27
Arrival
“Are your papers ready?” Winn whispered to Chris and Yaw who were both seated to his right on the Boeing 747. The final leg of their flight from London to the Chisinau Airport in Moldova had been delayed several hours, the aircraft sitting helplessly on the tarmac at Heathrow. The distance between London and Moldova was only 1360 miles, the total flight time just under three hours. However, mechanical problems had kept the passengers on the aircraft for over six hours. The passengers had grown restless, and just before a near riot broke out, the plane had taken off, finally landing at Chisinau just past midnight, local time. Once the plane was on the ground, it again was delayed for twenty minutes, taxiing on the runway before it could make its way to the gate with its full load of travel-weary passengers.
Both Chris and Yaw nodded affirmatively to Winn in response to his question, holding up their passports as proof, both men alert despite the long hours in the aircraft. All three felt the muscle cramps and claustrophobia of long distance travel by plane and were hoping the hostel in Tiraspol had hot showers. Chris, sitting in the middle of the three-seat row, looked over at Yaw, who was seated in the aisle seat, and saw the intensity in Yaw’s eyes. He watched as Yaw’s left leg bouncing at a rapid pace, a reveal of Yaw’s anxiety. Chris poked the moving leg with his fist.
“You alright?” he asked.
Yaw realized his nervous energy was visible. He stopped moving his leg and took a deep breath to calm himself. He turned to Chris and forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Just…ready to get this.”
“Me too.” Chris held up his fist and Yaw knocked it with his own.
Yaw sat back in his chair and took another deep breath. Waiting for the plane to reach the gate after all the delays was torturous for him. It had been such a long day of travel, from Los Angeles to New York to London to Moldova, and he just wanted off the aircraft. The anxiety of what awaited them once they got off of the plane, along with the knowledge that conflict lay ahead in a foreign land and the countless unknowns, overwhelmed and adrenalized him. He knew that to rescue Alex and Nikki from Lucas Parks would require every bit of his strength and training, and despite little sleep over the past twenty-four hours, he felt ready to go. The pit of his stomach danced with that uneasy and unsettled sensation that something big lie ahead for him. He believed moments like this defined him as a man, and no matter what, he would give his all to find Alex and Nikki and bring his brother and sister safely home. He would not fail them, he told himself, if he could just get off the goddamn plane.
The aircraft finally lurched to a stop and the bell signifying their arrival at the gate rang, causing the passengers to scramble to their feet all at once.
Winn gently grabbed Yaw by the arm to keep him from moving and flashed a look at Chris.
“Be patient. Wait until everyone else is off. We go last.”
“Papers,” the Moldovan official asked Winn. Winn immediately handed over his passport and travel visa. The Moldovan official briefly scanned Winn’s passport before looking over his shoulder at the younger blond guy and then, with suspicion, at the tall, muscular black man in dreadlocks who stood behind the blond.
“Purpose of your visit?” the official asked Winn as he kept a wary eye on Yaw.
“Tourist. We’re here to see the old country,” Winn answered.
The Official stared at Winn a long moment before stamping his passport. Chris stepped up next and handed over his papers. The official gave them a cursory glance before stamping Chris’ passport, and waving him on.
Yaw approached next.
“Come with me, please,” the Moldovan official said to Yaw.
“He’s with us. We’re tourists,” Winn said as he turned around and stepped toward the Moldovan official.
“Step back, please.”
Winn didn’t move. Chris quickly stood next to Winn.
The official turned back to Yaw. “Where you from?”
“Detroit. Like the passport says.”
“He’s with us. We’re together,” Chris interrupted.
The official locked eyes with Chris.
Chris calmly held the man’s gaze.
The official noted that the young American had neither fear nor threat in his voice, but an unmistakable, unmovable confidence. “Step back, please.”
Chris didn’t move, didn’t react whatsoever. He was a stone. Lack of physical response from the blond American was such atypical behavior that it rattled the official, and he took a step back. He then turned to Yaw. He didn’t like the black man, didn’t like black men in general, and it was palpable. The official looked at the line forming behind Yaw and then back at Winn and Chris. The official sensed that the black man’s travel companions were not going anywhere, and that he himself was being triangulated. It was clear that the foreigners were ready for trouble. Alone at his post and with his shift nearly done, the Moldovan official decided it simply wasn’t worth it and stamped Yaw’s passport.
“Enjoy your stay in the great Republic of Moldova.”
The train ride from Chisinau to the Tiraspol Hostel was less than two hours long, and proved uneventful. Most of the passengers slept during their ride through the Moldovan countryside, and Winn, Yaw, and Chris slept in shifts, with two resting and one awake and alert at any given time. The three men had only a single large duffle bag for luggage, and other than one cursory check at the train station when they arrived in Tiraspol, they had managed to get to their accommodations on Kitskany Street with little notice.
“Quite the nightlife,” Chris said, as he looked out the window of the small, second story room. Even though it was approaching 2am local time, the streets outside the hostel were well lit and teeming with young locals and tourists. The hostel manager told them when they arrived that there were three “discos” within walking distance and plenty of “friendly girls to meet.”
“So what’s the plan?” Chris asked, as he turned away from the window and pushed the curtain into place. The room the three men shared was simple and consisted of a pair of twin beds, along with a cot that had been rolled in. A small kitchen area and bathroom were included, but the showers were communal to each floor and located down the hall.
“You two young and handsome men should take a look around, mingle, and blend in,” Winn said as he unpacked his duffle bag and checked his Kali sticks. “Get to know some locals, see if you can find anything out regarding Parks—his location, how he works, his reputation, and so on. Don’t arouse suspicion, of course. I’ll scout geography, sight lines, streets, and buildings. There’s free WiFi here, so Internet shouldn’t be a problem. Keep your prepaid cells with you in case there’s trouble, but don’t get in any yourself.”
“What, us? Trouble?” Chris replied.
“Be back here in an hour. We’ll get a couple hours of sleep, and first thing in the morning, we’ll put a plan together to find Nikki and Alex.”
Nikki blasted through the front doors of the North Star castle to the sound of alarm klaxons blaring. She dropped her chair-legs-turned Kali-sticks to pick up her pace and quickly found herself in the middle of a large cobblestone courtyard. She took note of several vehicles parked in a cluster—a mixture of black Mercedes Benz and Chevy Suburbans near the building entrance—but was relieved to find no security personnel. She then heard shouting in Russian and eyed a thick patch of forest-covered hills on the northeast side of the castle, made a decision to go for it, and kicked her sprint into top gear. That’s when she heard the staccato rap of gunfire.
A bullet hit the cobblestone mere inches from her left foot, and a splinter of stone from the walkway struck her ankle. The pain turned searing hot after only a second. It nearly knocked her off stride, but she kept her balance and moved toward the forest, running in a slight zigzag pattern, doing her best to keep the gunman from getting a bead. Her heart skipped as chunks of cobblestone flew all around her—bits of rock catching her wrists, chest and legs, causing sharp twinges of pain—but from dist
ances and angles that did not cut through clothing or break skin. She could see the trees were fifty feet away when bullets whizzed by her head, missing her by the slimmest grace of the universe. She zipped past the first tree, a large oak, as a bullet ripped into the bark at head level. She zigzagged between the trunks in near darkness. Once she made it to the cover of trees, she remembered to breathe and took a second to check her leg where she’d been nicked, pulling back fingers covered with blood. She winced at the sight of it, the plasma appearing black in the darkness, the injury forcing her brain to register that she was in pain. Nikki took a deep breath and tried to brush the discomfort aside. She glanced back at the castle, the light emanating from the compound now striated by the trees. Her heart sank when she saw flashlights break into the darkness of the forest—at least six men pursuing. She turned and ran deeper into the trees.
She darted between the tree trunks and rocks with a well-rehearsed sense of agility, her fluid movement broken only when branches whipped her face. She focused on the considerable challenge of not stumbling on the uneven surface of the forest floor, knowing that her pursuers were mere seconds behind her and a simple fall or twist of her ankle would be a death sentence. She did her best to navigate the darkness by moonlight, aware that survival hinged on her being a runner, in top condition, and the men pursuing her were not. If she didn’t fall, they simply wouldn’t be able to keep up with her.
Nikki cut through a dense population of trees before the terrain abruptly inclined at a steep angle for a distance of several hundred feet. Nikki had always loved hill training, and it was consistently the strongest part of her regimen. She gritted her teeth and used her leg strength to accelerate up the hill and put some distance between herself and Lucas Parks’ men.
She crested the top of the hill with her lungs searing and her legs burning, a familiar sensation, and was relieved to see city lights below and on the other side of the incline—less than half a mile away from where she stood. She knew that she could cover a half of a mile, flat out, without stopping. Her stomach jumped with the realization that by making it to the city and finding a place to hide meant she just might survive. Then she heard the howl of chase dogs.
Nikki immediately began her descent down the other side of the hill. She moved her feet between the rocks and fallen branches with short steps and rapid precision. Her quadriceps and calves felt on fire, and she knew the fatigue and lactic acid build up in her limbs were nearing the point where she would lose motor control. She twisted her uninjured ankle slightly, and a warning shot of pain ran up her leg. She corrected her movement with a short lateral stumble, but she did not fall. Nikki kept moving forward, knowing that running down a hill was far more treacherous than running up one, but she couldn’t slow down.
Despite Nikki’s speed and agility as a runner, the yelping dogs on her trail were getting closer, fast, and she fought panic. With lungs and legs burning at a level she had never experienced before, and both ankles in nearly unbearable pain, she pushed herself into a full run, knees high and arms pumping. She felt a sharp twinge in her right knee but she kept going. She prayed that her training-honed reflexes would protect her and that she wouldn’t fall. She nearly took a spill when the ground abruptly leveled out, causing her to lurch off balance and out of control, but she adjusted her stride quickly and stayed on her feet, keeping her forward momentum. She looked ahead and realized she could see light and make out the outlines buildings in the distance. Not long after that, she could see the outlines of people walking down the street. She was so close to freedom she could taste it. Her legs and lungs were completely spent, the twinge in her knee had turned constant, and her ankles throbbed. She pushed the pain aside, all of it, let out a cry, and put everything she had left into one final sprint.
“Can’t say I expected to see something like this,” Chris said to Yaw as they both stood in front of a twenty-foot tall copper statue of Joseph Stalin. Located at the center of five corners, the fenced off ominous figure looked old and tarnished, even under the dim light of the moon. Yaw elbowed Chris as a dark haired woman in high heels and a short dress approached.
“You come to the disco?” the woman said when she got close, her Russian accent thick. Her piercing green eyes, porcelain skin, high cheekbones, long black hair, and sultry figure created a wake of attention from both men and woman as she passed. She smiled at Chris before pointing to a row of buildings, indicating one that had a neon sign that literally read “Disco” above a first floor entrance. Young men and women came and went, and every time the door opened, a wave of music thumped loudly into the street.
“You speak English?” Yaw asked.
“Yes,” the woman replied, with a trace of enthusiasm in her voice. “Only some,” she then corrected. “My name is Masha.” She stuck out her hand.
Yaw and Chris looked at one another.
“Nice to meet you, Masha,” Chris replied, as he shook her hand.
“I’m Chris. This is Yaw.”
“You are Americans.”
“How can you tell?”
“Easy to tell. Americans are always very good looking with such white teeth. Different size and colors on the outside, but always the same on the inside. Always curious. Always look at everything like it can be owned,” Masha said with a smile that could stop traffic.
“That’s quite an assessment. Tell you what. How about we buy you something to eat first, and then we go to the…disco,” Chris said to her, pointing to a food cart on the corner that appeared to be selling some sort of pretzels.
“No, no, I don’t think so. I just say hi,” Masha answered, either less sure of her approach or baiting. Yaw and Chris could not tell.
Yaw responded by putting up his hands, palms out, to show that they posed no threat.
“We’re just hungry, and we’d like to get something to eat. Why don’t you come with us, and you can tell us about your country. And then we can go to the disco? Maybe meet some of your friends?”
She eyed them, curious but wary. Chris carefully pulled some local currency, the Transnistria ruble, from his pocket.“Have a pretzel on us.”
“Americans. Always look at everything like it can be owned,” Masha said with that deadly smile. “Okay. We eat. And I tell you about our country. And then we go to disco and meet friends?”
“Sounds good to us,” Chris replied.
Winn crouched on the rooftop of the Tiraspol Hostel, watching the activity on the street below. There was a universal ebb and flow to the young people who milled about the streets, the youthful excitement and energy not unlike any mid-sized city in the United States. Beyond the small packs of young people moving about the streets, Winn could make out Chris and Yaw standing at the center of the square. A local girl had approached them and struck up a conversation. He saw that Yaw and Chris were making her feel at ease, and he watched as they made their way to a food cart just east of the monument square. It wasn’t long before other girls began to approach, and judging by their mannerisms and assertiveness, Winn thought the women more than likely were professionals. Winn also knew that Chris and Yaw would stay on message and keep from being put in a situation that they couldn’t handle. Yaw alone was large enough to make potential threats think twice, and their skill set should keep them free from trouble. Still, Winn scanned the streets and corners for a potential set up and saw none. He instinctively reached back to the Kali sticks he had strapped across his back, not only his set but two other sets as well, in case the three found themselves cornered.
Winn turned his attention to scouting the outer parameters of the city. Under the moonlight, he could see the Dniester River to the west, with its commercial barges slowly making their way down the trade route, forging between the blinking lights and angular shadows of several industrial buildings that sat along its banks. He turned his gaze toward the city streets, and between Soviet-era high rises and business structures, he could make out several landmarks. Spot-lighted in the night, these relics were of a diffe
rent era, many of the displays paying homage to former Soviet military might, ranging from cold war-era Soviet T-34 tanks and early MIG fighter jet models, all placed on exhibition either in well-kept plazas or on stands in front of official buildings.
Winn then turned his gaze to the east, to the slow rolling hillside that made up the far edge of the city. It was a narrow patch of forest, and in the distance beyond it, Winn could see the glow of what the tourist guide had called “Hoptx Ctapt,” otherwise known as the North Star castle. A centuries old structure recently refurbished and modernized, the hostel manager claimed no knowledge of the castle’s owner, but judging by his wary reaction, the apparent size of the compound, and the security that guarded it, Winn believed it must be Lucas Parks’ home base in Trans Dniester. He only needed to confirm it, and later in the evening, when the streets had died down, he intended to get a much closer look. Winn prepared to leave his perch atop the Hostel when what looked to be a commotion along the tree lines caught his attention.
People walking along the streets stepped aside, some gasping in response to what they saw, a woman, bruised and battered, stumbling out of the forest and into Tiraspol. Nikki realized that the adrenaline from her escape was beginning to wear off, and every step produced a jolt of pain from her right knee and injured ankles. She still managed to keep a brisk walking pace as she made her way toward the inner section of the city. She did her best to walk as straight and normal as possible, trying not to illicit too strong a reaction from the locals. Nikki examined each building as she passed, each alleyway, even eyeing cars she might steal, anything that would provide an advantage and allow her to escape her pursuers. She dared a glance back toward the wooded area and saw men armed with AK-47s break from the trees.
Rise: Luthecker, #2 Page 22