Sergei was panting and sweating. Large sweat stains covered his light blue button down shirt, which clung to his flesh. His entire body felt wet and sticky. He felt like falling over and passing out. Tightness gripped his chest. The DC summer humidity was killing him.
Union Station was packed. So many damn people moving every which way. His head was light and spinning. For a moment everything seemed blurry. What the hell was going on? He spun around several times, paranoid, certain that someone was following him, stalking him, watching his every move. Where were they? Why didn’t they show their faces? Why didn’t they just grab him, throw him in the back of an SUV, put a bullet in the back of his head and be done with it? What the hell were they waiting for?
Maybe he was losing his mind, coming to the end of his thread, losing his grip on reality, fingers getting tired, slipping from the edge of the cliff, as his legs dangled over the abyss.
Too many people. Too hot. He needed somewhere to sit, something cold to drink, time to quietly and patiently think things through. But he had no such time. There were no more safe spaces for him to retreat to. He was on the run. And he would never be able to stop running. This was his fate. This is what he had signed up for.
He followed a sign pointing towards the men's’ restroom. There was a line of about ten men ahead of him. A homeless man was walking around, mumbling to himself, wearing nothing but his underwear. Sergei’s watched as the madman moved from sink to sink splashing water on his face, cackling, and screaming, “The Russians are coming! The Russians are coming!”
Sergei swallowed hard. He was losing his mind. He was sure of it. Was he really staring at a crazy homeless man? Or was this somehow part of the American’s psychological war against Russian agents? Before the events of the last week, he would’ve scoffed at such an idea. But after the threesome with Agents Nicholson and Grabowski, there was no way to be sure.
He reached down and squeezed his penis. Suddenly he had a really strong urge to go. The line hardly seemed to be moving. All the stalls and urinals were full. Nobody seemed to be in any particular hurry. Soon there were as many men behind him as in front. He turned around and searched all of their faces, looking for anything that might give them away as Russian intelligence agents. None of the faces gave anything away. Just a collection of bland, self-satisfied, American male faces. Nothing distinctive about them, as if they had been produced in a factory as if their mass produced and reproduced blandness were part of some brilliant American strategy to create a country where everybody had the same uncaring expression on their face, civilian or soldier.
After finally draining his bladder and splashing water on his face, Sergei left the bathroom and headed for the train terminal number 37. Only another fifteen minutes before he would be able to board the train and another 45 before it left the station in route to Chicago.
His eyes flashed around. He didn’t see anything suspicious. He took several deep breaths and tried to steady himself. The first part of his escape plan was nearly complete. All he had to do now was keep his cool. His gray slacks, light blue button shirt, and wheeled travel bag helped him easy blend in. Nobody would have ever expected that there was over 200K in that suitcase.
He purchased two packs of Marlboro’s and two Red Bulls from a newsstand across from the terminal. He considered going outside and having a smoke, maybe two or three. That might have calmed him down. But he decided against it. He just needed to sit still, keep his head down, and eyes open while he waited for the announcement to begin boarding the train.
Gradually the waiting area began to fill up. Only three more minutes on the countdown clock until they would start boarding. He felt more anxious than ever. Was he really going to go through with this? Was he out of his mind? Trying to run away from the ruthless, relentless, sadistically brilliant Russian intelligence services?
There was still time to turn back. He could go back to the hotel, wait for the call to come on the encrypted phone, and then wait to be picked up. There was still time for him to do that. He hadn’t crossed the point of no return yet. Maybe the meeting that they wanted to have with him wasn't a setup. Maybe they wanted to inform him about new strategic or tactical shifts. Maybe they just wanted to know what he had learned so far.
And what did it matter that they knew about his orgy with the two agents? Sure, that wasn’t part of the mission but was it necessarily a bad thing? He could claim that the whole thing was part of an elaborate plan that he had come up with in order to make the two agents vulnerable to blackmail. If word got out, let if video evidence of the encounter ever surfaced the two agents would be done for. Those silly Americans! They had stumbled right into his trap!
Yes, maybe he could have explained it like that. His interrogators would have turned to each other, smiling and smirking. And after a few moments, they might have burst out laughing. Was he serious? Did he really think that they would fall for that stupid story? They would have easily seen through his performance. No wonder he hadn’t made it as an actor!
“Good afternoon, folks! We will now begin boarding Amtrak train 29 Capitol Limited. Union Station in Washington, D.C to Union Station in Chicago, Illinois.”
Sergei was relieved to finally hear those words. He wanted to get the hell out of that station, out of D.C. as soon as possible. He would lay low in Chicago for a couple weeks. That would give him enough time to get a new passport and a bunch of other documents that would help him create a new identity. Once he had the necessary paperwork and had figured out a place to store and then access the 200K that he was carrying around, he planned on leaving the United States and never returning. Good riddance! He’d had enough of this turbulent land, which seemed on the brink of massive social upheaval and economic collapse. This was probably a great time to get out of the country, which was spending a tremendous amount of money building a literal wall to keep millions of people from coming to the country in search of opportunities and a better life. Over the last couple of years, even before the election of the undesirable, buffoonish president that there were many different walls between people in American society, a wall that kept people of different races and ethnicities separate, unequal, afraid and contemptuous of one another. There were also walls that kept people from different social, economic, and political classes separated.
In the wake of the massive economic collapse of 2008, more and more people who found themselves on the wrong side of the wall were clamoring for a piece of the nice, juicy American pie that was always being promoted in mass media. More and more people were figuring out that they lived in a deeply flawed country, governed by an uncaring, greedy, oligarchic elite. More and more people were picking up metaphorical hammers and swinging them at the walls in front of them. If enough people continued swinging fro long enough, eventually some of those walls were going to come down. And what were they going to find on the other side? Most likely a bloodthirsty police force, armed with military grade weaponry, lusting to make their blood run through the streets.
Sergei pulled out his ticket and got into the single file line that had begun to form in front of the terminal entrance. Once he walked through the gate and got on that train, there would be no turning back. A cold shiver passed through his body. Slowly, nervously, he turned around, sensing something evil behind him. But what he saw brought a smile to his face and made his cock twitch and stiffen.
It was a skinny, smiling blond wearing short shorts, that revealed a sexy rose vine tattoo on her thigh. He smiled at her and licked his lips. Once again, his cock jumped in his pants. Virile blood surged throughout his body. It had been a few days since he experienced this feeling. Far too long. All of this running around scared, ducking and dodging, had drained him of his testosterone, his masculine life force. But it was clearly coming back now.
Maybe this ordeal, this flight from his own government, represented the metaphorical gates that he had to pass through in order to finally grow up, leave his boyish ways behind and finally become a man. No longer
would he need anyone to take care of him. No longer would he accept anyone giving him orders. That life was over.
As the line slowly inched forward, Sergei tried to imagine the fun that he could have with that blond if only he didn’t have more pressing matters to worry about. He shrugged his shoulders. During his time in DC, he had enjoyed plenty of blondes, brunettes, and just about every other type of woman available. When it came to that aspect of his life, he certainly didn’t have any regrets.
15 minutes later. “All aboard! All aboard! Amtrak train 29 Capitol Limited. D.C. To Chicago. All aboard! Last call!”
The doors closed. The train began slowly chugging out of the station.
A voice came over the PA system: “Thank you for joining us today on this historic journey, folks. The Capitol Limited train runs daily between Washington, DC and Chicago. You'll follow the historic B&O line on your journey through the Potomac Valley, past historic Harpers Ferry and the Allegheny Mountains into Pittsburgh. We will cross into Ohio heading north to Cleveland, and then across Ohio and Indiana into the center of Chicago. If you need anything the crew will be glad to assist you. Have a great day. And thank you for riding with Amtrak.”
Sergei smiled, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. The AC inside the train was on full blast. His hot, sticky, sweaty body finally began to dry and cool. The tightness that he had felt in his chest no longer bothered him. He couldn’t remember the last time that he had felt so relaxed and at peace. He was a long way from safety. But a sense of calm had spread throughout his body. He was ready for whatever those bastards threw at him.
Somebody sat down next to him. He opened his eyes. Wow! It was her—the blonde. She smiled at him and crossed her legs in his direction. His eyes fixed on her sexy feet clad in thong sandals.
His phone began ringing. Not his personal phone. The encrypted phone. The phone that he dreaded. It rang and rang.
The leggy blonde slowly turned her neck toward him and smiled enigmatically. “Aren’t you going to pick that up?” She asked with a mysteriously sexy smile playing on her face.
He didn’t respond to her, but he did reach into his pocket and pull out the phone and press it to his ear.
The voice on the other end was deep and scratchy. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you? A lot of people have said that you’re nothing but a worthless playboy. But some of us knew better than that. We saw something in you.”
“What do you want?” Sergei snarled into the phone, unable to control the anger that bubbled inside of him.
“We knew that you wouldn’t just walk into any trap we set for you. At least not the first one.”
The phone clicked off. The blonde was staring straight at him. The look in her eyes was hard and cold. The sexiness was gone.“Is everything all right, Sergei?”
Chapter 17
The body had been pulled from the Potomac River, not far from a popular boardwalk area in Maryland. The sun was beginning to set. The air was finally beginning to cool off. The sounds of the restaurants and bars grew louder in the background.
Nicholson and Grabowski stood over the lifeless, severely beaten body. Nicholson gritted his teeth. Grabowski's eyes opened wide.
“Two bullet holes in the temple,” the baby-faced cop said. “Then for shits and giggles, they beat his face into a bloody pulp.”
Neither Nicholson nor Grabowski said anything.
“You know him?” The cop asked.
Nicholson turned to Grabowski. They stared at each other in silence. They both shook their heads no. They weren’t lying. They had no idea who he was and didn’t really care. Another dead Russian diplomat. Another one of Putin’s well-dressed thugs who apparently was no longer useful. Or maybe he knew too much. BANG. BANG. Two shots. Problem solved.
It wasn't Sergei. That was the first bit of good news that Nicholson had received in awhile.
After a few more minutes of talking with the Virginia PD officer, who looked like he had just graduated high school the week before, Nicholson and Grabowski walked about 20 yards away from the scene, which was full of cars and cops and a slowly building crowd of onlookers.
Once they were finally out of earshot, Grabowski turned towards him. “Are you happy it's not him?” She asked.
Nicholson sighed and closed his eyes. Was he happy that it wasn’t Sergei?
“Yeah, I guess so. But at the same time…”
“I know,” she said. “It would make things easier if he showed up at the bottom of a river one day, wouldn't it?”
Nicholson sighed again. “Maybe, maybe not.”
A few moments of silence passed before Grabowski replied, “We bought ourselves a little more time, right?”
“That's one way to look at it. More time. More time for us to worry. And more time for us to imagine what we’ll say or do as they are marching us out headquarters, boxes in our hands, our faces covered in shame.”
“I didn’t know that you were the type to give up so easy,” she said.
“Sometimes you have to admit when you’re beat.”
“Yeah?”
He slowly turned his head towards her, a smirk cracking his mouth, something like admiration in his eyes.
“I guess you haven't learned that yet. Still got that gun-ho, rookie mentality. Let's see how long that lasts.”
“Nothing gun-ho about me, Agent Nicholson. I was taught that if you’re going to do a job then you should do it right.”
“Goddamnit. I’m really not in the mood for self-righteous crap. Haven't you learned anything over the last week? No hero or superstar cop shit. Got it?”
“No. I think that's bull shit.”
“I think your whole act is bullshit.”
“That’s pretty funny. Because I was thinking the same thing about yours.”
Nicholson glared at her. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to slap her or rip her clothes off and fuck the hell out of here. Maybe he wanted to do both. He gritted his teeth, cursed under his breath and turned away from her.
“If it’s really that difficult to work with me, why don’t you ask for a different partner?”
She snickered and shook her head. “Yeah, that’s a great idea. I’m sure it would go over real well at headquarters.”
Nicholson didn’t feel like arguing with her. It was stupid. For better or worse, they were both in this together.
They had both messed up, gone too far, let their zealousness get the best of them. And now they found themselves in a bind—a blood and oxygen restricting, deadly bind.
They had to keep Sergei alive—at least until they figured out how much he knew and what exactly his mission was.
Grabowski couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut. “So you’re completely given up on the idea of coming up with a story to explain how we got involved in that…”
“Orgy? Fuck fest? Bachnalia?”
“Bach— What?”
“Never mind.” He shook his head and cursed. “There’s nothing much to do, sweet thing. We’re just gonna have to take this one on the chin. Or maybe in the ass is a better way to put.”
Grabowski smiled widely, then covered her mouth, eyes full of mischief and deviance. Nicholson's mouth gaped open and his face turned red with shame as his mind traveled back to that night in the hotel room, so many lines had been crossed, so many taboos broken, so many sacred cows slaughtered.
“Hey! Get over here!” It was the voice of baby-faced cop. There was a bit of a commotion around the body.
“What the fuck is going on over there?” Nicholson snarled. They hurried towards, afraid that these idiots were going to taint the evidence.
The badly beaten corpse had been turned over on its stomach. Everyone crowded around, pointing at something, which Nicholson couldn’t quite make out until he got closer. “What the hell is going on?” He asked no one in particular.
A detective in a sweat stained button down shirt and a couple days stubble looked at him and said, “Killin’im wasn’t enough. The bastards also carv
ed something into his neck.”
Note frowned, then crouched down close to the body. Indeed, the bastards had carved something into the back of the dead guy’s neck. It read, “Sergei’s next.”
“Shit!” Nicholson said, springing upright, pushing through the gathered crowd, and pulling out his phone.
Grabowski reached out for his arm as he pushed past her. “What is it?”
He ignored and walked out of earshot. He dialed Sergei’s number. It rang and rang and rang. “Pick up the goddamn phone, you Russian son of a bitch.”
“Hello?”
“Sergei, where the hell are you?”
“Cousin, how are you doing? I’m on the Amtrak Capitol Limited train to Chicago right now. We left Union Station about 6 hours ago. I will be arriving around this time tomorrow.”
Nicholson frowned. “Cousin? What the hell are you talking about? And why the hell are you on a train going anywhere?”
“Cousin Igor, I apologize for not telling you my precise travel plans. But in my line of work things like this—unexpected things happen. I hope you understand. I really do.”
“Where the hell are you, exactly?”
There was a brief pause. “According to the last announcement we are about——?”
“Where? Sergei! Where?”
The phone cut off. Call ended.
“Fuck!” Nicholson yelled, preparing to throw his phone in frustration.
A hand grabbed his arm. It was Grabowski. She had fire in her eyes.
He quickly got control of his emotions and explained the strange call that he had just had with their Russian lover man, soon-to-be a dead man.
“You think they kidnapped him?” Grabowski.
Nicholson closed his eyes and squeezed his temples. “Yeah, but it’s still a little weird. Why would they let him answer the call in the first place.”
“Could be a trap,” she said.
He nodded. “It’s possible.”
“Or he tried to make a getaway on the train and they caught him.”
“But still why did they let him talk on the phone?”
Chasing Sergei: Dark Romance Page 7
