by Mike Gomes
Otto stared back at the man, not answering his question. The man uncrossed his legs, pulled the doctor’s bag onto his lap, and started to rummage through it. The sound of metal hitting metal was distinctive and clear, making Otto believe it was intentional.
“One of the great lessons I learned, is that one does not need to start off with the biggest motivational tool they have. You start with the smallest and work your way up. Often you can get the results you want by just staying the course, and going slow and study.”
Pulling his hand from the bag, the man held what looked like several zip ties that were brown and stiff.
“These are very helpful. They provide a level of motivation that is low effort to me, but very effective.” The man held one of the long, thin objects up in front of his face. “The method in itself is Asian in its origins. They used bamboo shoots, but I use this hardened plastic. Made them myself. I complete the task in the traditional way, I just slide the shoot under your fingernail slowly. Are you feeling motivated yet?”
“I told you everything,” Otto spoke though gritted teeth. “There is no need for all of this.”
“I agree, and if you talk it will not happen. But you’re not talking.” The man pulled a roll of duct tape from his bag. “Let’s tape down these hands.”
Placing the tape across the back of Otto’s hand, he wrapped it under the arm of the chair, pressing the hand down and wrapping it several times from the wrist up to the knuckles. “Good, nice and straight fingers.”
“I am telling you I have nothing more to say,” Otto said in a more reading voice.
“I think I will use this one.” The man pulled one of the shoots from the group. “Last chance to talk.”
“I have nothing to tell you. You need to believe me,” Otto pleaded.
“A shame. Just a shame.” The man took the tip of the plastic shoot, and placed it under the section of his fingernail that had grown long. With a slow, steady push the pointed plastic shoot penetrated the soft under-nail flesh of Otto, causing him to scream out in pain. “In animals they call this the quick. The old term, getting cut to the quick, comes from that. It is the place where the deadness of the nail become the living tissue of the beast. I once cut my dogs nails and cut too high and got the quick. Bled constantly for about thirty minutes and she never trusted me again. Very painful, but look who I am telling that to.”
With a quick jab of his hand the shoot extended several more millimeters, causing a stream of sweat to start flowing from Otto’s face and chest.
“Only nine more to go, Otto.” The man held up the other shoots. “You can make it stop any time you want.”
Chapter Nine
"Five more minutes until the drop zone," came the voice of the grizzled man in flawless Russian.
Looking out the window of the Cessna 172, Gabriella estimated the height of the prop plane at less than five-thousand feet. Taking a deep breath and reaching for a parachute, she knew the impact would be harder than normal from such a low altitude.
"Are you sure you want to make a jump like this?" the pilot asked, turning his head back for just a second.
"You know better than to worry about me, Dima," Gabriella said, glancing up and catching his eye. "I've made a lot of jumps from this site and never had so much as a twisted ankle."
"Get ready," Dima said, battling the Cessna through a group of small turbulence. "You could have some quick visitors if anybody picked up on us trying to fly lower than radar."
"It's not the old Russia, Dima. They don't mind people coming in anymore. Haven't you heard, it's a democracy." Gabriella gave him a smile as she wrapped the parachute over her shoulders and clipped the front of the straps across her chest.
"Yeah, some democracy," Dima huffed, the sarcasm in his voice dripping. “They still don't take kindly to people coming in that don't have the proper visas. Dropping across this line going over the border makes you a criminal right off the bat. They don't like border jumpers in the old Soviet Union."
"No, they don't. That's why you need to keep this thing as low as you can," said Gabriella. "As far as I'm concerned you can keep this thing low enough to mow those tree tops, and that'll be high enough for me to make a jump."
"Well that's good, because you have one minute until the drop." Dima focused his attention on the skies in front of him. "Your target is a field, it's only about two-hundred yards by a hundred yards wide. You need to drop in, gather your shit, and head for the tree line as quick as you can. The simplest thing you can do is burn the shoot off, but if I were you, I'd go with burying it. No need to send up some black plastic smoke into the air, that could be a dead giveaway to anybody. But then you got to get on your horse and get the hell out of there. No waste of time."
"Dima, you sound like you're worried about me?" Gabriella winked. "You know I'm no rookie at this. I can handle myself, I know the drills."
"And you know me, I'm always worried about everybody," Dima grumbled. "Isn't that why you like to have me do the drops for you in places like this? I'm the guy that always remembers to cover the details one last time."
"You do have a point there." Gabriella nodded her head and slid the goggles over her eyes. Moving to the side of the aircraft she pulled on the side door, sliding it back and opening the blue sky to her, ready for the jump.
"Remember the plan," Dima urged. "You want to jump down and out as hard as you can, it'll make sure you get some clearance. Good luck, friend."
"Thank you, friend," said Gabriella. With both hands on the opening of the door, she took a deep breath as she rocked back. Grasping her hands to the frame of the doorway she drove herself forward, pushing with her arms and legs simultaneously, pushing her body like she was diving down into a pool. Going head-first, she clapped her arms to her side and tightened her legs, making her body as thin and aerodynamic is possible. It took just a second for her body to clear the aircraft.
Reaching back, Gabriella pulled the chute from behind her and threw it hard up into the air. From such a low height, pulling the ripcord was no longer an option. She used the same technique that the extreme base jumpers would use. Malfunction at this height was death by slamming into the field with the rocks below, her body would end up nothing more than a twisted contortion of bones, blood, and flesh scattered about a twenty-yard area.
Snapping the chute from its holding, it drifted up into the air and billowed out, half the size of a standard parachute. It broke the speed but not as much as the snapping motion a full chute would have given once deployed. Reaching up and grabbing the handles, Gabriella pulled down hard trying to get the chute to cooperate with her and billow itself out more to reduce her speed even further. Combining her skills with the need to get to the ground as fast as possible, Gabriella worked her way back and forth before dropping herself within ten feet of the tree line on the side of the field.
Feet striking down first, Gabriella loosened her body as her feet hit the floor, dropping herself to the side in a rolling motion just as she had been taught so many years ago. The impact of the ground was absorbed by her full body extending across, rather than direct impact on just her knees, ankles, and feet. Rolling twice across the ground, she pulled her arms up to her face, covering herself from any stray sticks or stones that may find their way into her eyes.
Coming to a stop she opened her eyes and looked to the sky, seeing the tail lights of the Cessna 172 drifting away.
"Okay, let's get to work." Gabriella popped herself up to her feet and unstrapped parachute from her back. In one fluid motion she turned herself and started to rap the cords of the parachute around the packets, winding it tighter and tighter, pulling the chute in, and finally wrapping the chute itself around the pack as well. Drifting into the woods she started to make her way, looking for an opportunity to bury the chute, before coming across a fallen tree that had looked to have a section hollowed-out. More than likely for some animals to call home. Stuffing the chute inside a log, Gabriella then filled the log with dirt, c
overing up any evidence of her being in the area.
"Okay, let's see here." Gabriella pulled out her compass, checking her direction.
Keeping the jumpsuit on her body Gabriella checked her bearings once more, then started making her way through the woods. Traveling in the direction of the only thing she could call her hometown.
"Gabriella, this is your home," came a grumbled voice tickling from the back of her mind, and the image of a high-ranking officer came into her memories. It wasn't the first time she'd seen his face, but he always seemed to make more appearances the closer she got to Moscow.
"You are the perfect weapon. There is nobody else like you in the world. You are completely original in every way. You will be my greatest triumph, and the greatest triumph from Mother Russia," continued the man in Gabriella's memories.
In an involuntary acceptance of her mind, Gabriella felt herself again as the young girl in the training facility. Sitting and waiting on the edge of her bed, listening to the grumbling man speak to her as she stared blankly out into the world. Emotion was not to be had, and she had been taught that it was simply a sign of weakness. Praise from your commander and praise from Russia was all that was longed for.
"You never smile, Gabriella." The man pulled up a chair, sitting down next to her. "I like that. There is no weakness in you. No frivolity. You are singularly focused. You are the way that every member of the Red Army should behave."
Refusing to make eye contact, the girl on the edge of the bed still sat silently. It wasn’t that she did not want to look at the man, but she did want to scream at him. It wasn't that she knew she was missing a family, she must have been taken. She was not simply the child of Mother Russia the way they had always told her she was, like the country itself had somehow given birth to her. She was never given any information on what happened to her true parents, or if she had any siblings, or any life at all before coming to the training facility. But those questions would only lead to trouble. They would see it as weakness. She would no longer be the perfect weapon. In short, she could be replaced for a better model. A more advanced prototype, another young girl or boy who would not ask such questions. She had seen others just like that come and go over the years. It was simply easier to keep your mouth shut and survive.
"You will change the world, little one," said the grumbling man. "The heads of states will fall because of you. You will change the world, the landscape of international politics. With you, we will be able to shift things in favor of our sweet Homeland. Anybody in resistance, you will be able to remove. You will get rid of them like they are a cancer in the body that simply needs to be cut out. Someday, the children of Russia will learn about you in schools, and see statues of you adorning the city squares. But for today, we have more work to do. Today, you're going to learn how to kill someone."
Chapter Ten
The trek though the brush took over three hours, and the flight suit from the jump was worse for the ware. Dirt stains from falls and a rip in the sleeve were clearly visible, but as Gabriella found her way to the slow back country road, she paused in the woods removing the jump suit and revealing her casual wears.
A pair of jeans and sneakers held the lower part of her body, while the top was covered with a t-shirt and a jean jacket, that looked slightly too small but was stylish at the same time.
Tussling her hair with her hand, Gabriella gave herself the look of a young person who wore their hair out of sorts on purpose. The young people of Russia were aware of fashion, and personal style was a hallmark for the kids around the capital city.
With night moving in fast, Gabriella moved to face the traffic as the sounds of the approaching cars came up from behind her. One by one they went past. She neglected to stick out her thumb, knowing that hitch hiking was a crime, but if someone passed and was willing to give her a ride, that was fine in the eyes of the law.
Hearing the rumbling of a vehicle with no exhaust pipe Gabriella turned to see a single headlight bouncing down the street. With a strong swerve to the right and then the left, the vehicle came into view showing it to be a motorcycle with a sidecar. The motorcycle was different than most and looked to be a throwback to the second world war. Spoked wheels were in the place of the usual thick rims and heavy ties, and the motorcycle looked to be stripped down of any luxury at all. Just metal and a flat, single person seat.
“Young lady, do you need a ride?” asked the sweet sounds of a woman that was no less than triple Gabriella’s age. The woman was dressed in leather from head to toe, except for the jet-back helmet she wore and the flight goggles that covered her eyes.
Pulling the goggles up she gave a faint smile to Gabriella. “It’s okay, dear, I am not some crazy, but if you walk these roads at night you may run into one.”
“Thank you. I would love a ride,” Gabriella replied, keeping her composure. “I love your bike.”
“Why thank you,” the older woman said. “It was my late husband, Victor’s. We would go for rides all the time. After he passed, I learned to ride the bike myself. I take it everywhere. How far are you going?”
“I am headed up the A10 to Borski.” Gabriella smiled. “I heard that it’s a great place to set up for day trips into Moscow to do some sightseeing.”
“Well hop in, kid, because today is your lucky day,” said the older woman with a wink. “I live in Borski and have a room for rent if you are interested.”
“That would be wonderful.”
“Just get into the sidecar and we can be on our way.”
Climbing over into the sidecar Gabriella pulled herself down into the seat, feeling like she was the driver of a bobsled in the winter Olympics. Reaching to the sides she found no seat belt, making her keenly aware that any accident would result with her being thrown from the sidecar and smashed all over the ground.
“Here, put on these goggles” the older woman said as she reached into the side bag and pulled them out. “And don’t open your mouth too much. You’re just asking for a bug snack if you do that.”
Gabriella let out a small a laugh and put the goggles on.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” asked the older woman.
“I am Gabriella.”
“Nice to meet you, Gabriella. I am Claudia,” the older woman said with a smile. “I have lived outside Moscow for over seventy years now. I’ve seen communism and the rise of democracy. I have seen leaders come and go. So, if you have any questions about the city, I am the one to ask. I can point you to the restaurant that the locals love and keep you off the tourist path. Don’t be shy, because god knows I’m not.”
Kicking her foot down hard on the starter petal, Claudia brought the motorcycle to life. Twisting her right hand, she let a few strong revs out of the engine as she smiled at Gabriella. Popping the clutch, the bike jumped forward and the two women were on their way.
Making quick time to the A10, the women made their way through the night hardly saying a word. The faulty muffler and Claudia’s advice to keep your mouth closed became quickly evident as several bugs slapped off Gabriella’s face as they drove.
Pulling into Borski and winding through the streets, Claudia pulled up her driveway and cut the ignition quickly.
“No need to wake up the neighbors on a Sunday morning,” she said with a soft, sweet smile. Looking down at her watch, a look of shock came over her face. “Oh my, it’s 5:15. We made great time.”
“Yes, no slowdowns at all,” Gabriella added, trying to bring something to the conversation.
“Right this way, dear.” Claudia led her across the driveway with her helmet and goggles still attached to her head.
Unlocking the back-door Claudia reached in and flipped on the light, showing a kitchen that looked forty years out of date. The flowered wallpaper with lime green cabinets and Formica counters shined in the light showing that the keeper of the home knew exactly how to clean them.
Pulling the helmet off her head followed by the goggles and her driving gloves, Claudia placed
the second two items in the helmet and placed it on a stool next to the door.
“After such a long drive I bet you’re ready for a cup of tea,” Claudia fussed. “I also need to tell you my rates for lodging.”
“That sounds fine. I think after that I will take a rest.” Gabriella smiled and looked around the room for objects that could be of some use to her in the field.
Placing the kettle on the burner, the old woman reached above the stove to the cabinet and pulled down her tea chest. “So, did you like England?”
“I am sorry?” Gabriella asked, trying to keep the surprise from her voice.
“I asked if you liked England,” Claudia said without turning back around to look at Gabriella. “I hear London is nice this time of year.”
Sliding the chair back, Gabriella braced herself for the woman to turn to her with a gun. Placing one hand under the kitchen table she could flip it and dive behind it giving her some cover.
“Don’t be startled dear,” Claudia assured her. “You think I picked you up on that road by accident?”
“What are you talking about?’ Gabriella trying her best to sound confused was unconvincing.
“You people that work with London are all the same,” said Claudia with exasperation in her voice. “You all stay in character forever.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you have me confused with somebody else.”
“I am a friend of Nathan Young at MI6, just like you.” Claudia turned around with two cups of tea and walked to the table. “I am sure you know him. Now let me put your mind at ease with the tea.”
The older woman picked up one cup of tea and took a sip, and then did the same with the second. “No poison, so you don’t have to worry.”
