by Mike Gomes
“I ate it,” Otto said, casting a large smile with his voice followed by a choking sound. “So now the only way you get that device is to cut me open while I sleep, or you can just go sifting through my mess.”
Letting out a low laugh, Gabriella looked over the top of the fire as she tried to read the man and figure out what he was thinking. He’s been aloof, distant. He didn’t crumble from her glances, or when she placed her hand on his arm, or even when she lowered the zipper on her coat to expose her cleavage. He seemed impervious to the flirting, and had his mind on only one thing. The mission. She wondered if he fancied women at all, but when they talked by the fire he would often talk about the women of his life. He was clearly well trained. His social life was his social life and his work life was his work life, and never the two shall meet.
"Do you think it’s too smart that we make our move in the darkness?" Gabriella asked.
"I doubt anybody is still looking for us, but it can't hurt."
"Why do you doubt anybody is looking for us? When the KGB got back to the basement where you were being held, they would’ve found one of their agents with his head severed and the man they had captured gone," Gabriella pushed. "I'm sure they hit every single camera they had on closed-circuit TV from all over the city trying to get a lock on us or follow us all the way out of town.”
"I'm sure you're right. But Claudia seemed like she was on the ball. As you know we didn't get much time to talk, but she seems like a woman that would cover all her bases and make sure everything was alright. I bet you just about anything that all those closed-circuit TV cameras were wiped clean before anybody got to look at them."
"That does sound like Claudia. I didn't get much time with her either, but she knew her stuff." Gabriella sighed.
Pulling herself up to her feet, Gabriella went over to the tent and started to pull the stakes from the ground. Bending at the waist she attempted again to see if she could catch Otto’s eye, in hopes that he would open up to her a little bit more. Instead, he pulled himself up and walked to the other side of the tent and started to help remove the stakes. Not letting her do it all by herself, but sticking to his views of seeing her only as a co-worker and doing exactly half of the work.
They finished quickly, gathering their gear and throwing it up on their backs. The fire was turned over with the dirt from the surrounding area, and the ground was rubbed so as to show no indication that there had been anybody camping there.
Otto looked to Gabriella who was now only lit by the full moon. Her long, dark hair looked as if it glowed in the moonlight. He shook his head, they had a mission to be getting on with. "If we keep a solid pace, we should be able to make it near to the roadside in about an hour. I think then the best bet, is we stay off the road by about fifty yards and start the hike to Moscow. That should give us enough cover to keep us safe. Then once we get up into a town, we can always get a car."
He pulled his pack tight on his back and pulled down on the nylon straps.
"Where exactly are we going when we get to Moscow?" Gabriella asked. "You know, seeing as I'm the team leader here, I think I ought to know exactly what's going on."
"Just as I suspected."
"Well I kind of noticed that after you got back from your little trip in the woods, you've actually been listening to me," Gabriella said with a smile, even though Otto couldn’t see it from behind her. "I assume that you got a message saying that you should be listening to me, and that I'm the point on this operation."
“Very perceptive,” Otto murmured, giving his own smile that she could not see. "I did indeed hear that you are the contact that I was supposed to meet with before my friends in the KGB had picked me up."
“So where is it that we're meeting?"
Otto let out a large sigh knowing that Gabriella did not fully trust him. She wanted the details and she wanted them now.
"It's a small coffee shop call Volt. You know how Moscow is set up in a wheel spoke pattern?"
"Yes. It's a lot like Washington DC. So you can easily move people in and out in case of an emergency?" Gabriella’s mind moved right to tactics before conversation.
"Yeah, well Volt is directly in the center," Otto confirmed, feeling his injuries kicking back in with the hiking. "It's only a few blocks north of Red Square. From what I understand, it's a small place that many of the locals go. The real clientele though, is a lot of the government workers coming in from the Kremlin down the road and from the neighboring buildings. They come in after work, have a drink, and then away they go. By the time we get there, the place should be very empty."
"Maybe this has nothing to do with this plan but my main worry is if he’s bringing the bomb," Gabriella furrowed her forehead as she thought this through. "If he brings the bomb, it's almost dead center in Moscow. It almost seems symbolic to detonate it there, or right to the Kremlin and set it off."
"I didn't even think of that," Otto mused. "It's actually not beyond the sky to blow himself up in this whole mess. He wants his revenge, but he doesn't need to be alive after it. I’m sure we have nothing to worry about though, he wouldn’t need us if that was his plan."
Hiking for another twenty minutes, the couple finally reached the road. They checked both directions for headlights from oncoming traffic, and dipped back into the woods, getting a safe distance so as not be picked up by any passers-by. Covering ground quickly, and needing to take the occasional break for Otto’s injuries, the two-person team made their way up to a small village.
Finding a car that was sitting alone in the parking lot of a small apartment building, Gabriella checked the door and found that it was unlocked.
"Okay, this should only take a second," she said as she slipped behind the steering wheel. Otto got in on the passenger side, grabbing the ice scraper to give the windows a quick once over before they set off.
Gabriella got ready to slam at the ignition to open it and hotwire the car.
"Hold on, hold on," Otto whispered, putting out his hand to stop Gabriella from hitting the ignition with her first strike. "We don't need to wake the whole place up. Sometimes brute force isn't what's needed. Let's check the simple things first."
Reaching above Gabriella’s head, Otto flipped down the sun visor to see if the car keys were hiding there, but nothing appeared. Next, he pulled out the ashtray to find nothing inside. Finally, leaning down between Gabriella’s legs, Otto lifted the driver side floor mat, uncovering a single key that held the symbol of the vehicle. Picking it up he handed it to her.
"Isn't it much easier to just start the car with a key rather than bashing the shit out of it?"
"Show off." Gabriella stuck out her tongue childishly, but gave him a small smile as she turned on the ignition and started the engine. Pulling out of the parking spot, the car slightly sputtered on the minimal four-cylinder engine that it had. It sounded more like a wind-up toy than a car, but it beat walking in the eyes of the two-person team.
Now was no time for complaints about the mode of transportation though. Their only objective was to get to Moscow and be ready for the meeting, which could determine the lives of millions of people.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The high-backed, leather chair rose far above the man's head, letting him lean back comfortably, feeling the soft leather envelope the sides of his head and cradle him in a relaxing, balanced feeling that he had never found before in any other furniture. It was a collector's item to be sure, a purchase made through wealth and influence that few would ever see the luxury of, despite how much money they had. A man had to yield power to afford a luxury like this. It was the kind of item that was only gifted to you after you had completed a favor for another man in such a lofty position.
"We have a meeting coming up," Mari Moto spoke as he looked at the cigar sitting between his middle and index finger. Watching the smoke twist up and curl within itself had always fascinated the man. The slight changes in the air's direction, unnoticeable to human skin, affected the movement
of the smoke, causing it to twist and turn. A metaphor he lived his life by, that the unseen forces that control the slightest things could often have some of the greatest impact.
"It's with an old friend of mine. His name is Otto," Mari Moto continued, taking another slow, long draw from his cigar and letting the smoke billow out through his lips, creating a small plume before breaking up. "He's a good man, or at least he was. I have no way of knowing now. But he's interested in our little... package."
"Shall I run a check on him, sir?" asked the man sitting on a sofa that extended to the right of the man in charge.
Sitting at the head of the table, Mari Moto looked down at his men on the right and left, sitting comfortably and steady, awaiting their directions and wondering what they could do to continue to help their cause.
"We run checks on everybody, you know that." Mari Moto turned with a slight look of disgust to the man who dared question him. "I don't expect you to find anything on this man. He's far too well trained, and he has the ability to get into all the sites and manipulate them. He's probably wiped himself completely clean from the internet, and the only hope you'd have to catch him with anything is on the closed-circuit TV's facial recognition, but even then, I wonder how much of that he's eliminated."
"I'll get right on that, sir, you can trust me," the man promised.
"I can trust you, just like I can trust all of you men," Mari Moto nodded to them. "But the problem I have, is that we're seeing radio and encrypted messages coming out of London's MI6. They seem to be calling myself and others within our organization into question. It makes me wonder how that information gets into their hands."
A muttering between all of the men sitting in the meeting scattered the room.
"Do you have any idea who it might be, sir?" asked an attentive middle-aged man with graying hair on the sides of his head.
"It's someone in this room," Mari Moto told them as he stood up from his chair. "It's somebody in this room who has chosen to betray all the other people in this room. I don't know if it's for God, I don't know if it's for money, and I don't care if it's for fame. None of it matters. What does matter, is the betrayal."
"How can we get to the bottom of this, sir? Let me know and I'll dive right into it," came the confident voice of a young man who headed up security for the terrorist who now held all control of a nuclear weapon. "I'd be happy to personally take on this mission."
"That's why I like you, Ahmad, ready to fight, ready to work at a moment's notice." Mari Moto smiled as he walked behind a group of the men to the right.
Circling his way around the far end of the group, he turned where another member might’ve sat at the other head of the meeting. But no chair was in its spot, showing there was no second-in-command to Mari Moto and the way he chose to run his organization. Stopping and facing the room of men, he placed his hands in the pockets of his trousers.
"Apart from my friend, Ahmad, and a few others in this room, I wonder how we're gonna solve this problem? I wonder who the leak is in here? Or do I already know?"
Again, the men murmured together, while others sat silent, staring at the man as he began to pace again. Down the opposite row of men, Mari Moto stopped briefly at the end, walking over to a small bar that was sitting off to the side. Reaching behind the bar, he pulled up an old wooden stick that was heavy in weight and solid within its girth.
"Do you know what this is?" Mari Moto asked the group of men. "It's a shillelagh."
"It's beautiful, sir, and must have set you back some," said one of the other men, giving a smile to their leader.
"No, this was a gift. I went to Ireland and Scotland and had some work there. The days of the IRA are not gone, they're just not as active as they once were. As a thank you to me for showing them some deceptive tricks, they gave me this beautiful piece of art." Mari Moto smiled as he held the item with both hands in front of him. "Look at the craftsmanship, the detail, making it look as if it is multiple branches intertwined, going down the length of it. They all twist together to find one tip at the end where they enter the ground. At the top, they come to a knob, curled over slightly, like a strong man's fist, something to grab a hold of, something to be secure. It's an object riddled with symbolism."
The men at the table stay silent, watching as Mari Moto holds the shillelagh out in front of him, looking at it with admiration.
"This used to be a mark of respect. This used to set the tone for people. When someone saw you with one and it was designed in this manner, you were sure to know that this was a great man, a man of substance, ability. Someone that had the influence and who had the wherewithal to get an item with this much great detail and artistic work for it."
"Outstanding, sir," praised another of the twelve men that was anxiously sitting and waiting to find out what was next from their leader.
Starting his journey again, behind the men that were sitting, Mari Moto made his way to the far end of the group. "I need you men to be the different branches that twist together to become one. I know that might sound poetic and over the top, but it's true. This grouping of men are together for a common cause. Each man displaying their abilities that God has given them for the greater good is a piece of artwork in itself," Mari Moto spoke with confidence. "But I also need you to be at the top of the shillelagh. This, the ball, the connection where it all comes together, the might and the force that we all long to have. It's here, right here, where we join and show our power to the world and to the people around us. Can I get that commitment from all of you men here today?"
A smattering of agreement and affirmative head nods came from the men. They looked up to their leader with admiration, letting him know that they were ready to do his bidding at any time.
Raising both hands into the air like an evangelical preacher, Mari Moto spread his hands wide. "Then I ask you all to leave here now, to go out and do your best to make sure all our angles are covered. And to whoever is the leak within this room, you will be found, so you may wish to do yourself what I plan to do to you anyways. Take your own life. Do it in a manner of honor, because you can at least save some face by showing people that you have repented." As he finished speaking, he lowered his hands and extended them forward, showing the other men in the room that he was ready for them to leave.
Walking behind the group of men as they exited the room, Mari Moto went on, "Be smart, gentlemen. Remember all we have at stake."
Ahmad, walking in stride as the last member in the line, looked back quickly and smiled at Mari Moto, ready to perform his duties.
"It was you, Ahmad," Mari Moto stated, grabbing the shillelagh by the bottom and swinging it like a baseball bat, cracking the knob cleanly against Ahmad’s head before he even had a chance to react.
Ahmad's body went down to the ground with a thud, causing the rest of the men to freeze in place and look back at Mari Moto and Ahmad.
"You call yourself my security man when you have committed the worst crime of betrayal," Mari Moto said as he was standing over the man, who was rolling slowly from side to side and holding the side of his head. "You have betrayed me and everyone in this room. Did you think you could get away with it? Did you think that I wouldn't know that the man that was so anxious to look into it would be the man who had committed the sin? You found a way to cover up for yourself by being in charge of security. But it seems you weren’t as clever as you thought."
A grunt and a groan came out of the man on the floor as Mari Moto lifted the shillelagh again up above his head, he held the bottom and drove down with the hardened club end of the shillelagh. Again, the wood knocked hard, cracking Ahmad’s skull on the ground. As if pounding the rocks the way he did back at the gulag with the sledgehammer, Mari Moto continued to rain down blows upon the head of the man who betrayed him, cracking open his skull and spilling his brains to the floor. With one last mighty and feverish blow, the shillelagh came down splitting completely through Ahmad’s head, cracking the shillelagh in two and causing a spurt of bl
ood to shoot up and across the man who had wielded it.
A spray of blood went across his face and down his chest, the look of a warrior who had just come out of battle. Breathing heavy, and his hair a mess, Mari Moto reached into his pocket, removing a handkerchief to remove the sweat from his brow.
Lifting his head up and looking to the other members of his team who stared back, not saying a word and frozen in place, Mari Moto let a small smile slide across his face. "I said, you were all dismissed."
Chapter Twenty-Five
The layout of Moscow and its spoked wheel shaped manor was replicated in various places around the world. At the hub of the wheel, sat the center of Moscow’s cultural political and social institutions. The Kremlin and Red Square along with countless museums. A river flowing through it all gave the beehive of activity a beautiful backdrop, even for those who enjoyed it as part of their everyday life.
Tourists, government workers, package carriers, people going about their day to day jobs, and any other sort of person could easily find themselves in Red Square in the shadow of Lenin's tomb dancing the dance of the orchestrated chaos of people moving in every possible direction. There was no off-season for the city. It was not just the capital, but was one of the shining beacons of culture and politics, captured between the Far East Asian countries and the westerners that lived in Europe.
Opening the door to the cab, Gabriella hopped out at a stop sign. "I'm just going to get a look around the area, don't mind me." With his mouth open to speak, the cab driver realized that the woman had already taken three steps away from the vehicle and was now on her way.
Moving herself to the center of Red Square she looked every bit the tourist. Her eyes looked over the buildings in the famed, brightly colored tops of St. Basil’s Cathedral. A smile broke across her face as she thought of children and what their interpretations of the beautiful building would be. Their eyes would widen, and they would take it in thinking it was something like they would see in a Disney movie. The bright colors and beautiful shapes made the building not just a place of worship, but a work of art.
