over, they parked it and found a spot that was to their choosing, right next to three co-eds. Removing their shirts, they placed them on the ground, then removed their sneakers and lay down on their shirts. The girls could not help watching this odd sight, the whiteness being the oddity of the situation.

  The two men attempted to make themselves comfortable, which was difficult since they both wore mediums. The material used to make a medium shirt just did not give one enough material to get comfortable on. This situation called for a triple extra large.

  “Er...” The soft tone of a girl’s voice caught Guska’s attention and he quickly propped himself up, hoping that a female wanted to talk to him.

  “Er, sir, don’t you have any lotion?”

  “Lotion?” asked Guska, making certain to lay the Russian accent on thick. The girl, sensing immediately that he was from another country, held up a bottle of lotion. Removing the cap, she turned it upside down and squeezed some onto Guska’s shoulders. With the small mounds of moisturizing cream sitting motionless on his white skin, Guska just looked at the girl.

  “Well, rub it in.”

  “I do not know how.”

  “Well if you can’t rub it in yourself, then you must not shampoo your hair. I’m not going near you.” As Guska’s jaw dropped, discovering that his plan of trying to coax the young woman into rubbing it in for him had failed, the co-ed rose to her feet. Moving back to her two friends, she stooped down and began gathering in her belongings.

  “These Easterners don’t have a con that the guys in Malibu haven’t tried.” As she continued to pick up her belongings, her two friends decided that she should not be by herself. They began doing the same thing much to the dismay of Guska who had aroused expectations. Guska rubbed the small amount of lotion into his shoulders and lay back down on his shirt.

  “What about me?” asked Boltran.

  “Oh yes, we must get you some lotion too for your shoulders.” Guska attempted to remove some of his but it lost something in the transfer. “I think maybe we should go buy some.”