by K. T. Tomb
“Precisely. John you do it, since you were too stupid to think o’ that. Ken, pour me another drink.”
Ken brought the brandy for Mickey and went to help John look through the bin in the kitchen first. Soon he came back to where Mickey was sitting,
“We found this,” he said, handing over a business card.
Mickey read it and laughed wholeheartedly.
“Yous lot just redeemed ya damn selves,” He said, still laughing. “ I always knew that Fiona was a well connected bird. It says ‘ere: Mark Gunnar, Vice President Legal Advocacy, Ministry of Immigration and Naturalization. Looks like our little friends may have gotten some diplomatic help, maybe even new passports.”
He turned the card over and saw a mobile number scrawled on the back.
“Even better!” he exclaimed. “C’mon lads, we’re done ‘ere. Ken, call Sasha and tell him I need a wire tap done in Helsinki. It’s a cell phone but it might be overseas right now. I need a contact for someone who’s really good.”
Later that evening Mickey sat in the back room of a café in Helsinki watching as an extensively tattooed and pierced teenager, with a spiky blue Mohawk clicked away furiously on an Apple laptop. He had refused to tell Mickey his real name and had stuck to answering to the screen name that Sasha had given Ken, ‘Snakeskin’.
“Okay, we’re ready,” the kid announced. “Make the call on this phone.” He handed a telephone receiver which was connected to the laptop’s modem to Mickey and he dialed the number.
It rang a few times and then Mark Gunnar answered the phone. Mickey rustled a piece of paper in front of the mouthpiece for a few seconds while Mark said ‘Hello, hello?” a few times on the other end of the line. Just before Mickey could tell that Mark was about to end the call, Snakeskin gave him the thumbs up and he hung up the phone.
“He’s in Russia,” Snakeskin announced. “Near a tourist trap called Ulan-Ude, he’s probably visiting Lake Baikal.”
“Now I’ve gotcha!” Mickey said.
***
“Hmm, that was strange,” Mark said, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway Travis, what was I saying?”
“The mining ministry in Moscow,” he said, attempting to remind him.
“Oh, yes!” Mark said. “I called the ministry like you asked and no matter how many people my contact spoke to at whatever level, absolutely no one knew about any mining license or application for one for the Lake Baikal region. It hasn’t been earmarked for exploration either, so whoever we’re dealing with isn’t government sanctioned, at least as far as we know.”
“It’s what I needed to know, thanks.”
“Would you really have pulled out and gone home if it was the government?”
“Mark, you’re not a stupid man. If the government was mining over there on the lake and felt the need to try and trick people that they’re seeing Kitezh to ensure that they don’t explore any other parts of it,would you want to go searching for the mining operation so you could ask them why?”
“I see your point. So you’re still in then?”
“Yeah, I am. But if it was the government, I’d be out of here immediately.”
“Xenia and Savannah went to dive the north shore today, you know?”
“Yeah, I can’t wait for them to come tell us what they found. Did Adam end up going as their surface support?”
“Yeah he did.”
“Okay, then they’re in good hands.”
An hour later, Xenia, Savannah and Adam came bursting into the villa and rushed straight over to the table, smiling broadly and buzzing to each other as they scoured the maps in front of them.
“You’ll never guess what we found in the water out there,” Savannah called to Travis and Mark, as she approached them.
“What’s that?” Thyri asked as she came downstairs into the living room.
“We found the projector!”
***
“I can’t believe this!” Mikhail shouted. “I told you there was more to it than tourism, Boris. Aren’t you glad I sent Ivan to find out who they were?”
“It was a good precaution, Mikhail.”
He unfolded the piece of paper that Ivan had given him and scanned it quickly.
“It says here they are Finnish and here on vacation but it seems they have diplomatic visas, all of them. That’s very convenient, don’t you think?”
“I think we should go pay them a visit and let them know that they are not to come back to this side of the lake again.”
“I like the nonviolent approach, Boris, they are diplomats after all; but let’s be sure we are prepared to give them some added incentive, yes? Tell the men to get themselves ready and the boat as well. We’ll leave as soon as it’s dark.”
“Yes, Mikhail.”
***
“Mickey, the three women at the front desk all agree that they checked in here five days ago,” John said as he closed the car door.
“How d’ya find that out so fast?”
The two men smiled at each other, then Ken said, “A little old fashioned persuasion.”
“And good ol’ English charm,” added John, laughing.
Mickey could just about picture the receptionists tied to chairs in the back office; two of them with the barrels of the two men’s guns firmly lodged between their teeth, while the third spurted information like a fountain. Good ol’ English charm!
“Good job, boys,” Mickey said.
“They also said the rooms are still occupied. They’ve gone on a trip, she said, but they’re booked in for another week.”
“Well, well, well,” Mickey said, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t know about you lot but I’ve got nothing pressing to do that I can’t wait around for our friends to get back. They got a lobby pub in there?”
“Sure do, Mickey.”
“Alright then, let’s get ourselves a couple a rooms,boys, and see what St. Petersburg’s got to offer.”
***
That night, the seven of them sat around the living room, drinking and chatting merrily in front of the fireplace. Fiona and Mark were cuddled up in an oversized armchair while Thyri and Savannah reclined on gigantic throw cushions on the bear rug. Adam, Travis and Xenia shared the sectional sofa and talked about Russian culture and art.
Xenia seemed to know everything about her country’s history, which was something Travis could appreciate; he despised how lax the educational system had become about teaching young people about their extensive and proud American history. He’d always harbored a conspiracy theory that school textbooks were being systematically censored of the parts of history which, though important, may now be slightly embarrassing.
He remembered hosting a guest lecture a few years back at a college in Baltimore on the pivotal moments of the Indian American War. He opened by saying the discussion would be on the Battle of Wounded Knee; immediately a hand went up, Travis pointed to the student and a tall, blond haired, blue-eyed, well-built, handsome, All-American type young man stood up and said, “Professor, what’s Wounded Knee?” He had stood at that podium and stared at the boy for quite awhile before he finally replied, “Wounded Knee is eighth grade history, son, and yet here you are a sophomore in college. I suggest you sit down, shut up, turn your phone off and listen this time. Maybe you’ll learn something.”
He stretched and yawned. He wasn’t tired though, he was just really relaxed and enjoying it too. There hadn’t been much relaxation in his life since the moment he’d agreed to go on this trip. Mark cracked a joke about something and the girls could be heard laughing jovially at him. They were having a nice time.
Suddenly, the lights in the villa went out. Everyone was silent for a minute as they let their eyes adjust to the dark. The roaring fire helped to illuminate the room a little as well.
“Everyone”, Travis said, immediately taking control of the situation, “be very quiet and don’t move. Xenia, does this happen often?”
“Actually, in this area there are almost never any powe
r outages and, if my memory serves me well, Travis, this villa has a solar powered backup supply system.”
“Shit!” Travis cursed under his breath. “It looks like your little discovery today may not have gone undetected. Listen to me everyone; it seems our power supply may have been deliberately cut. We may be under attack right now so we’re going to try to make a run for the garage and get out of here in the van...”
Before Travis could finish what he was saying, the lights came back on and seated in the kitchen watching them were six armed men. A few seconds later four more joined them. The intruders said nothing, allowing Thyri’s group to grow accustomed to the fact that they were outnumbered and outgunned.
“Good evening, my name is Travis. How can we help you gentlemen?” Travis asked, sarcastically.
“Good night, Travis, my name is Mikhail and these are my friends,” one of the men replied in a thick Russian accent. “We’re actually just here to pay you a courtesy call. We’re from across the lake there and we were just wondering why you and your friends want to stir up things you know nothing about.”
“I doubt my friends were intentionally trying to ‘stir things up’, as you put it. They’re just curious at times.”
Travis stretched out his right hand to signal to the others to slowly get up and move behind him. As they did so, one by one gathering behind him on the sofa, he noticed Xenia was not in the living room.
What a little snake! Travis thought to himself, Where the hell did she go?
Then he noticed the door to the garage was slightly ajar and he knew she must have gone that way. He could only hope that she was hiding in the SUV, trying to call the police. He was sure that Mikhail had more men positioned outside the house, so it wasn’t possible that she had gotten out. He decided to continue talking and not call attention to her disappearance.
“Well it seemed that way to me when they were diving in the water over there today, but let’s forget about that now. I just want you to leave. Tomorrow, before sunset, pack your things and go back to Finland and forget about whatever you may or may not have seen here. Okay?”
“Sure, Mikhail we’ll go. We don’t want any trouble.”
At his last statement, all the men burst out laughing and repeating his words ‘we don’t want any trouble’. Travis cocked his head, irritated. Why were they doing that? When Mikhail had quietened them down, he turned back to Travis.
“I’m very sorry, it’s just that we wonder why, when people are in trouble, they always say they don’t want any trouble, even in the movies. It’s very funny, yes?”
“I guess so.”
Travis looked behind him at the others. Fiona was clinging to Mark as if her life depended on it, while Thyri sat up straight looking down at her hands folded on her lap. Adam was seething but he knew better than to do or say anything in the presence of 10 loaded AK-47’s. Savannah sat very close to him looking like she was fighting back tears. Travis smiled quickly at them and nodded. From where he stood he had a good view of the road through the enormous glass windows at the front of the house. He looked out into the night but of course, there was nothing but darkness out there. Then he thought he saw a flash of blond hair run across the front lawn and then disappear. He blinked and looked again, there was nothing there. He turned his attention back to Mikhail.
“You want us to leave and we said we’ll leave. So are we good now?”
“I guess so, Travis. I was just wondering...”
“Yes, Mikhail?”
“Do you have anything to eat? The guys haven’t had any dinner yet, you know?”
“I understand. Would you like to take a seat at the table there? We’ll find something for you.”
“Very nice. Thank you.”
Mikhail and his men holstered their weapons and walked into the living room to sit at the table.
“Is this all of you, Mikhail?” Travis asked from the kitchen. “Is there anyone outside that I should maybe make a sandwich for?”
Mikhail didn’t answer Travi’s question, instead he turned to Boris and spoke rapidly in Russian. Boris went through the kitchen door where they had entered the house and shouted in more Russian before returning to the table. A few minutes later four more men came walking into the house. Ironically, the last one locked the kitchen door behind him, turning the lock dutifully.
Travis, Savannah and Fiona took cold cuts, smoked salmon, eggs, cheese, sausages and a pot of beef stew out of the fridge. Savannah arranged the cheese and cold cuts on a platter while Fiona boiled the eggs and fried the sausages. Travis went to the pantry and took out boxes of crackers and loaves of bread and put them on a wooden cutting board. When her tray was done, Savannah retrieved a large container of left over roasted vegetables and put it in the microwave to warm up while she chopped vegetables into a large bowl and tossed them into a salad. She cut up apples, pears and plums as well and added them to the cheese and meat plate. Travis poured the stew into a big serving dish while Fiona peeled the hard boiled eggs and put them in a bowl. When the microwave beeped, the three started taking food to the table for Mikhail and his men. They gave each man a plate and a fork and they dove right into the spread. The three of them went back to the sofa to join the others.
“Xenia got out to the garage,” Travis whispered. “I think she’s calling the cops.”
“What if they notice she’s missing?” Adam asked.
“We tell them she left this evening for Moscow.”
As he watched the men eating their supper, Travis saw the blond haired figure again. From the corner of his eye he could make out the man standing in the shadows of the front porch trying to see inside the house. He was dressed in full black and carried an assault rifle, Travis was convinced he was Mikhail’s lookout but then he backed away from the glass then turned to go down the porch steps. With his back to him, Travis could make out the white letter on the back of the black tactical vest he wore. The letters spelled ‘POLICE’.
“Be on your guard,” he whispered to the others. “The cops are here.”
***
The melee that ensued was unlike any of them had ever experienced in their lives. As the gunmen were busy eating their meal, a voice came over a loud speaker in Russian, then English.
“This is the Police! You are surrounded, put your hands on your heads and come out of the building.”
The speaker repeated this several times but the gunmen didn’t move. Suddenly, one of the panes in the huge front window broke and a smoking canister came flying through.
A fog of tear gas went up right between where they were seated on the sofa and the table where the gunmen sat eating and almost immediately a curtain of white made movement in the room undetectable.
“To the garage! Quick and cover your nose and mouth,” Travis said, grabbing Thyri’s hand and shoving her and the others towards the open door. Shots rang out behind them and suddenly there was a searing pain in Travis’ shoulder.
He kept Thyri moving ahead of him and finally pushed her through the door and into safety. When he made it into the garage, Travis pulled the door and slammed it, bolting it shut.
“Get off the steps quickly. The doors not bulletproof, you know.”
When he looked up, they were all staring at him.
“Neither are you, buddy,” Adam said, walking towards him.
Travis looked down and saw the bloodstain spreading across his shirt from the wound in his shoulder. Adam caught him as he swooned and held him up on his feet. When they turned, there was Xenia, with tears flowing down her cheeks and her cell phone still grasped tightly in her hand. They hugged each other tightly while all hell broke loose between the police and the criminals upstairs in the living room.
“Thank you, officers,” Travis said again as they stood on the lawn watching them take the gunmen away in the waiting vans. The others stood on the patio waving at the police as they departed.
When they had gone, Travis turned and joined the others.
“Let’s pac
k and go,” he suggested. “I’m going to need to see a doctor right away. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’d rather sleep in the hangar at the airport than in this house for one more night.”
The others murmured their agreement.
“I’ll help you with your bags,” Thyri said, grasping his good arm.
***
It felt good to be back in St. Petersburg. Lake Baikal felt like it was a million miles away; Travis wished he could forget the whole thing had ever happened but the bullet wound in his left shoulder was a constant aching reminder. His collarbone had been broken by the bullet but he counted himself lucky; a few inches more and it could have shattered the joint and he would have lost his arm.
He sat at the bar in the quaint little lobby restaurant of their hotel and tenderly nursed a beer. He knew shouldn’t be drinking any alcohol because of the medication he was taking, but Travis figured one beer wouldn’t make a bit of difference.
At the end of the bar an old man was telling a funny story to a group of his drinking partners. They roared occasionally with laugher, as well as some of the other patrons in the pub. Suddenly, the laugher stopped, and an eerie silence had crept over the pub. Everyone was looking toward the door and Travis felt nervous as he turned on his stool to face the door.
Like a bad dream, there stood Mickey Large, neatly flanked by John and Ken. Instantly, Travis went into survival mode and surveyed the room, looking for an escape route. There was none and he felt like a caged rabbit as Mickey walked up to him at the bar.
“Relax Travis, I just want to have a little chat with my good friend, mostly about my money, but I wanted to offer my sincerest condolences about your accident in the country,” Mickey said to Travis as he lit a cigarette.
“Barkeep!” Mickey shouted and pulled out a very large black revolver and fired it into the roof.“Champagne for us please.”
“Ab...ab...absolutely,” the barkeeper stuttered from behind the counter. He opened the under counter cooler, pulled out a bottle and quickly busied himself opening it.