Rasputin's Prodigy

by Michael Weinberger

  Igor considered the question and then shook his head, “It is better to start at the beginning.” he said, rubbing his face as Chris set a cup of coffee down in front of the man. Igor thanked him, took the sugar bowl, and dumped nearly a quarter of the contents into his large mug. I must have had a stunned look on my face regarding the coffee to sugar ratio because Igor suddenly became self-conscious about it.

  “Sasha is an excellent cook, but he likes his coffee much stronger than I can take it.”

  Neither Chris nor I said anything as we held our cups without sipping. Igor looked between us as if waiting for one of us to try the brew, in order to see if he was right, but after a few seconds he set his cup down and placed his hands on the bar’s countertop to begin his story. “When the Soviet Union fell, all of its acquired territories reverted back to being responsible for themselves, at least to some degree. Most were already in a dire state of poverty, and it was only the influx of Soviet financing that kept the commerce flowing and the people employed. In the case of Nazran, that had meant the government jobs, sponsored by the Soviet Empire in the various oil fields were going to go away.”

  “Why would the new government want to shut down an oil field? Chris asked. “I would think that would be something to hang on to indefinitely.

  “Unless the oil field wasn't producing?” I volunteered.

  Igor shook his head, “No, the fields were fine, but the location of the fields were too far from the refineries to make production worthwhile especially in this new capitalistic society. Technically, Russia had no claim over the territory anymore, and they felt there were better ways to get more oil as it was needed. In fact the oil drilled from the ground in Nazran was used primarily to support factories, troops and other military installations here, as opposed to supporting areas outside of Ingushetia. Oil was shipped out and the refined gasoline, along with other supplies, were shipped back in return, per the old communist method. Now, the cost of shipping the oil in and out became prohibitive so the government simply abandoned the operation.”

  “I'm surprised no one jumped at the opportunity,” Chris noted.

  Igor shrugged, “Some did, but the clash between the rebel Chechens and Ingush, against the new government in 2004, made everyone think twice about setting up a base of operations here. The rebels had killed some high-ranking officials, leaving what I believe you Americans call a ‘power vacuum’ in their wake.”

  “So who took control?

  “At first, no one knew,” Igor offered, “but when people started disappearing everyone thought the government had reverted back to the old Soviet system, and the KGB were the ones given the task of controlling the city.”

  “Disappearing?” I said, feigning ignorance.

  “There was a constant military presence supporting a small group of what we thought were civilians. These men came and looked over our town, along with its oil fields, and then were never seen again. Soon after that people started disappearing. Sometimes the ruins of a body would turn up, but for the most part the people who vanished were gone without a trace, very similar to the way the KGB used to take people away for “re-education” back in the days of the U.S.S.R.”

  I listened as Igor spoke and watched as the man's eyes began to glisten, while he seemed to be recounting his first hand memories of the experience. “Eventually the strain and fear grew to the point that in 2008 there were an number of violent protests against the government, but despite the belief that the government would restrain itself with the world watching, the protestors were met with a military response.”

  Igor paused to wipe at his eyes, “I'm sorry. I lost my share of friends during that time.”

  Both Chris and I nodded in silent understanding and let Igor compose himself. Once he had control again he continued, “It wasn't anything overt, but people began to grasp that it wasn't the government that was the cause of our fear. This time it was worse, because no one knew who to watch out for. Someone, or some group, was controlling the police, the utilities, the import of goods and labor, and no one had any idea who it was. More protests erupted against the government, but nothing changed and eventually people either just left the city or lost their will to resist. Now they just continue on, living day by day until they are either called upon to be a part of whatever is coming or until they too become one of the vanished.”

  I screwed up my face, “Whatever is coming? What does that mean?”

  Igor shook his head again, “Mostly rumors. Some say that this new group is gearing up to reopen the oil field. Others say they are prospectors in search of coal and will need workers once they find it. Things like that.”

  “What do you think?” Chris asked.

  The expression on Igor's face dropped and became very sad. “I think this town is a graveyard, and the people in it already dead on the inside. The only hope for them, and likely the only thing they have that keeps them going day after day, is the illusion that something is coming to breathe new life into them. They see that parasite Dimitri Lagos and his army of thugs throwing money around in the nightclubs, they see the way the wealthy young people come from all over Russia to feed their erotic pleasures, and they have turned to selling those wealthy children drugs, providing them with prostitution or other vices, just for the ability of continuing their lives while they wait.

  The mention of Dimitri Lagos made me stiffen and the involuntary response wasn't lost on Igor.

  “Ah,” he exclaimed, “I see you know of Mr. Lagos?”

  “You could say that,” I said as cryptically as I could.

  Igor looked nervous, “And you are a friend of his?” I think I managed to keep my poker face intact, but Chris chortled a laugh and said, “Not exactly.”

  Igor looked suspiciously from Chris and then to me as silence filled the shop.

  “What can you tell us about Dimitri Lagos?” I asked, unsure if I had changed the subject or added to Igor's paranoia.

  Igor lifted his cup and swallowed a large mouthful of coffee. I drank from my cup as well without thinking and nearly gagged on the bitterness of the brew. From behind me I heard a hacking sound followed by a string of choked curses as Chris sputtered after having taken a drink of his own coffee. I turned to see him flailing around looking for a place to spit the remaining liquid in his mouth and then, finding no appropriate place to emit the offensive brew, he covered his mouth and made a move for the door. Igor raised a finger as if to say something to Chris, but Chris had arrived at the door only to find it locked.

  Chris turned and slowly walked over to the bar, his cheeks distended from still holding coffee within them, and he pulled out his barstool and carefully sat down in it.

  The look on Igor's face had turned from the stern and suspicious countenance he had held a mere moment ago and was now one of poorly concealed hilarity. Igor reached out, and while averting his eyes from Chris, slowly pushed the sugar across the countertop, he let it come to rest in front of Chris.

  With a great effort and look of defeated disgust, Chris' cheeks deflated as he sickeningly swallowed the coffee he had been holding at bay. When finished swallowing he immediately grabbed the sugar and upturned it into his open mouth, letting the crystals stream in for about three full seconds, before righting it and returning the bowl to the bar. Chris chewed and swished the sweet contents around in his mouth for a moment and then swallowed again.

  Without missing a beat and completely disavowing the scene he had just caused, Chris said, “Please continue.”

  Igor smiled warmly and extended a hand to Chris in a sarcastic gesture of congratulations. Chris accepted the gesture, shook Igor's hand and then took another shot from the sugar bottle.

  “Dimitri Lagos,” Igor continued, “is the first sign of new money that has come to Nazran since the Soviets. His nightclubs employ many people, but as I said, even more survive off the selling of drugs or prostitution to their patrons. He basically owns the police, who are in place more to clean up after the messes that surro
und the clubs’ operations, than they are to enforce any laws. What you saw was probably exactly what I am talking about.”

  I thought about the ramifications of what I just heard. It sounded like we were going to be going up against not only Dimitri and his brood, but the police force of Nazran as well.

  “How well fortified are the police here?”

  Igor cocked an eyebrow at me, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean are they well-funded? Well trained and armed? Where is their headquarters?”

  Igor snorted, “They are as bad as the criminals they are supposed to apprehend. In 2009 a suicide bomber drove into the police headquarters and killed most of the legitimate force. Those who replaced them were, rumor has it, personally chosen by Dimitri Lagos. Still, they are not well funded and anything they have comes from Dimitri as opposed to the government.

  “So they are going to be loyal to Dimitri as opposed to any body of authority.” I sighed and with heavy sarcasm said, “Perfect, just perfect.”

  Igor studied me for a silent moment and then asked, “May I ask you a question?”

  His words brought me out a daydream, “Of course.”

  “The police officer you saw ignoring the crime? When was this?”

  I frowned, but saw no reason to lie or not answer, “Last night, why?”

  Igor's frown never diminished, but he nodded and said, “Last night. Was there anything else you might have seen?”

  I hesitated as the conversation came full circle, not sure whether I should mention the homeless vigilante that had shaken me up so much with his impossible stare.

  Chris volunteered, “I saw a couple of working girls.” He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially to Igor, “Sans pantolones.”

  Igor looked confused at Chris, as his French and Spanish mashup apparently being beyond comprehension, but he responded to the statement in any case, “Yes, the girls are abundant these days, but I meant something more...” Igor seemed to be searching for the right words, “...out of place.”

  “Like what?” I asked as best I could without giving anything away.

  Igor searched my face for a moment, then closed his eyes and shook his head, “Never mind, it isn't important.” He stood up from his barstool with his manner suddenly changing to one that was all business, “I am afraid that is all the information I have for you, so unless there is something else?”

  I was surprised by the sudden bum's rush but I really didn't have any other specific questions that needed answering, so I stood as well and started to make my way around the bar to get our duffle bag of supplies. Igor watched me warily, but made no attempt to stop me other than stepping in front of me to politely lead us out. I collected our things and thanked Igor once more, just as the sound of the front door unlocking came from the other side of the shop. We all turned to see Sasha walking carefully through the entrance with the food he had gone to get us. There was something wrong with the expression in his eyes, and I could tell he was desperately trying to cover it up as he made his way over to the bar. Carefully he set the bags of food down and whispered something in Russian to Igor. I don't know why he bothered, it was pretty obvious that neither Chris nor I spoke the language. He could have shouted it to the mountaintops and we still wouldn't have a clue.

  Igor picked up the bags of food and said, “I am sorry my friends, but something has just happened that requires my attention. Feel free to take this food with you, along with my apologies for being an improper host.”

  “If there is anything else we might need?”

  Igor quickly handed me a business card with only a telephone number typed across the surface, “You have but to call me.”

  Igor placed the bags of food into Chris' empty hands, and before we could object he had escorted us to the front door of the shop, which Sasha had left open. Chris said his thanks and was ready to walk through the door, but first I grabbed Igor by the loose fabric of his shirt, and in the same motion proceeded to force him through the opening first. The small round man stumbled a couple of steps onto the pavement outside, but other than the offended expression on his face, nothing else happened. No shots rang out and no ambush occurred. So I waited a moment more, before I stepped outside as well, carefully scanning the area.

  Chris followed me, and as I turned back to Igor I could tell that the man was furious. I couldn't tell if it was because of the way I had manhandled him, or the fact that I thought he might have betrayed us in some way. As I waited, expecting a torrent of curses to be rained down upon me, his irate expression melted into one more of resigned understanding as he said, “Again, my apologies. You have only to call me if you need anything else. Dos vidaniyah.”

  With that he stepped back inside his shop, closing the door behind us and locking it. We heard the sound of the door’s tumblers latching, and with nothing left to do but stare at the door, Chris asked, “What the hell was that all about?”

  I stared for another second, before becoming somewhat self-conscious from just standing there out in the open and replied, “I wasn’t sure and I thought he, or maybe Sasha, had betrayed us somehow but,” my voice trailed off.

  “So? Back to the hotel?” Chris asked.

  “You want to walk through this town carrying a bag of guns, explosives and electronics on your back?” I asked.

  Chris shook his head and made a gesture with the food in his hands, “My hands are full, thank you.”

  As if on cue, a car engine turned over and I looked to see that a long four-door vehicle which had been parked by the curb was pulling into the road. As it drifted slowly in our direction I tensed, but the car silently coasted to a stop a few feet away from us and the driver-side window lowered.

  The driver called out to us, “Mr. Tonichev said you would be needing a ride.” The trunk popped open as he spoke, but the driver made no attempt to climb out of his seat. “Put your things in the back, and I will take you wherever you need to go.”

  Chris asked me, “We doing this?

  “Any better ideas?” I responded.

  “No, not really,” Chris chuckled as he opened the rear passenger door and moved inside, while I put the duffle bag in the trunk and then joined him.

  “So,” the driver asked, “where are we going?”

  I gave the driver the name of our hotel and turned to Chris, “What's in the bag Chris? I'm starving.”

  Chapter 17

  “You know, it would be ridiculously simple to blow your head completely off your neck right now,” Chris' voice resonated through the Bluetooth receiver in my ear.

  “Thanks for that tidbit of comforting info,” I replied, “now is there any chance you could keep your mind on the job at hand?”

  It had been nearly six hours since we had made it back to our hotel, inventoried our new equipment and came up with a tentative plan for the evening. Now Chris was on the roof of our hotel and looking through the telescopic sight of his new Dragunov sniper rifle covering my movement, while I worked my way down the street toward Dimitri's nightclub.

  “Ah, I'm just verbally admiring how well the scope on this rifle zooms in on you,” he said, and the thought that the gun was aimed at the back of my head sent a chill down my spine. “It also makes everything seem brighter than it really is, some top-notch optics at work here,” Chris said with admiration.

  “It's only as good as the guy pulling the trigger,” I teased.

  There was a short silence before Chris asked, “So, you're worried?”

  “Very,” I confirmed, still joking.

  Chris sighed audibly, “Yeah, you probably should be. I mean, it's not like I have ever shot this thing before. Or had a chance to sight it in.”

  I stopped walking as what Chris was saying registered in my head. I hadn't been worried because I knew that Chris was extremely competent with a long-range rifle. It was something he had excelled at before he... well, before Alpha saved his life by bringing him into our world. “And I don't know what the wind patterns might be as they
pass through the buildings and alleys,” Chris continued.

  I inclined my head without directly looking at the roof of our hotel. It was far less than a thousand yards, but just as definitely over five hundred. Chris had told me that he had made longer shots with less accurate rifles and his confidence had reassured me. Now he was shooting holes in his own abilities and doubt was beginning to take refuge in my mind.

  “Um...Chris?”

  “And I have a hangnail on my index finger that stings like the dickens,” Chris hadn't stopped talking.

  “Okay, cut it out. I'm sorry.”

  Chris laughed, but grew serious once he calmed down, “Look, I'm confident that I can pretty much my hit target with the first shot, but this is still an untested weapon in my hands. It may take me a shot or two before I start getting pin-point accurate with this thing.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that you are going to need to remember to watch out for your own ass, at least until I get a couple of shots off and have a modicum of feeling for this thing. I can be your eyes in the sky, but as I was trying to tell you before you left all in a rush to get down there, you are going to be on your own in the very beginning.”

  I'd be lying if I said I hadn't, on at least some level, already known this. Hearing Chris speak it out loud did raise my anxiety level a bit more than I needed, but the reminder put me slightly on edge, and it was probably a good thing.

  The basics of tonight's plan was to get inside Dimitri's circle at the club. Dimitri would have a literal horde of his people with him, and I'm not sure what I intended to do other than look for an opportunity. What opportunity? I didn't know. I'd just have to be ready to react as soon as I saw it.

  I was armed with a minimum of weapons, most of which were supposed to elude detection from the metal detector. My handgun was a Glock, and even though it was made mostly from a polymer, as opposed to metal, the ammunition would set off any detectors. As a result, and to my regret, I had to hide the gun just inside the opening of an alleyway adjacent to the row of nightclubs and hoped none of the city's homeless would accidentally discover it. All I had on me, after hiding my gun, was one of ColdSteel’s Nightshade knives that are made of a fiberglass-reinforced plastic, and I had it neatly sheathed in my lower back with a set of ‘brass knuckles’ that were also made from a space-age plastic, as opposed to actual brass. The pseudo-blade at my back was a Karambit style knife like the one Chris preferred. The wickedly curved and pointed blade is a particularly gruesome weapon, as it is designed for maximum efficiency in opening throats and disemboweling its intended targets. Normally the non metal version of the knife was used for advanced training as opposed to actual combat, because the blade on the knife, while very pointed, is not steel and has no edge for cutting. Still, the extra hard nature of the space age plastic made it a very effective stabbing and ripping tool that would have to do. Think of it like a large cat's claw that could still open you up when used with enough force.