Political Thriller: RUSSIAN HOLIDAY, an American Assassin story Page 3

“You see? Chicks know what chicks want to see.”

  After giving the shopping bags to the driver, Lyosha and Robert set out on foot, past Teatralnaya Square and the majestic Bolshoi Theatre, then crossed under the busy boulevard, past the classic Hotel Metropol and the new Four Seasons, to the outskirts of the Kremlin, and entered Red Square. Dusk had fallen into darkness, which, in Moscow in the summer meant a cobalt blue sky, completely clear of clouds. As Robert entered the square, thousands of individual lights lit up the classic GUM shopping center building on his left like a case full of diamonds. Lenin’s tomb and the castle walls of the Kremlin were on his right. The illuminated, bonfire-like, multi-colored spires of St. Basil’s Cathedral were directly ahead of him. Robert stood in the middle of the square, in awe of the beauty, the history, and the power of it all.

  As they walked toward the mutated towers of the 16th century cathedral, he imagined the scenes he had learned in military history of Russian forces parading into Red Square to celebrate the anniversary of the Russian Revolution, saluting as they passed by Stalin and all the highest officials of the Russian government, who were seated in the booth just to his right, and continuing on from the parade directly to the front to fight the Nazis, many of them marching for the last time of their lives. They paused in front of a circular structure near the cathedral.

  “Lubnoe mesta. This where czar chopped off heads of his enemies.”

  Robert could visualize the execution of the Streltsy, the Royal Guards, who had betrayed Peter the Great. He followed Lyosha’s lead, between the cathedral and the massive corner tower clock that has signaled the first minute of the New Year for every Russian for the last four-hundred years.

  They continued onto a bridge across the Moscow River. When they were halfway, Robert paused at the rail, looking at battlements of the Kremlin on his right, its golden domed churches and five palaces, including the white and gold trimmed Grand Kremlin Palace, the equivalent of the White House in Russia, all lit up in their splendor.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You will have lot of time here in day. Now party time. Even killers need holiday.”

  Robert was ready for party time. This place was a welcome respite from the dust, grit, grime and blood of Syria.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The car pulled up in front of a run down, dirty looking apartment building in the outskirts of Moscow. In fact, everywhere Robert looked there were run down, dirty looking apartment buildings. It was a stark contrast to the center of town, where all the buildings were in the classic style and beautifully maintained. They parked in a space next to rows of makeshift garages and storage units of various shapes and sizes, most of them made out of aluminum or wood with metal siding.

  “We’re here!”

  “Where exactly are we?”

  “We visit my parents.”

  Robert stepped out of the car and walked with Lyosha across a kid’s playground, with various jungle gym equipment, swings, and painted sculptures made from old tires. There were a few kids swinging on the swings and others running around, laughing, playing what looked like hide and seek. A couple of smaller kids teetered on the seesaw.

  “This where I played when I was kid. “

  Robert smiled at him. “You?”

  “Yeah, I used to be kid, just like you. See over there?” Lyosha pointed to an area between the buildings where there were a clump of birch trees.

  “Yeah.”

  “That where I had first kiss. Her name was Tonya.”

  “You little devil. How old were you?”

  “Twelve years.”

  They walked up a few steps to Door No. 2, rang the buzzer and the door buzzed open shortly thereafter. Upon entering, the stairwell was just about as run down and ugly as the outside of the building. It had a stale smell, like old gym socks.

  “Your friend’s apartment is in a lot better shape.”

  They began trudging up the stairs.

  “He lives in center, in Stalin building. These buildings were made after war by Khrushchev. Supposed to be temporary.” He laughed. “Temporary for seventy years.”

  On the third floor, the heavenly smell of down-home cooking filled the landing. The door of one of the four apartments was a crack open and Lyosha pushed it and ushered Robert in first. He pointed down at the floor.

  “We take off shoes.”

  Robert and Lyosha both slipped off their shoes as a woman entered the foyer and grabbed Lyosha in a bear hug. He kissed her and she put her hands around his face, smiled and said something to him in Russian. He turned to Robert.

  “Boab, this my mother, Lyudmila.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Robert put out his hand and she shook it.

  “She don’t speak English.” Lyosha translated his greeting to her, although it was universally understood. A big strapping man with greying hair entered with a smile larger than the room. Robert guessed this must be Lyosha’s father. They hugged in a manly way that Robert thought each one would be crushed.

  “This my father, Sergei.”

  Sergei took Robert’s hand in the same type of Vulcan death grip handshake he had experienced with Lyosha.

  “It’s good to meet you, sir. Thank you for having me.”

  The inside of the apartment was warm, cozy and clean and the heavenly scents wafting out of the kitchen were making Robert’s stomach growl. Lyosha’s mother gently pushed him into the bathroom, saying something to him he couldn’t understand.

  “She wants you to wash hands.”

  Lyudmila shook a towel in front of Robert and hung it back on a hook on the wall so he could see where to dry them. He washed his hands, after which Lyosha did the same.

  Lyosha ushered Robert into the living room, where a dining table had been set up in the middle of the room, draped with a fine linen tablecloth and set with crystal and fine china. It was loaded with salads of all types: beet root; potato salad; fresh tomatoes and cucumbers; potatoes; smoked white and red fish; caviar; and, of course, a large plate of pickled cucumbers. Lyosha’s mother was hauling in two more plates of food.

  “Sit down. Eat!”

  `Robert could not help but notice there were more than four place settings at the table.

  “Do you have brothers and sisters coming?”

  “I’m only child. Mom has sister, so aunt and cousins are coming.”

  Robert looked about the room, which contained the history of Lyosha’s family. Photographs of people, some in black and white, adorned the buffet and the shelves of an old wooden bookcase, sagging with leather and cloth-bound books with bindings worn, indicating generations of reading. Sheer white curtains trimmed with gold covered the window and glass door leading to a balcony.

  The doorbell buzzed and, before long, all the seats at the table were filled with Lyosha’s aunt and uncle, a tall, skinny man, their daughter, an attractive brunette with dark hair cut straight across the forehead in bangs, and their daughter’s daughter, a cute little girl of about eight years old.

  Robert was the center of attention and received most of it. Lyosha’s mother loaded his plate full of salads and buttered bread with red caviar. Every time Robert had finished, she reloaded his plate with the next course. First fish, then beef. Robert was beginning to feel bloated. In between plates, there was the toasting, which seemed like it would never end. Lyosha sat next to Robert and translated for him. His father stood, poured everyone’s glass to the top, then remained standing, raising his glass.

  “To our new American friend. Welcome to our country, our city, and our home. It is an honor to have you with us.”

  All eyes were on Robert as he downed his shot of vodka, then reached for a pickle. Lyosha’s father spoke again, and they all looked at Robert and laughed.

  “What are they laughing about?”

  “They asked what you do for job. I told them you were killer.” He slapped him on the back and laughed.

  Lyosha’s uncle Valodya, the tall, skinny fe
llow with the grey hair and moustache and a contagious guttural laugh, told a joke. Of course, Robert didn’t understand it, but Valodya belted out laughing and Robert laughed along with everyone else. He had never remembered eating this much since he was last invited to a friend’s Thanksgiving dinner about ten years ago.

  As the drinking continued, so did the discussions. Robert’s new friends were anxious to hear his impressions about Russia and to discuss theirs about the United States, which to Robert’s surprise, were generally favorable. He could see that drinking and conversation were inexorably intertwined and one did not occur without the other. They were honest with their conversation, but he got the general impression they liked Americans and were happy to have him at their table.

  Several hours into the event, the group started singing, while Lyosha’s mother and aunt cleared the table. Lyosha translated for his mother.

  “Mom says dinner finished. She says good for health to leave table a little hungry.”

  Robert nodded. It made sense, although his vodka consumption couldn’t be good for health at all.

  No sooner had his mother made that declaration when she and Lyosha’s aunt brought in two tubs of chocolate and vanilla ice cream and a homemade cake. Sergei fetched a big bowl of candy out of the closet and set it on the table. The women retreated to the kitchen.

  “I thought she said it was good for the health to leave the table hungry.”

  “You haven’t left table yet. Now she says time for tea.”

  They brought in a large teapot and filled everyone’s porcelain cup with tea. The time became a blur as Robert chimed in singing songs and listened to translated stories and jokes. As the time spun, so did the room around Robert’s head as he took in his share of the endless flow of vodka. Finally, and maybe too late, he realized he had reached his limit and declared it.

  “No more for me.”

  Sergei laughed and poured another round of shots, and Lyosha translated. “My father says this is last drink.”

  Sergei raised his glass to Robert and they drank. Robert forced another pickle down. Finally, in the early hours of morning, it was time to go. Robert said his good-byes to the aunt, uncle and cousin and to Lyosha’s mother. Lyosha’s niece was asleep on the couch. He looked around but didn’t see Sergei.

  “Where’s your father?”

  “Probably by door. My father is good host.”

  “He certainly is.”

  “He just wants you to feel welcome.”

  Robert nodded and smiled. “I do, I do.”

  Robert staggered to the corridor and struggled to put on his shoes, but there was still no sign of the father. Once he finally had them on, he saw Sergei standing by the door, smiling. He revealed with his hand, like a magician, three shot glasses full of vodka on the foyer table.

  ‘Oh, no. No, no.”

  “Possashok. Drink for road. Russian tradition.”

  “I can’t.”

  “My father will be insulted if you don’t.”

  Robert squinted at the glasses, then back at Sergei, who was grinning. He took his glass, which seemed to be very heavy, and lifted it, toasted Sergei and slammed it down. Everybody shouted hooray like it was some kind of grand event, and then Robert and Lyosha stumbled out the door.

  Robert, the only child of a career soldier who had taken a Lebanese wife, had long since lost both his parents. After that, the Army had been his family, and the only type of family bonds he had felt had been to the men and women he had served with. This had gotten him into some trouble the first time he had tried to walk away from this life and build a “normal” one for himself. Robert had established an “ordinary” life in New York, with a new identity, a regular job, and even had a woman in his life. But, when a fellow soldier facing a bum rap needed help, Robert had given it all up and come out from the cold to come to his aid. This type of family reunion was foreign to him, but it felt good. And even though he and Lyosha were on different “sides” he felt that comradery with him that he had felt with his fellow soldiers. It felt good to be part of something that was bigger than himself.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  When Robert opened his eyes, his head was pounding. He looked at the clock. Two thirty!

  He could see this was the way it was done in Moscow. Party late, wake up late. The inside of his mouth was dry, as if it had been wiped out with a towel and blown dry with a hair dryer. He lifted his legs out of the bed and stumbled into the kitchen. He popped the top off a liter of water and gulped it down as if there were a hole in his throat. He couldn’t drink enough, but he could see that there would be no talking to Lyosha without drinking; nothing profound that is.

  When in Rome.

  In his case, it was “when in Russia,” but he didn’t care because he was on vacation anyway. He decided to spend his hours after waking doing his own sightseeing. He would wait for Lyosha to call him whenever he was ready.

  He set out on foot, figuring the best way to get to know a place would be to walk it. Using a tourist map provided him by his landlord, he walked toward Red Square and the Kremlin down the large Tverskaya Boulevard, which was lined with first-class hotels and fancy boutiques. It reminded him of the Champs-Élysées in Paris. He meandered off the road into pedestrian-only streets that abutted the boulevard and took lunch at one of the cafes which served Uzbeki cuisine.

  Toward the end of the day, Lyosha finally called. They started their evening atop the Smolensky Prospect building in the White Rabbit dinner club, which had a 360-degree view of Moscow through its glass walls. Lyosha pulled out all the stops, ordering a platter of fresh oysters, shrimp, lobster, and black caviar.

  “Is the State picking up the tab for this, too?”

  “What? Don’t be silly. I invite you.”

  Robert guessed that meant Lyosha was paying, which he had no intention of letting him do. The waiter poured their shot glasses to the top with ice cold vodka as Robert slurped down an oyster and Lyosha dabbed a glob of caviar on a piece of buttered bread.

  “They say in America you guys live to work. Here in Russia, we work to live.” Lyosha savored the taste in his mouth, and lifted his shot glass to Robert.

  “To peace between our countries. We will always be in business, Boab, because there will always be plenty of rich guys who pay us to kill other people, but I pray to God our people won’t be killing each other.”

  “Amen to that.” Robert toasted with Lyosha and slammed down the icy hot liquid.

  The check eventually came in a Russian matroshka doll. Robert was too slow in realizing what it was and, by the time he did, Lyosha was already popping the head off the doll, exposing the bill inside.

  “Lyosha, let me get it, please.”

  Lyosha held the bill out of Robert’s reach. “Boab, don’t insult me. You are my guest.”

  ***

  The pulsating rhythms from inside vibrated their way through the outside walls of the Icon nightclub as they approached it. They bypassed a huge line of thrill seekers, all dressed to the nines – the men in boots and the women in stiletto heels – and went in through a special VIP entrance. Inside it was as big as a football field, not counting the second story.

  The main dance floor was swimming with partiers writhing about to electronic music, most of them female. Lyosha raised his voice above the din so Robert could hear him.

  “I told you – more women than men in Russia. Take your pick!” He fanned his hand toward the tender crowd like a merchant exhibiting his wares.

  Robert smiled and motioned for Lyosha to move on.

  “I’ll take my pick later.”

  Lyosha nodded. They paused at a chained entrance to a staircase which led to the VIP floor and the attendant opened the chain for them to enter, closed it behind them, and led them to their private table. The second floor was also popping with dancers and revelers, but these were the girls drinking out of Dom Perignon bottles and dressed in Chanel, Dior and Celine, while their men watched them from the privacy of their t
ables, drinking vodka or whisky and eating caviar by the bucket load. The sweet flowery and spicy smell of hookah drifted through the air from the tall nargile water pipes at every table.

  Robert and Lyosha settled back on a leather couch in front of an impressive cornucopia of fruit and cheese, and took in all the action.

  “You like strip dance? They have gentlemen’s club on this floor.”

  Robert nodded. “Maybe a little later. Let’s see what’s going on here first.”

  “Good idea. I call some girls over.”

  Lyosha poured a shot glass of the clear icebreaker for both of them. They simultaneously took it in one gulp, followed by a pickle. He stood up.

  “I’ll be back.”

  Robert had the impression Lyosha was attempting an Arnold Schwarzenegger impression. Not that he had to; he was taller and beefier than Arnold and Robert was sure the girls would rain over him like falling flower petals when he rumbled through the dance floor.

  In less than half an hour, Lyosha was back with not one, not two, but three girls – a tall blonde with blue eyes, a sleek brunette with auburn hair and crystal green eyes, and a black haired beauty with haunting grey eyes. All of them looked like models from the covers of Vogue Magazine.

  He held the blonde gently by the elbow and offered her to Robert, speaking over the pulsating beat of “Uptown Funk.” “Bob, this is Svetlana, but she says you can call her Lana. She speaks English. And this is Masha and Sasha. Sounds good together, huh?” He squeezed them to his sides and they giggled.

  Lana sat down next to Robert while Masha and Sasha took their places on both sides of Lyosha, as if he were a Sultan being tended by his harem. The warmth of Lana’s body next to him was like a drug. He tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to look at her, dressed in a silky beige dress, cut low in the front, showing off a hint of her creamy breasts. His eyes wandered from them down to her bare legs, which disappeared under the table, then back to her face.

  “So, you speak English?”

  Lana smiled, perfectly pearly white and straight. She leaned in close to Robert’s ear to be heard, and the tickling vibration of her voice was pleasant and overwhelming. “I learn English in school.” Her accent was soft and intoxicating.