The Russian Problem (Darby Stansfield Thriller Book 2)

by John Charles

  “It wasn’t. I wonder if that cretin took it…?”

  “Do me a favor. Keep an eye on that smelly donkey until I get back.”

  “I will. I might even do a little investigating, Tav style.”

  After talking to Tav, I headed inside the building and worked my way up the steps to the second floor. Sure enough, the smells of Belarusian cuisine caused my nostril hairs to snap to attention. My stomach rumbled with giddiness. Blondie from the front desk was right.

  The restaurant was indeed cafeteria-like. There were all kinds of hot and cold entrées prepared. I pointed and they scooped it onto a plate for me.

  I sat down and proceeded to eat like a champ for only two dollars. Wine, women, and song. I liked my life more and more.

  19

  That night I had one rule: Stick with the group. We come together, we leave together. If I got lucky and one of these women wanted to come back to the hotel with me, she would need to ride in the minivan.

  We arrived at the same nightclub at eight sharp. Before we even entered, we could hear the house music booming through the door. Our translators Masha and Lena were already there when we arrived. Each was sipping a glass of champagne while they went around gauging each girl’s ability to speak English. The set up was the same as the night before, except there was an entirely new set of hot women.

  I scanned the women in front of me and forgot all about the kidnapping. First things first, I needed a beer, so I headed over to the bar.

  Gene, the outspoken Silicon dude, caught up with me and told me all about his afternoon date with one of the women from last night. “Darby, let me tell you, this woman is perfect. Her name is Anastasia Krylova. We got along really well. We talked the entire date. We laughed a lot. We just had a ball. And it wasn’t only like friends either. I mean, I think we could be really good friends, but there were sparks flying. We never stopped holding hands from the time we picked her up to the time we dropped her off.”

  “We? Did you double date?”

  “No, no. Masha came along to translate. Anastasia doesn’t speak English too well. I’ve already arranged for her to take English classes. It’s all worked out.”

  “Was it weird to have Masha with you guys the whole time?”

  “It was actually quite nice. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Masha is not bad-looking herself. Nice behind with a girl-next-door sort of look. It’s like I had two pieces of candy, one on each arm.”

  “Are you going to see Anastasia again?”

  “Yep. I’ve got a day date with her tomorrow.”

  “Does she know you’re here, mingling with other women?”

  “Well, we never discussed it, but I guess she can put two and two together. She knows there’s another social.”

  Yup, there is a social and my idea of it doesn’t include spending it with you. It’s time to do the talk-and-walk. I moved away from the bar while giving him the finger point with a wink. “I think it’s a good thing—keeps people from overreacting.”

  “Yeah, I agree,” he said, trailing after me.

  I already had my Gene sensors switched to ignore when I spotted what had to be the most gorgeous woman there that night. This girl had the right amount of shape in all the right places.

  She was a brunette, slightly shorter than me, with a nice rack and a smile that lit up the room. She wore a tight black dress that was no longer than mid-thigh. It hugged her body and left nothing to the imagination. I made my way over.

  “Hi, I’m Darby Stansfield.”

  “Hello. My name is Tatiana Golanova,” she giggled.

  “You’re very beautiful.”

  “Thank you. What do you think of my country?” she asked.

  “It’s very pretty. The streets are clean,” I said. Clean streets? So lame. It’s no wonder I’m single.

  “Yes, they are clean. No one litters. But are you here to talk about streets?”

  I took a sip of my beer to calm my nerves. Relax, Darb. She’s interested. “No, sorry. I guess I’m a little nervous.”

  Tatiana grabbed my hand and led me over to a couch. “Why do you come to Minsk for a woman? Are there no women where you are from?”

  “There are, but they’re not as beautiful.”

  Tatiana smiled and laughed. And then I asked her to dance. We stayed that way for the rest of the night. I blew off the advances of the other women—and there were many.

  There was something interesting about Tatiana. She was different from the others. I can’t really explain what it is, but if I had to, I guess it felt like we got each other. There was no figuring things out. We just understood. That made it special in my mind.

  I also learned that Tatiana was twenty-seven years old, had a university degree, and worked in a department store. Nothing freaky. She had the right type of career as far as my business was concerned.

  We easily made each other laugh. Conversation wasn’t a struggle. Her big brown eyes were very inviting. I usually have trouble looking women in their eyes, but not with her. Her hair was soft and full. Every breath I took while we slow danced was filled with fresh spring flowers.

  I wrapped her in my arms, my hands on the small of her back as our hips swayed side to side. I leaned in until only a breath separated our lips. She brought her hands tighter around my neck as I allowed my lips to move to hers for a kiss. I knew we were on the dance floor and everyone was watching, and I didn’t care.

  “Tatiana, are you busy tomorrow?”

  “No.”

  “Cool. Uh, would you like to spend some time together? Maybe you can show me your city.”

  “That sounds like fun. I would like that.”

  Yes! I was totally psyched. We agreed that I would pick her up at her apartment at ten in the morning. I couldn’t wait.

  At the end of the night, I said my goodbyes and gave Tatiana another long, warm kiss. She tasted so good—it was hard to stop at just one. But the horn of the minivan was calling and so was Tatiana’s ride. I stuck to my plan of traveling back to the hotel with the tour.

  Something inside of me said it was the safer bet.

  20

  It was a little after midnight when the two men in the four door blue Volga noticed people exiting the nightclub. Tipsy, half-naked beauties stumbled out of the doors in small groupings with their arms interlocked. Their gossiping showed no sign of running out of steam.

  Even though the bartender from the club had called saying the Americans had shown up, they had waited outside in the cold for almost three hours so they could confirm it with their own eyes.

  Earlier in the day, someone from the hotel had delivered a roster containing the names and passport pictures of all the guests, highlighting the Americans. Viktor circled the picture of the American who was on the eighth floor. Viktor had a hunch these Americans were probably here on a love tour—that meant nightly socials.

  One by one, the loud American men exited the club sporting their arm candy. One by one the two men in the car compared them to the photo. The third man to exit matched the photo. The passenger made a call on his cell phone.

  “Hello.”

  “We have a match with the picture.”

  “Good. You know what to do.”

  The passenger hung up and continued to watch. Once the blond lady had pried the women off of their arms, she escorted the men right into the minivan.

  The Volga stayed a good distance behind the minivan, careful not to be noticed. When the van stopped out front of the Hotel Yubileinaya five minutes later, the Volga passed, took the next right, and then parked. They had their orders: Wait, then kill.

  The passenger removed a bottle of vodka from a bag and poured them each a drink. They cheered and then swallowed the nectar of Russia. Next he pulled out a smoked sausage and cut slices off with an old pocketknife. It would be a while before they made their move.

  Wait, then kill.

  A little after two in the morning, both men were buzzed. They had drunk the entire bottle o
f vodka, more than they had intended. The Volga was an older model and the heater didn’t work well, so it was their way to keep warm in the freezing ice bucket.

  It was time. They made their way to the hotel. In their long, black overcoats, there was nothing specific about them—just two figures. The streets were empty and quiet. The bitter weather was sure to keep any sane person at home. This was all part of the plan.

  Wait, then kill.

  Once in the lobby, they approached the young man asleep at the front desk. The driver leaned in and whispered something to the kid, most likely a fresh graduate from the university with a degree in hotel management—probably why he got the overnight shift. The clerk wrote a room number down on a piece of paper and handed it over along with a room key. The two men returned the favor with an envelope. The kid was shaking the entire time, but three months’ salary was worth it, especially when paid in Euros and not Belarusian rubles.

  The two men then got into the elevator. They watched the numbers change until the doors opened on the eighth floor and they exited into a semi-lit hallway. It was quiet except for the loud snoring coming from room 806. But that wasn’t the room they were interested in; they wanted room 813. They counted the doors off one by one until they both stood outside the room, listening for any sign of movement inside. There was none.

  Wait, then kill.

  The driver pressed his ear against the door for a few seconds. Still he heard nothing. They both pulled HK 9mms out of their jackets and screwed on sound suppressors. The driver slowly pushed the door handle down before slipping the card key into the slot. He waited for the beep, then pushed far enough to hear the mechanism click. The door was open.

  The driver pushed the thin door further, just an inch. The light was off. Both men listened for movement. They could still hear snoring from room 806. Or was it coming from inside room 813? They wanted no surprises. A sleeping man had none. Plus, they had been drinking. After hearing what happened to the other man who made a mistake, the last thing they wanted to do was screw up and disappoint Viktor.

  Wait, then kill.

  After a whole minute of listening, they finally decided to act. Slowly the driver pushed the door open bit by bit—always a push, then a pause to listen. They repeated this until both men stood quietly in the room with the door closed behind them. By now their senses were on high alert. Adrenaline raced through their veins. They were used to roughing people up. Rarely were they asked to dispose of them.

  From where they stood, they could just see the outline on top of the bed.

  “Now, quickly,” the driver whispered.

  They raised their guns and emptied their clips into the sleeping fool.

  Killed.

  21

  San Francisco, California

  Harold made a beeline for the elevator, wanting to quickly get back to the comfort of his office on the sixth floor. He now had what he wanted in his possession—the flier with the Russian women on it—and he couldn’t wait to take a closer look at it. Ever since he saw it in Darby’s office, he was dying to know what it was about.

  Closing his office door, Harold took a seat. He reached down the front of his Dockers and pulled the flier out. Slowly, panel by panel, he unfolded the slightly pornographic material, savoring every bit of it. He was already hard with anticipation. Saliva pooled around his tongue, forcing him to slurp. It was disgusting to hear if you were standing outside his office—which is exactly what Tavish was doing.

  After hanging up with Darby, he decided to swing by the smelly wildebeest’s office on a hunch that he did indeed steal the flier. Tavish stood outside quietly listening and mentally jotting down everything he heard.

  Inside, Harold was completely consumed with the flier. His eyes scanned the many beautiful women. Some were in dresses. Some were in bikinis. Some weren’t wearing much of anything. Mmmm, Russian women, he thought. Harold had not come across anything like this before.

  So this is what Darby is up to, sex tours. Harold was jealous. These women were beautiful. He wished he could go on these tours. How Darby could afford to throw down for vacations like this, Harold had no idea. He still didn’t believe Darby was making that much, even with heavy-hitter status.

  He also knew that Darby was getting really bold about dating the hot admins in the company. As far as Harold was concerned, he was going to take every opportunity he had to mess this up for Darby. Darby didn’t deserve it; he didn’t deserve anything. He thinks his heavy-hitter status makes him a playboy? We’ll see about that. Harold focused back on the flier. He was already rubbing his nub through his pants. He listened once more for any movement outside of his office door.

  Meanwhile, Tavish was still outside listening for anything incriminating. He pressed his ear up against the door; he could have sworn he heard some sort of repetitive movement. Short and fast. Is he? Could it be?

  “Hey, whatcha doing?”

  Tavish whipped around and found Lois Burkhardt standing there with a curious smile on her face. He brought his index finger to his lips and motioned that she be quiet. He pointed to Harold’s office and mouthed the words, “I think he’s…” while giving the universal hand movement.

  “Wha—” Lois tiptoed forward and leaned up against the door. The two of them were fighting to contain their giggling. Within seconds, Nick Kawasaki and a few other bottom-feeders were all gathered outside Harold’s office listening intently.

  I got you now. Tavish smiled at everyone and then banged on the door with his fist. “Hey, Harold, you in there?”

  They heard loud banging and shuffling and the opening and closing of drawers, the sounds of a man busted. They could barely contain their laughter.

  “Who is it? What do you want?”

  “It’s Tavish. I need to speak with you. It’s important.”

  Finally Harold opened his door and saw the group of people standing there, smiling. His face was flushed guilt red. Tavish tried to get a glance behind Harold, but the door was open only enough for Harold’s head to stick through.

  “What’s going on in there, Harold? You all right? Heard a lot of strange noises and whatnot.”

  “I’m fine. What do you want?”

  Tavish continued to buy time while he strained to get a look at Harold’s desk. “Oh, I ah…Wanted to tell you that we’re… Uh… We’re out of coffee.”

  “Nothing but filters,” Lois added. “Need to place an order for more.”

  Harold’s face grew even redder. “Why are you telling me that?” he blustered. “Call facilities. That’s their responsibility.”

  Tavish placed his hand up against his chest while feigning shock. “Oh, my mistake. I thought you managed the coffee as well.”

  “Screw you.”

  “Okay, my bad. Oh, by the way, your zipper is down.”

  Harold looked down to see his shirttail sticking out through the opening. The bottom-feeders erupted in laughter as they scattered back to their desks. Harold quickly bent down to fix the embarrassment, giving Tavish just the amount of movement he needed. There on Harold’s desk was the flier.

  Gotcha.

  22

  Minsk, Belarus

  I opened my eyes a tiny bit, enough for the brightness to slip through and zero in on my pupils. My pain threshold was zero. No matter where I slept, the sun always knew how to angle itself.

  It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds before I realized a terrible pain on the left side of my rib cage. I reached over and felt around. What the hell? I lifted my body up and pulled a hairbrush out from underneath me. Have I been sleeping on this all night? I blinked the rest of the sleep out of my eyes so I could focus. This wasn’t my room. This wasn’t my bed. I sat up quickly and looked around. There, sleeping next to me like an angel, was Tatiana. I could barely hear her breathing as she lay on her stomach just off kilter, like a beautiful portrait. Both of her arms were tucked under the pillow.

  Her brown wavy hair fanned out across the pillow and the bed. The th
in white sheet only covered her up to the top of her petite butt. The fair skin of her back was on full display. It would rise, just so, with every breath. From where I was positioned, I also took in a generous glimpse of her breast. Side boob was sexy as hell, and Tatiana had a perfect handful.

  By now I realized I was at her apartment. It was all coming back to me. As soon as I got to the hotel, I couldn’t wait until the next morning to see her, so I called Tatiana on her cell and asked if I could see her right away. She was only about ten minutes away from the hotel—in fact her friend had not even driven her home yet—so they turned around and picked me up. Her friend then happily dropped us off at Tatiana’s apartment.

  A few seconds after I finished processing all of it, Tatiana opened her eyes.

  “Hello there,” I said.

  She smiled. “Hello.”

  I lay next to her. Her skin was smooth and soft and warm and many other likable things. My legs tangled with hers as she rolled over to face me. We kissed like it was the first time all over again—slow and long with plenty of tongue and a hint of ‘I lurve you.’ I could feel myself rising to the occasion. So could she because she moved her hand off of my hip and grabbed my now-rigid stallion. She squeezed, then relaxed and squeezed again. I liked when she did that. I suspect she was testing my hardness. Duty calls.

  I began to thrust my hips so that I moved in her hand. She made it easier and started stroking. I was ready all right. So was she. She moved on top of me and I slipped right in. This was nice. Morning sex was okay with me.

  A few lazy hours later, the two of us were finally ready to venture out of the bedroom.

  “Come on. I introduce you to my mistress,” she said, tugging on my hand.

  “Mistress…?”

  “Yes. She is one who rents me this room. It is her apartment.”

  “Oh, you mean like a landlord?”