The Siberian Incident

by Andrew Gille

  The flight straight to Vladivostok from Vancouver was a little too far for his jet, and he complained as we stopped in Anchorage for fuel. He told me I should try to take a nap after we took off from Alaska because we were going straight to his meeting when we arrived after the 7-hour flight.

  Since you cross the International Date Line going to Vladivostok, we arrived in Russia at around 7:00pm. I slept a little, but mostly I spent the flight time staring out the window at the setting sun and the stars, I don’t sleep very well on planes. I do remember dozing off and then opening my eyes and looking at the western coast of Russia. I noticed how desolate and dark it seemed. It was one of the last times I knew where I was during that trip.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Vladivostok

  COLIN EMERGED FROM the bathroom after we landed and he was wearing a business suit. I went from feeling like an adult next to his tattered rock star outfit to looking like his bodyguard in my bowling shirt and chinos. I think he might have shaved while he was in there too because he looked like a different person.

  “You can leave your phone in here, just shut it off, it isn’t going to work, and I don’t want you to get some weird roaming charges,” Colin said.

  I shut off my Blackberry Curve and left it in a compartment within Colin's jet.

  Colin had been right about bringing guns into Russia, we didn’t even stop at customs. A guy in a Russian military outfit showed up in an S Class Mercedes, and Colin walked down the jet’s ramp to him. Colin spoke Russian to the guy, and he seemed to be doing it fluently, which, until then wasn’t something I knew about him. I wasn’t sure where he’d learned that but he did always have a knack for languages and I knew he spoke Spanish and German.

  Colin waved to me, I got out of the plane, and it was comfortable in my James Gandolfini bowling shirt. I’d say it was in the 60s, which I didn’t expect in Russia, but Vladivostok is actually pretty warm in spring. I had my passport in my pocket, assuming I’d need it, but the guy never asked for it, I don’t recall him asking Colin for his either.

  Colin talked to this guy, and he had some other guys in military outfits go into Colin's G-III and unload our things. I didn’t know where they were taking them at the time, but I saw the boxes with our guns being loaded into this truck and I was a little worried about the Savage 99. I had no idea what was going on, and I was a bit bewildered by the whole experience. I had just arrived in Russia, and contrary to the experience I had trying to get into Canada this was less hassle than you’d get walking into a bar.

  So we got into this car with this military guy who has the green and red Russian military uniform on. Of course, I was in the army in the late ’70s and deployed to West Germany, when it was split into two countries, so we were trained to fight the Soviet Army. As part of that I had to recognize Soviet rank insignia. Now, the Russian army of today is a little different, but I was pretty sure this guy was the equivalent of a lieutenant. I had no idea how Colin knew this guy or where we were going, except that it was to Colin's meeting.

  The guy and Colin made some kind of small talk in Russian, and I just sat in the back. I was a little bewildered to be in Russia, at night in this Mercedes and I was a little jet lagged from the flight. Even if they had been speaking English, I would have been pretty quiet.

  I thought it was a little late for a meeting because it was nighttime and even though I wasn’t really sure what time it was, I saw that a clock tower we drove by said 10:30.

  Colin's meeting wasn’t at an office building or a business. It was at a night club, I don’t remember what the name was in Russian, but Colin told me what it was called and then said it meant “Sky Bar.” The lieutenant driving the Mercedes drops us off and lets us out. Colin tells me to follow him, there is a line outside, and he and I walk past all of these people waiting to get in. This massive Russian bouncer opens the velvet rope for us and lets us in. Colin doesn’t even say anything to him, he just walks through, I thanked him as we went by, but the guy didn’t even look at me.

  Night clubs aren’t really my thing and haven’t been since the ’70s, even then they weren’t my favorite place to go. Your Aunt Diane and I used to go to them, but this one was what you’d expect from a night club. It was loud, crowded and full of people a lot younger than me. It was interesting, I was a little surprised because I knew where Vladivostok was and most of the people I saw were Russians, by that I mean most people in Vladivostok were white. We weren’t very far from North Korea and China, and The Golden Horn Bay is a bay of the Sea of Japan. Hokkaido is due East of Vladivostok. I expected a lot more of what we’d call people of Asian descent here in America. I guess that was just my uninformed stereotype of that part of the world at the time. Of course, everyone who lives in Vladivostok is Asian regardless of the color of their skin.

  The club might have been an old theater or an old Russian opera house because it has a look like Versailles crossed with Las Vegas. There’s the thumping music you’d expect, and the lights and people are dancing on the dance floor. It was maybe 11, and people were just starting to arrive. I’d say from the time we got there to the time we left, the crowd doubled in size.

  Colin is greeted by another massive bouncer as he walks in, he says something I can’t hear and the bouncer escorts us through the crowd to a VIP area where a huge looking guy in a suit is sitting. He and Colin clap each other on the back and hug each other like they are good friends. I’m still standing there like I’ve just snuck in behind Colin. Then he turns to me and points and says something to the guy in Russian. The guy comes over to me. This guy has rings on all of his fingers, he’s got some kind of diamond-encrusted gold watch on, and his cufflinks look like 3 or 4-carat diamonds.

  “You are dyadya of Colin?” he says, “You are oonkle?”

  I just nodded my head. He grabs my hand with his massive ringed meat paws and almost crushes it as he claps me on the back nearly knocking the wind out of me.

  “Family of Colin is my family!” he says smiling at me, “You Mason. Beeg Friend!”

  There are these leather couches around this glowing table that he sits me down at and I’m next to a bunch of what looks like Russian supermodels. Girls younger than you Scott and this guy who is probably my age sits down and puts his arms around two of them. Colin sits down on the opposite side of the couch. So it was this giant guy, Colin, me and about eight girls sitting together at this table. I can see there is cocaine on the table and most of the girls are high.

  A guy comes to the table with a bottle of vodka and starts pouring shots. The giant guy yells at him angrily and points at me and says something. The guy returns with a different bottle that I can only assume is something more expensive for his new, “Beeg Friend.”

  The big guy says some toast in Russian, everyone drinks, the guy comes back with the expensive bottle again and fills up our shots again. I’m wondering if I can get anything besides vodka, but a short time later, I was glad that I hadn’t ordered anything else.

  Colin and this guy talk in Russian, and you can tell it is business talk. Colin is laughing, and so is this guy, but they are laughing at each other like, “Your offer is very funny, now what are you really offering me?”

  Colin says something to the guy, and some of the girls look at each other like they are actually scared and want to leave. The guy has a very serious look on his face. He sits back nodding his head with a scowl, just eyeing up Colin. Colin is looking at him with a blank expression like he’s playing poker with this guy. Suddenly, the guy starts laughing, stands up and comes over to Colin.

  “Da! Da! Da!” He says, laughing, he again claps Colin on the back and shakes his hand. I now am wondering how much pain Colin is in because this guy crushes your hand and pounds you on the back like he’s trying to break your scapulae and Colin has gotten it twice.

  We drink about ten more shots, the girls are sitting on Colin's lap, and they are all over this big guy. The girls are just politely sitting next to me like they are decorations b
ecause I can’t speak to them and I am not really paying any attention to them. You don’t stay married for 40 years by grabbing 19 year old Russian girls’ asses.

  Finally, Colin and this guy finish whatever they are talking about and we all down another shot of vodka. Colin stands, and the guy comes up and hugs me.

  “Mason, you beeg friend! Beeg Friend!” He says I think he said that because he knew no other adjectives in English like “good.” Anyway, he crushes my hand again, and Colin and I leave this club. The Mercedes is waiting for us with the lieutenant. This time Colin sits in the back with me.

  I asked what was going on and all Colin said was, “Business,” so I have no idea what was discussed or who this guy was. I did notice that a few years ago, the United States imposed sanctions on a number of Russian businessmen and I think the guy’s picture was in a group of these people’s headshots on the news.

  He quickly changed the subject to me and asked if I had a good time, if I liked the vodka and if I liked the club. It was one of the rare occasions that Colin didn’t want to talk about himself. I didn’t see him act like that again until he testified in front of Congress about his dealings in Russia.

  The Mercedes drives us back to the airport. Now all of our stuff is loaded into an Antonov An-12 which is the Russian equivalent of a C-130. We get into this thing, and I wonder why is the Russian Military acting like Colin's private limo and jet service?

  I see a bunch of crates on this plane as well as my luggage, the leather bag, and my briefcase. One of the crew hands me a winter jacket with the Russian flag on the arm, earmuffs and a hat, I still have my dress chinos and bowling shirt on underneath. Colin gets one as well, mine is some kind of flecktarn pattern, and his is a grey urban camouflage, his, of course, looked better than mine. There’s a jump seat that Colin flips down and I do the same. I strap myself into this thing, and Colin doesn’t have his seatbelt on, so he’s leaning over shouting to me.

  “It’s going to be a long ride to the cabin get some sleep!” he yells.

  I haven’t had a decent conversation with him since we left the plane, he’s either been busy talking to Russians or its been too loud to hear each other. Now, he straps himself in, puts in earbuds under his ear muffs and shuts his eyes. I feel the plane begin rumbling down the runway and I am both drunk and exhausted, so I’m not sure if I passed out or fell asleep.

  I woke up, and I really had to pee. I figured the toilet was in the back and I was right. There were a couple of guys standing around by the cargo, and I just lumbered over and took a piss right in front of them. They just kept talking like nothing was happening. Either it was normal to just do that, or maybe they were saying, “Fucking Americans must just piss in front of each other all the time.” I went back to my jump seat and folded it down, I looked out the window and had no idea where we were or where we were going. Colin hadn’t told me, and it was pitch black outside, I could see stars but nothing on the ground so I am sure there was complete cloud cover for a long way. I looked over at Colin, and he was just hanging in his jump seat. Completely out, whatever the deepest sleep you can get is, that’s the kind of rest he was getting.

  I don’t think I really fell asleep again after that. We did descend through clouds on the way down and when we touch down the back cargo door opens. We’re at an airport.

  “Welcome to Siberia,” Colin says as we’re walking down the extended cargo ramp.

  “Why didn’t we fly here in your jet?” I ask Colin.

  “We wouldn’t be allowed to land here Mason,” he laughs, “Look around, this is a military airbase.”

  I look out trying to focus my bleary eyes, and he’s right, Russian Air Force transport planes like the one we just got off and fighter jets are parked on the ramp. This is a Russian Air Force Base. It’s considerably colder here and not much warmer than the inside of the transport plane we just got off. Not sure how he can finagle a ride on a Russian transport plane and get chauffeured around by a Russian lieutenant but not arrange to land his private jet at an airbase. Some things are even out of the realm of billionaires I guess.

  A military transport truck is now waiting for us, and I’m just not understanding how Colin is allowed to use the Russian military like this. The guys I pissed in front of load all of our stuff into the truck, and I’m about to hop in the truck. Colin points to some kind of military SUV he calls a “GAZ Tiger,” and we get into that. I’m still drunk, but Colin gets in the driver’s seat of this vehicle, so he’s either sobered up, or he’s going to drive this Russian Military SUV while he’s wasted. Either is plausible I suppose. If he were drunk, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been driven around by Colin when he was impaired.

  I heard that he got pulled over for drunk driving in a Lamborghini in Miami. He was apparently with that actress from the superhero movies, Rachel Scarlotti. Remember, when he was dating her he tried to be an actor himself and got that role in that Wesley Snipes film, “Full Blood Moon?” He wasn’t a particularly good actor, but I remember in that film he was a werewolf and Wesley Snipes’ character killed him I think. Anyway, I guess the cop recognized him or her or both of them and gave them both a ride back to his penthouse downtown there rather than busting him. If that’s true, it is one of the dozens of times the kid should have been taught a lesson and instead learned that he can do anything he wants because of his money and fame. Instead, all it cost him was a tow of his sports car.

  The sun was now setting, and light snow was starting to fall at the airport. A Sukhoi fighter jet takes off behind us hitting the afterburner as it disappears into the snowy clouds. I watch the beacon light at the airport disappear behind trees as we drive into a forest surrounding the airport.

  So we’re finally alone in a comparatively quiet environment, he told me that we were headed to the hunting cabin we’d stay at tonight, and I asked him.

  “Colin, how is it that the Russian Military totes you and your guests around like this?”

  “Oh, believe me, I pay for it,” he said.

  “I didn’t know they ran a taxi service, airline and car rental you could pay for,” I said sarcastically.

  “Everything has a price,” he said.

  “Except clearance at Russian airbases, I guess?” I remarked, it was clear he didn’t want to be too specific about what kind of payment had allowed him this treatment. I’m glad I never delved further into that because during the investigation I was scared enough that I’d be called to testify.

  He smirked and changed the subject, “You’re going to love this place. A few of my friends from the area are stopping up to hang out with us tonight.”

  I knew what he meant, more women would be hanging out with us, and as usual, I’d be sitting between two girls almost a third my age while they waited their turn to grope him or attract his attention. I wished it was going to just be us, but Colin just isn’t a person who is comfortable in a group of two people, he always needs to have a crowd around him validating his status as a popular person.

  I wondered how these people were going to get to the cabin because the road on which we were driving was getting snow covered and slick. The transport truck was slowing down, which irritated Colin because, of course, he spent that time in the 90’s rally racing and is quite good at driving in all weather conditions. So he thinks everyone else should drive up to his level. I talked to him about when he had that Audi 100 in the ’90s, and he had Bridgestone winter tires on it. It was the second day of 1999, and he came to visit me, I told him to stay home, but he refused of course. He got from Minneapolis to Chicago in 5 hours in one of the worst blizzards of the 20th century. I think two feet of snow fell while he was driving. He admitted to me that he went almost 100 miles per hour the whole way to get there that fast.

  So I was confident in his driving, but he was following the truck too closely for my comfort, and it was difficult to concentrate or relax and have a conversation with him. The vehicle had no radio except for a comm and Russian chatter occasionally
startled me as this radio was turned up too loud for something Colin wasn’t using.

  “Who was the guy we met at the bar, my new ‘beeg friend,’” I asked.

  “That’s Dimitry, he’s everyone’s ‘beeg friend,’” Colin said laughing, “He’s with Rosneft, a Russian petroleum corporation.”