by Mike Gomes
Chapter Twenty-Three
Indira Gandhi International Airport had all the flair of the other major airports of the world. Numerous kiosks and restaurants consumed its wide thoroughfares that allowed patient passengers to get place to place with ease and convenience. The British Airways flight 307 was no exception.
Victor removed himself from the flight, worked his way through customs, and arrived on the street just outside of the airport, then hailed a cab.
"Where to?" asked the cabbie, not hesitating for a moment.
"Take me downtown," Victor said, giving no indication he was going to move any faster than he pleased.
"Is this your first time in Bangkok?" the cabbie asked, giving his usual spiel to tourists as they came in. "If you need anything, I can find it for you. Or if you just want a driver to be with you for your visit, I'll be happy to be your personal driver if we can meet on a price."
"I don't need to talk right now." Victor opened up his laptop, bringing the screen to life. "I have work to do."
"Hey, that's no problem with me. Are you from Russia?" asked the young man with an American accent. "You sound like you could be Russian."
"I am, sir," said the steely-jawed man, "But that's not too difficult considering hardly anybody has an accent like us."
"Hey, buddy, I'm here because I love this city," the driver shrugged.
"That's fascinating. I'm glad you told me." Victor closed the laptop, giving his attention to the man in front of him. "Do you work for a company or are you alone?"
"No, I don't work for one of those companies. One of the nice things here in Bangkok is that you don't need one of those medallions like in New York."
"So anybody could have a cab?" Victor asked. "Is it just everybody runs wild doing what they want?"
"No, it's nothing like that," the young driver shook his head. "See, I grew up in Brooklyn, and when you talk about people running bootleg cabs, that's the capital of the world for it. You got everybody working for all the big companies like Yellow, but then it's all those side people that are out there doing it. I'll tell you, there was something before Uber, and it was called personal cabs and personal cars. That's something everybody in New York city knew about."
"So you did that while you were in New York as well?" asked Victor, keeping the conversation alive.
"I did a little bit of it, but normally, to get that kind of work, you had to have some connection with a business or maybe an apartment building with a doorman. You get one of those and the people there would love it. It was almost like they had drivers on call for them."
"It sounds like you're quite the entrepreneur," Victor praised, laying on the charm. "Do you mind if I ask you your name?"
"It's Tony. Tony Esposito," the driver said with a small laugh in his voice. "I guess if you're from Russia, you must like hockey, so you know Tony Esposito or Tony O. He played for the Chicago Blackhawks as goalie. My dad is a Chicago guy, so needless to say, with the last name Esposito, he had to name me Tony. I guess if I was born in Boston, I would have been Phil."
"Ah, yes, the Blackhawks, correct, they're from Chicago?" Victor asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah, you got it right, but my guess, you must follow the NHL, right?" Tony asked, anxious to talk hockey with a fellow fan. "Right now, there's so many Russian players in the league, it is really international more than it ever was before."
"Well, hockey always was international. It's just we only joined to play it when they had the Canada Cup every four years," Victor said, entrenching his connection to the young man. "I remember the Canada Cups very well. In fact, Phil Esposito, the big goal scorer, I remember him when he was announced in Russia, when he had moved off the blue line and slipped and fell down. Everybody knew it was because the flowers had wilted and fallen to the ground and he slipped on them, but I can remember the newspapers saying he was so afraid to play that he fell down."
"Oh, yeah, that would have been something, huh," Tony laughed. "I can't imagine any of those guys from back then being afraid to play anybody."
"Ah, if you love the game, you would love the old Red Army team, not the one from Lake Placid," Victor laughed with him. "We don't count them."
"Yeah, they called it a miracle on ice, and it sure was." Tony was enjoying the conversation with his passenger. "I can remember seeing the Red Army team come and play a tour of America. Just watching them before the game was amazing to see how they skated. In America and Canada, it was always throw it in the corner and muck and grind, then all of a sudden, you guys started coming over from the Soviet Union and the skating was crazy."
"Tony, if you don't mind, could you take a right down the street here?" Victor asked, motioning to the driver, reaching toward the front seat where there was no partition between the two men. "Just if you don't mind, could you take the first left as well?"
Tony did as instructed, following Victor's lead, happy to have the conversation and time with a like-minded person.
"So, Tony, what brings you to Bangkok? Why be here instead of back in the States?" asked Victor.
"I was an army guy," Tony explained. "Initially, I told them that I wanted to go to Germany, I did two years there and it was a blast. And then someone told me, 'Go to Southeast Asia, there's a lot to do there.' So I got assigned to a base in South Korea and I started to come down here and visit Bangkok on my R&R. I didn't have a girlfriend or anything like that, so this was a great party city for all the guys. Next thing you know, I got a girl and I wound up coming here after, been married ten years."
"Congratulations! An international love story," Victor exclaimed, again, making himself laugh softly. "And is this what you do for a living, drive the cab, or do you have another job as well?"
"No, just this. Bangkok's not too expensive of a city, but it is a city. We get so many people that come here that have no idea what this place is. I swear, there are more first-time visitors here than repeat visitors. So they love to hire me to work for them the entire time they're here so they never have to fight to get a cab, and they have someone that's English that can also speak their native language."
"It seems like you've made quite a success for yourself," Victor acknowledged. "Could you take a right down here in the alley? I want to go in the back of my building."
"Sure, no problem." Tony nodded. "Yeah, it's amazing. You find the right woman and your entire life changes, it's like the flash from the night."
"I've had that experience myself. You could say, I'm in search of a woman now." Victor allowed himself a brief moment to have a smile at his own inside joke.
"You chasing the love of your life?" Tony asked, turning in behind the building and pulling up to a dumpster by double doors.
"Yes, I'm chasing a woman. But it's not about love, it's actually about work." Victor placed his hands by the front of his belt and slid it from the loops around his waist gently and without detection. "She's the kind of woman that's a one in a million. I don't think there's any way I would ever have her fall in love with me, but I'll tell you, she has one unique skill."
"Hey, hey, buddy, I don't know if I wanna hear this if this is some of that kinky stuff, that's not what I'm not into, but I can point you the right way," Tony said, trying to maintain the state of legitimacy despite the numerous things he could make available to his clientele.
"No, no, no, Tony, it's different than that. She's passionate." Victor reached into his pocket and extended $100 in American cash.
"Hey, man, your fare's not this much."
"You keep it. I'm glad that you're listening to my story." Victor smiled. "But like I was saying, she has this unique and brilliant talent and she has these eyes, beautiful eyes of green that captivate men and pull them toward her."
Shifting back toward looking out the front windshield, Tony turned his head. "Man, you've got it bad, this girl has got her hook deep in you, and you might try to say you don't love her, but it's pretty obvious you do."
"Oh, I don't think that I
love her. What I actually would really like to do, is kill her." Victor erupted into laughter, and Tony joined him, assuming the man was joking.
As the laughter continued from the two men, Tony reached forward, placing the money that he had received from Victor into a strongbox with a hole in the top that sat between the two seats.
"Hey, buddy, I gotta say I have really enjoyed giving you a ride, and if you need me again, you just look out for my car and give me a holler, I'll pull over for you in a minute." Tony, smiled at his passenger as he now shifted again in the seat to face more toward the back, and extended his hand to shake. "By the way, I never got your name."
"That's because I didn't give it to you." Victor took Tony’s hand and shook it firmly, waiting the traditional time but still not releasing his grip for an added few seconds, showing his strength. "You take care of yourself."
Opening the back door, Victor held himself still, placing the belt that he had now folded in two and holding it length-wise. The door opening was a signal to Tony to turn back around and get ready for the process of moving his cab back on to the streets.
"Die easy, Tony," Victor said, quickly swinging the belt in front of Tony's head and pulling the strap around his neck. Crossing the straps over on the back of his neck, Victor pulled hard and back, creating leverage that drove the belt into Tony’s throat, holding him from being able to fight back and strike at him.
Tony's arms flailed, reaching back, trying to strike Victor and banging his legs hard upon the lower dashboard, trying to get leverage to pivot himself out. But with each passing moment the tightness on the belt dug in harder, the air lessened into his lungs and the oxygen ceased to go up to his brain.
"This is the best part," Victor whispered forward into Tony's ear, as the man's body began to slowly stop its flailing. "Let go. It will be better for you. Don't spend your last moment fighting.”
Tony's body went limp, slumping over in the driver's seat while Victor continued to pull the belt tight. Thirty seconds, that was his rule. Thirty seconds after no show of life, he kept the pressure on harder and harder until his hands felt like they were going blister. It only takes one time for an agent to pull off a choke too fast to make them never make the mistake again.
Letting the black belt slide from his right hand, Victor pulled it back, raising his left hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Exiting the car, Victor reached to the front seat, taking the keys from the ignition, then went to the back and opened the truck.
"Nice and empty. Perfect." Victor walked up to the front seat of the car and grabbed ahold of Tony’s body. "I hope you don't mind riding in the back."
Tony's body dropped in with a thud, then Victor closed the trunk. He moved to the front seat, putting the car into gear and pulled back out onto the road. If the spy business had taught him anything, it was that there was always a way to find a vehicle when in need. The simplest and easiest routes were to either steal them from the cab drivers or murder them. Either way, they had a vehicle in their possession that would not be reported as stolen for several hours.
Driving the car out on to the 44, Victor kept steady, driving in the slower section of the street, avoiding anything that would bring attention to him. In an attempt to keep himself inconspicuous and detect anyone following him, the Russian madman pulled over to entertain a fare before pulling away without helping them.
Finding an open spot along the main street, Victor backed the car in, tucking it between others, and turned off the ignition and the lights. Grabbing his laptop, he flipped it open and picked up where he had left off no more than twenty minutes before. The last time the laptop had been opened, Tony was telling his tales of the NHL in Brooklyn, only now to be dead in a pool of his own blood that dripped from his mouth in the trunk of the vehicle he used to support his family.
"Okay, let us see if we have any marks on Nikolai," Victor muttered to himself, moving his way into the KGB mainframe. Over time, Victor had placed many tracking devices on partners he held. Sometimes as simple as a small microchip placed into a drink that they would ingest and it would attach itself to their stomach lining.
"Aah, there you are, Nikolai." Victor looked at Nikolai’s face on the screen that looked more like a mugshot than one of a Russian agent. "Let me see if I have you under an alias." Shifting through the system, Victor checked on several other names before stopping on Yergei Maceev. "Ah, let's see, are you still being tracked."
Victor ran down the side of the page, looking at the last known whereabouts. The trail ran cold in Madrid, Spain two weeks before. "Figures the damn thing would break then."
Closing the laptop, Victor felt the frustration setting in. He knew that there was only one thing left to do, and that was draw his enemy to him.
"I don't like this, I don't like this one bit." He shook his head and clenched his fists. "The lack of control is not good. But I have them here."
Victor again looked at the laptop, cracking it open before closing it again. Pushing his hand back through his hair, he looked out the front windshield at the city that laid ahead of him. He knew there was one thing for him to do. Set the trap, draw in his prey, and attack. But this time, he did not have the power to draw them in on his own, but instead, he needed to lay in wait, changing the fundamental way he hunted from stalking and setting an ambush, to simply waiting in place, playing the long game to see what would play out.
"I know exactly where I'll be going." Victor nodded his head and looked across the street at the river that ran down the center of Bangkok. "If I can pull you out there, you will lose all your power and leverage, and then it will just be us, and I know that I can beat you, Nikolai."
Chapter Twenty-Four
A heavy hand thumped down on the outside of the door, sounding more like it came from anger than someone trying to see if anybody was home. The knuckles were thick and matched the hand, but it held signs of aging with gray hairs and liver spots.
Shifting his attention to the door, Victor knew that his callout to the KGB had been answered. Not being able to control bringing his adversaries to him, he needed an advantage that would put him in a place to find success in his mission. And during this time, there was no room for mistakes when facing off against Nikolai and the Mantis.
Walking to the door, Victor moved himself to the side and brought up a small mirror, which he placed in front of the peephole. Looking at it from an angle, he was able to see outside the door without alerting the person on the outside that he was there. He saw a familiar face with gruff exterior and an ill-fitting suit, and the look of a man who was impatient with having to wait.
"Who is it?" Victor asked, despite knowing the answer, but making sure he would cover all bases for who would hear in the distance.
"It's me, your friend," came the gruff and rumbly voice that sounded as if it needed to be cleared with each word. "I think you said you wanted to meet with me today."
"Hold on one second," Victor called through the door, convinced that the words he had said would suffice to make any people hearing the discussion feel it was nothing more than rudimentary. Opening the door, Victor revealed the man that held a higher rank than him and more prestige within the KGB.
"Makarov, how good it is to see you again." Victor turned himself to the side to give the man entrance into the room, holding his hand out for a hearty handshake that was met with vigor. "I'm glad you were able to make it here so fast."
"Well, you said it was urgent." Makarov shuffled into the room. Easily into his seventies, his knees weren't what they once were. Cracking and moaning as he moved filled his day, and the lack of medicine that would allow him to keep his mind clear and also ease the pain simply didn't exist. "It's a hell of a lot harder for me to fly nowadays than it was before."
"I didn't think you were a man for travel anyways." Victor closed the door behind them and walked behind his friend. "I'm really glad we're getting a chance to work with each other, sir. I enjoyed your tutelage so much back in my training days."<
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"Well, that was a long time ago, Victor, wasn't it?" Makarov moved over to the table and chairs that sat in the small hotel room. "Quite a nice room you've got here."
"Well, it's not exactly my room," Victor smiled. "I took a line from your old playbook and just snuck into the hotel. I hacked the system and it shows that someone's in this room, but it's got nothing to do with me. Actually, I attached it all to Nikolai."
"Isn't that clever." Makarov laughed at what his old protege had done, "You know if Nikolai goes looking through the different hotels in town to see if he can detect you, it's going to be a dead giveaway."
"That's my hope."
"Oh yes. It always was your style wasn't it, Victor? You've always enjoyed those moments of being able to foil an enemy by sucking him in and then bleeding him dry."
"Just as you had once told me, sir, that the spider is more tactical because he sits and waits. He waits for the fly or the bug to enter his domain and then get caught in his web," Victor said with a large smile, sitting down in the chair across from Makarov. "I hope this snare will be enough to pull in the Mantis and Nikolai. But if I know Nikolai, he'll be smart with this. He knows my tactics and he knows my style, he knows that I'm not just going to be sitting and waiting, that I like to draw my enemy in."
"That he does. But he was never the agent that you were." Makarov reached into his pocket and pulled out a pipe. "Do you mind if I smoke, son?"
"Go right ahead." Victor felt a sense of pride when the man called him son. A reaction that he had grown accustomed to from his times during the academy; when Makarov found great potential in young agents he would refer to them as son, taking them under his wing. "You know that I can't do this mission without you."
"I'm aware of that," Makarov nodded, packing his pipe full and reaching for his lighter. "You were always outstanding about being able to judge your own abilities and what you could and couldn't do. The problem you have here, is with the Mantis, not Nikolai."