“This man got the drop on you, and the only reason your head is still attached to the rest of your body is that the woman made a deal with you.”
Sergei relaxed and smiled. “Perhaps it appeared that way. But I had already won. She saved him. For now. But we know where he’s staying. We’ll take care of him.”
Dmitri nodded. Sergei had not backed down. Not last night, and more importantly not now, to him. He had picked the right man. As usual.
“You need to make it right, Sergei,” Dmitri said. “Who is this man?”
“Just some American.”
“An American put you down?” Dmitri asked with derision. He rubbed his forehead in mock disgust. He knew all along it had been an American. “Americans are weak, Sergei, soft. My men shouldn’t be bested by a westerner.”
Maxsim looked ready to explode. His face reddened and the pounding on his leg grew harder. “This man was not weak. He was big, and violent.” His head still hurt from the night before. The coke helped a bit, but Maxsim still wished he could lie down in a dark room.
But when Dmitri calls, you obey.
Dmitri leaned back in his chair and turned his attention to Maxsim. “My people don’t get sent to the hospital by westerners. Perhaps you’ve become soft from the whores and coke I supply you with.”
Maxsim went still.
“Show me what you are made of, both of you,” Dmitri said. “Find this man and take him down. And do it so people see. I cannot have people questioning our power.”
Maxsim and Sergei stood up. They knew when meetings with the boss were done. “We will, Dmitri,” Sergei said. “We know where to start.”
After they left, Mikhail entered through a side door. Dmitri leaned back and sighed, rubbing his stump. Mikhail was one of the few people who saw Dmitri in a time of weakness.
“You heard?” Dmitri asked.
“Da,” Mikhail replied. “Sergei and Max have declared war on the Americans.”
Dmitri laughed. “I wouldn’t want to be American right now.”
Mikhail smiled, scar crinkling in the light. “No, certainly not.”
“Do you know anything about this American, the one who put Vlad in the hospital?”
Mikhail shook his head. “Nothing. Except that we won’t have to worry about him tomorrow.”
Dmitri laughed again. It was good to be Dmitri.
Chapter 9
Nick stood outside Anya’s restaurant. It was six o’clock in the evening and he was back near the river. He hadn’t seen the other Americans during the afternoon, which suited him just fine. He figured they were off visiting their kids. He knew Alexei, Tom and Michelle’s son, was in Taganrog, a small town on the Black Sea ninety minutes away from Rostov. He felt bad for Tom and Michelle. Not only did they have to drive three hours round-trip to see their son every day, but their driver charged them one hundred dollars to be on call. After paying the price of a BMW SUV to get this far, a hundred dollars did not seem like much, but it was much easier to just walk to Baby Home Number Four.
He spied the white building across the street from the river. It read “Olymp” in huge red Cyrillic letters across the top. Two impressive-looking staircases led from the ground level to a balcony, one on each side of large double doors. It was very well cared for, which set it apart from other buildings nearby. He could see red-and-white umbrellas on the balcony. Sure looked like a restaurant to him.
Nick crossed the street and walked up to the double doors. They were frosted glass, and the one on the right had a menu with Cyrillic letters pasted to it. He was able to recognize words for chicken and beef. Prices were a bit high, but in this case he took it to mean quality, especially after what Anya had said. He went in.
The entryway was dim and air-conditioned, a welcome contrast to the heat outside. Classical music played softly through hidden speakers, loud enough to provide ambiance but soft enough for patrons to converse. Nick heard a few voices from deeper in the building, but couldn’t see any customers; the seating area was through a small door on the other side of the room.
The walls were dark wood paneling, and expensive-looking vases adorned recesses every several feet. Nick felt underdressed in his jeans and polo shirt, one of the fanciest shirts he had brought, but a delicious smell coming from that small door kept him waiting.
He didn’t have to wait long. The room was empty when he entered but within seconds a young woman in a low-cut red shirt and black skirt came out to greet him. Her dark hair was up and she wore glasses, which gave her a slightly haughty appearance. But she gave Nick a nice smile and asked in Russian if she could help him. At least, that’s what he thought she asked.
Nick held up one finger, pointed to a stack of menus, and asked, “English?” She smiled again, grabbed one from behind the podium, and held it out to him. He read “Café Olymp” and a list of entrees in English. He grinned back and nodded.
She led Nick through the doorway. The seating area was as ornate as the entryway, but only a few tables were in use at the early hour. A few older couples looked up as they passed. Nick noticed he brought the median age of the customers down significantly.
“In or out?” the hostess asked, pointing up toward the balcony. Nick replied, “Where is Anya?” The hostess, with a gleam in her eye, said, “Ahh, you are Nick?”
Nick smiled and was pretty sure he blushed a bit. “Da,” he replied.
“I bring you to her,” the hostess said with a wink.
They walked up an inside staircase and emerged onto a large patio. Several round, white tables were dispersed around, each with one of the red and white umbrellas Nick had seen from the street.
The patio was empty except for three twenty-somethings sitting around a table in the corner, chatting and laughing. A man and two women. One of the women was dressed in the red shirt and black skirt of the Olymp. Anya. The guy wore a black shirt and gray sportcoat, while the other woman had on a yellow sun dress. Nick saw a sandaled foot peeking out from under the table, bright red on the toes.
Nick raised his hand in greeting to Anya, who returned it with a big smile.
The hostess waved her arm around the tables, indicating Nick had his pick of spots. He chose one near the edge, so he could look out and see the river. She pulled out a chair and placed the menu on the table while he sat.
The music on the patio was more upbeat. Nick listened to Mick Jagger sing about how he wanted to paint it black while he looked through the menu. Nick’s mouth watered for the steak but he wanted to see what else they had. Pretty much everything, he found.
Anya stood up, stretched languidly, and glided over to Nick. She looked taller and thinner in her red and black Von outfit. He had to admit the uniform accentuated her curves nicely.
“Zdrastvoytye, Mr. Nick,” she said to him formally, and grinned.
He ordered a Baltica on tap, and she disappeared for a few minutes. When she returned she also carried a bowl of unshelled peanuts in a small wicker basket.
“I heard Americans love to eat peanuts with their beer,” she said.
Nick cracked a peanut open and tossed the nuts into his mouth. He pointed to the chair next to him. “Want some?”
She looked around briefly, then slid into the chair.
Nick looked at her, eyes wide. “Seriously?”
She shrugged and smiled. “Well, we’re not busy yet.”
They chatted for several minutes about nothing in particular. Eventually she said, “Can I ask you a personal question?”
An alarm bell began to ring in Nick’s head. “Perhaps,” he said.
“Why do you come to Russia to adopt? Are you not able to make your own babies?” She said it with a worried look on her face. “You can tell me to go away if you want.”
“No, no, that’s OK,” Nick said. “You’re not the first person to ask that. We tried to…make babies, but it didn’t work out so well. We were going to try something new when our doctor died in a car accident. We took that as a sign to adopt.”
“But why Russia? Aren’t there American babies for you to adopt?”
“There are, but it takes a long time because there are so many couples who want to adopt. Plus, the birth parents can change their mind and take their baby back. I’m not sure I could handle that.” He took a deep breath; just thinking about it made him queasy. “So we decided to go international. Adopting from Russia is much faster than adopting from other countries, like China or Korea. It’s more expensive, but quicker.” He shrugged. “We had more money than time, I guess.”
She looked sad. “It’s a pity you had to make that choice.”
“It is what it is. You should see Nonna, though. She’s awesome!”
Anya smiled. “I’d love to meet her some day!”
A young couple emerged onto the patio. Anya saw them, sighed, and stood up. “Here it comes, time to get back to work.”
Nick was sorry to see her go. “Stop back if you get a chance,” he said.
She smiled. “OK, I will.”
He hoisted his beer at her. “I’m sure I’ll need a refill.”
She gave Nick a glare, then turned away and walked to the couple. She popped him the finger behind her back, and Nick laughed. It had been a long time since he had flirted.
For the next few hours he watched the patrons as they arrived and began enjoying themselves. He watched Anya. He watched the two she had left at the table. He was good at watching. Anya would stop by periodically with a new Baltica, so by the end of the time Nick was not quite as observant as earlier in the evening. However, he did notice how homogenous the clientele was. Young, beautiful, well dressed, obviously with money. He suspected he knew where the money came from.
Anya stopped by with her two friends later in the evening. “This is my cousin, Andrei,” she said. “And his girlfriend, Svetlana.”
Andrei was dark like his cousin, and had a sideways grin that made Nick like him immediately. He sat next to Nick and said, “So, I hear you’re American!”
“Yes,” Nick replied. “And I hear you’re Russian!”
Andrei slammed his fist on the table and laughed heartily. Nick was sure part of it was his nature and part of it was the beer. “Yes, a member of the Evil Empire, as your President Reagan used to say.”
Nick tipped his mug towards him. “Here’s to the end of that nonsense,” he said. Andrei and Svetlana joined in the toast, and they were on their way.
Several more toasts followed. Anya came back frequently, and as the evening wore on she rested her hand on Nick’s shoulder as she stood next to him.
Several people stopped by to say hello, and Nick got the impression Andrei was pretty much a permanent fixture on the patio. Svetlana was quieter, preferring to talk to people one-on-one. She also drank a lot less than Andrei.
At one point, after the Balticas started to take their toll, Nick asked Andrei what exactly he did for a living.
The beer obviously was taking its toll on Andrei as well, because he leaned in close and said, “I’m an enforcer. You don’t want me showing up at your door.”
Nick sat back, saying nothing.
Darkness fell and tiki lanterns were lit. They reminded Nick that he still had a long walk home in the dark, so he got up to say his goodbyes.
“You must let me drive you home!” Andrei insisted. Nick told him, quite honestly, that he would feel safer walking home alone than having Andrei drive in his condition.
He pooh-poohed Nick. “Russians know how to drink!” he boomed. Of that Nick had no doubt, but he insisted that Andrei stay at the restaurant and have more fun. Reluctantly, Andrei gave in. Nick said goodbye to everybody, and Anya walked him to the door.
“It’s safe out there, right?” Nick asked her.
She nodded. “As long as you stay on this main street, you’ll be OK.” Her eyes suddenly twinkled. “But you know, my flat is not far from here. If you want, we could go back there for the night.”
“I’d love to,” Nick said, “but I have to get up early in the morning, to see my daughter.” He emphasized the last word, to make sure she caught the meaning. He put his hand on her shoulder. “But if I was single, I’d definitely take you up on your offer.”
Anya sighed and forced a smile. “I understand. I thought you might say that, but I wanted to ask.”
“Thank you.”
“And your baby is a good reason for not wanting to sleep with me, no?” she asked.
Nick had to agree, although it was getting more difficult. He kissed her forehead and said, “Good night, Anya.”
“Good night, Nick. Will I see you again?”
He grinned. “Promise! Maybe even tomorrow. Your food is excellent.” He winked. “And so’s the company.”
Anya put a hand on Nick’s arm and said, “Wait.” She dashed off to the kitchen and came back with a small flashlight. “Here, take this. You can bring it back tomorrow.”
He thanked her, walked out the door, and took a left onto the sidewalk. The road to the hotel was lit, but not as bright as he would have liked. He flicked on the flashlight and trudged up the slight incline, whistling a David Bowie tune and feeling good.
He didn’t even think to look behind him.
Chapter 10
In hindsight, Nick knew he should have noticed the two men tailing him, but drowsiness and beer kept him from being very observant on the way home. He walked along behind the beam of the flashlight for several blocks, then turned it off when the road became brighter.
He thought about Anya and the restaurant. He hoped he hadn’t offended her, but he wasn’t at all interested in dallying. Although if he was, Nick had to admit she’d be a great person to dally around with. She seemed to take it well, and the fact that she didn’t cry or hit him impressed Nick even more.
He sighed and crossed a road. There were few streetlights around, and those in operation cast a sickly yellow glow over the mostly deserted streets. It was before midnight, but people turned in early around here, he guessed. The lights on the other side of the avenue were out, so he flicked the flashlight back on.
After going half a block in the darkness, Nick heard a sound behind him. He glanced back and saw two men coming up fast, so he stepped out of their way, holding the flashlight so it illuminated the ground in front of him.
They slowed. Nick couldn’t get a good look at them in the darkness, except to see they were big, and he didn’t want to shine his flashlight on them.
They wore coats on the warm evening, but that oddity didn’t come to Nick until it was too late. He saw both of them reach into their pockets, which was about the time the bells started ringing in his head.
“Hello, dead man,” one of them said. In English.
One thing Nick always valued about military training was, if you did it long enough and took it seriously enough, your body knew what it had to do without getting your mind involved. Time slows and you don’t think, you just react.
So, he didn’t really remember the eight seconds that followed. Yet, looking back, he knew exactly what happened.
One: he flipped the flashlight up to highlight the men so he could see what he was dealing with. Their hands came out of the coats and he was relieved to see one with a knife and the other with a metal bar. No guns. Big mistake on their part. Guns are ideal for attack because you don’t have to get in close. With knives and blunt instruments you need to wade into the fight. Heavy metal bars ranked way down Nick’s list of weapons of choice. They throw off your balance when you swing them, and you end up with uncontrolled momentum if you miss.
Two: Nick continued the arc of the flashlight so it flew in the air, the light spinning wildly. He could sense both men following it with their eyes. They would have been less than human not to. They held their weapons in front of them, momentarily forgotten.
Three: Nick went for the man with the knife first, the one on his left. He was holding it in his right hand, blade out. Mistake number two: he should have held it in his fist next to his body, with the blade p
ointing down and towards him to protect from exactly what Nick did next. The American kicked out with his right foot, connecting with the wrist that held the knife, and the blade spun away into the darkness. The man’s arm extended in the same direction, leaving his ribs exposed.
Four: Nick ducked in close and pounded his attacker’s rib cage with three staccato jabs, right, left, right. The man folded in pain and Nick finished him off with an uppercut. Not enough to break ribs or jaw, but the guy was unconscious before he hit the ground. Nick swung on the second man, the first one instantly disregarded.
Five: the remaining attacker began to swing the bar. Unfortunately for him, he did what he had to do to get any velocity on the bar: he swung it away from Nick in a backhanded motion with his right hand. In his defense, he really had no option after placing the bar in his right hand, the one nearest Nick. Before he could complete the motion, Nick was on him.
Six: Nick saw the man’s elbow thrust out towards him as the bar hit the apex of the backswing. Nick smashed into it hard with the heel of his hand, the force of his blow causing the ball of the elbow to move one way, the weight of the swinging bar pulling it the other way. Nick felt rather than heard the elbow joint crack.
Seven: the attacker’s wrist, now overextended and with no muscle control, opened and the bar began to drop. His eyes widened and Nick knew the next sound out of his mouth would be a howl of pain. Nick head-butted him savagely, bone on bone, before any sound came out. The bones in the head, especially at the top of the forehead, are among the hardest in the human body, and Nick’s head was harder than most. When Nick connected with the man’s lower forehead, between and just above the eyes, the attacker went down on his back. Hard. He beat the bar to the concrete slab and Nick swore he bounced higher.
Eight: Nick stood over the men, waiting to see if they would move. They didn’t.
Eight seconds, two men down. He’d done worse, Nick thought.
Nick swung the heavy hotel room door shut and clicked the deadbolt. Then he checked it to make sure it was secure. He took a deep breath as reaction started to hit. It had been years since he had put men on the ground.
Worth The Risk Page 6