Billy Mays

Billy Mays

Sunday, April 25, 2021

 This is my book, CONTRACTOR, on the publisher's website.

https://olympiapublishers.com/books/contractor


About the book:

Womaniser, Andy Gold, is an American living in Poland who has taken on ‘spy work' for the CIA. Travelling into Russia to look for fallen space debris, as well as tracking the illegal sale of radioactive materials to terrorists, may just be out of his depth.

Set in the aftermath of the Cold War, it is difficult for Andy to know who he can trust and whether it is all worth it. Add to that his troubled marriage with the terrifying Renata, it's hardly surprising he falls into the arms of exotic Russian spies.


Monday, May 27, 2019

Dalmatovo



     "Please make yourself at home. It will take me maybe 10 or 15 minutes to prepare the guest room for you. The bathroom is around the corner to your right, and the kitchen is to the left over there. I've warmed up some blinis with cabbage and pork. It is on the counter in the middle of the kitchen. I hope you will like it. Zhenia always asks me to fix it when she comes home from wherever she has been. They are really good with some sour cream and spicy sauce...we have many spicy sauces to choose from...from every country that likes spicy food, I think!"

     "Thank you very much, Nadezhda. I am very happy that I made the decision to come early. You are very nice and this home is fantastic." I told her.

     "Please call me Nadya. It is easier for American pronunciation I am told. But your accent is not so bad as most Americans. I think you have been in Europe for some time?"  she asked

     "Longer than most Americans I know. But in Poland. Almost 10 years now." I said.

     "Congratulations!" she smiled and said enthusiastically.

     "Why 'congratulations'?" I laughed and asked.

     "Because most Americans give up on foreign countries after a short time. They vacation for two weeks or maybe they try to live someplace else but not many are able to adjust to life outside their own wonderful country."  she explained.

     "You are probably right, Nadya. I sometimes miss my country, too. But I think I am sentenced to life in Europe now."  I said.

     She laughed and said, "I think I understand what you mean by 'sentenced'. Let me go get your room ready. I will invite you up later to inspect your room. If you want to take a bath or shower now, I think you might feel better. You will see the towels. Also, there are robes hanging in the bathroom. I will be happy to wash your clothes tonight when you are sleeping. Katerina also has clothes for men that are in closets all over the house. They belonged to cousins, uncles, and a lot of clothes we don't even know where they came from...but very nice ones."  and then Nadya disappeared upstairs.

     After the bath I decided to take following Nadya's suggestion, I had to choose the robe for myself. Since I didn't have a change of clothes, I selected a white silk robe that had matching pants hanging with them. They fit perfectly if I hiked them up past my waist. The robe was long and I loved the fit. Something between a Kimono and Indian style comfortable house wear I imagined. Before I left the bathroom, I noticed how dirty I had left the tub and returned to clean it. Nadya came down the stairs and laughed when she saw me bent over the tub and scrubbing the bath ring I had left. I finished and she said,  "You chose an interesting thing to wear. It was Zhenia's mother's favorite house dress when she visited her parents years ago. She was tall.  I think you look wonderful in it."

     "Oh, shit! I am sorry! I'll grab something else." I apologized and started looking for a better men's robe.

     Nadya said goodnight after taking me to my room on the upper floor. Family photos were all over the walls and diplomas and certificates were also framed and hanging proudly over an old cherry wood desk. There was a large set of built-in bookcases and I could see a section of textbooks that Katerina's father had been co-author on. I recognized that they were about metallurgy but that was all I could discern without looking up words in a dictionary. I was too tired for that but I was well fed and clean, finally, and ready for bed. I'd been conscious of what Nick had said earlier about the blood from my ear and did not see anything on my towel. I put a small dry hand towel under my head just in case I was leaking. Her linen sheets were too nice for me to ruin on my first night's stay.

***

     "Definitely a skull fracture." said Dr. Sokolov as he was fingering my swollen line on my head and looking at the discoloration in my eyes and on my scalp. "Any blood from your ears or nose?"

     "The driver that brought me here felt it was possible he saw blood coming from my ear but I got  so muddy and bloody after the incident that it could have been from my scalp." I explained to him.

     "You have lacerations on both sides of your head. Can you describe to me how it happened and what kind of force or fall it was that you experienced?" the doctor asked me.

     "I hope that this story stays between you and me, Dr. Sokolov." I told him and waited for him to acknowledge that he would be discreet.  When he shook his head to say 'yes', I told him, "I was kicked in the head by someone as I was bent over next to a metal wall. The scrapes on my left side are from his boot and the cuts and swelling on my right side are from where my head slammed into the wall.  I was unconscious for some time and then when I awoke, I was immediately nauseous and had problems seeing. I vomited for hours and have sketchy memories of the details of how I got here."

     "Can you go with me now to do an EEG at my clinic?  It sounds like a serious blow to your head." he asked as he was writing my story down.

     "I don't expect to be here very long, Doctor.  But if I have any problems, I will have Katerina call you. She is supposed to arrive later today." I told him without hesitation.

     "I suppose that is fine but please do not stress yourself at all." he said and then added, "Even sexual intercourse might cause some complications, I am sorry to say."

     As the Doctor was packing his things and leaving some pain killers and sleep aids, he pulled his glasses off and asked, "If you don't mind, I am curious how a young American businessman comes to this part of Russia and gets beaten so terribly. Is there anything you can tell me?"

     "Business secrets, Dr. Sokolov. I can't say anything." I responded.

     He finished packing and shrugged his shoulders and said,  "Some kind of business!"

     "What can I pay you for this house call, Doctor?" I asked as I was striding quickly to pull out my toolkit.

      "Nothing now, Mr. Mays.  Katerina will get my bill sometime soon."

     I felt a little funny about that but didn't protest and said goodbye. Dr. Sokolov was going down the stairs as I was getting dressed in my freshly laundered clothes when I heard a car drive up to the house and skid in the gravel below. Katerina got out of the car and was walking quickly toward the front door. Dr. Sokolov greeted her just outside in the courtyard and I could hear them talking. I opened the window and said, "Dr. Sokolov! Please don't change your story of how I am in perfect health, OK?!"

     Katerina waved excitedly to me and said, "I will be up soon! Let me talk to the doctor! He will tell me what is up with you, damn it!"

     They talked for a lot longer than I had expected but it gave me a chance to take inventory of what I had in my toolkit and how much money I still had. When Katerina finally came up to my room, I was in my famous Lacoste polo shirt, which was as white as it had ever been, and my camouflage pants were, well, clean. Camos in Russia made me feel like I was behind the lines in some secret war...which maybe I was...in a way. In any case, I was uncomfortable being in them since she had met me looking a lot more normal.

     Katerina started crying almost immediately. I was shocked. "Your face and head are swollen and bruised. It is for sure that your skull is broken and you have serious trauma to your brain." She held me standing in the room and her first question was, "Was it Vlad?"

     "No."

     "Are you in trouble? I mean, is someone bad still looking for you?" she asked.

     "I don't know. Maybe. But I don't think anyone is coming for me...except my people from the embassy might be trying to find out where I am now." I said as we were still holding each other and standing in the middle of the room.

     "We should call to let them know you are safe and I hope you will rest here at my house for a while.  I have my own security person here so I will tell them there is no one allowed without my permission.  Nadya has lived through some interesting times with me on 'high alert'". Katerina told me and then changed the subject. "Nadya told me that you have no clothes. She has been pulling out all of the clothes that might fit you and they are down on the big table. Let's go and see what we can find!"

     Downstairs, we decided to start the process of letting people know that I was alive. Katerina was not asking too many questions about the circumstances around my head injury but she knew it was some kind of dirty business...since all business is dirty.  She assumed I wanted to talk to an American Embassy. "Is there a certain number we should call to let your people know that you are OK? Is it the embassy in Moscow? I have the general number and the Consular Division number."

     "Thank you, Katerina! If you can get me through to the Consular Division, I can get to American Services faster, I think." I told her. I had to quickly fish out of my toolkit the codes and access request numbers for the Moscow CIA desk. These are used by people like me trying to report problems while carrying out tasks like I was doing.  Once I got through, I could basically stay on the line for 90 seconds and say anything. The tracing being done in the early 90's wasn't as good as today but I wasn't too worried about that. Once she got through, which was the most difficult part of the call. I told the embassy operator that I was reporting as an American citizen that had been missing. The operator then asked me if I was a certain type of missing person. I said "yes" and then I was transferred to a different operator that simply said, "Missing Persons". At that point I just said where I was when I went missing; where I am now; and the number to be reached if possible.  The operator said in a sweet voice, "Thank you! If you are in need of other American Services, please hang up and dial again."

     In less than 10 minutes, Joe himself called me. "Are you OK? Have you been to a hospital or seen a doctor?"

     "Yes"

     "Are you at your lady friend's house near Kamensk-Uralsky?" he asked.

     "My God! How did you know?" I was shocked to hear him ask.

     "You asked Yuri for help to locate her village on the map before you arrived at the debris site. Do you remember?"

     At that moment, I really drew a blank about it but said, "Maybe...not really.  I guess I did since you know I did."

     "Yuri couldn't remember the address but he remembered that it is near where the shuttle from the lake drops people off in Dolmatovo."

     I was afraid to ask but I did, "How are my colleagues?"

     "Yuri and Vlad are fine...they had a very successful fishing trip. Toshek is a little bruised up but not as bad as you were injured in the car wreck."

     "Come on, Joe! How is Cindy!?" I was mad that he was leaving her to the end. "She has a broken arm but was wearing a seat belt and is doing fine in  Chelyabinsk at a big hotel with nice restaurants, a bar, and a swimming pool and sauna."

     I hated the amateurish coding that we were talking in and had a million questions about what happened after I was beaten and everyone disappeared.

     I pushed Joe for more details, "So the guys in the other car...what happened to them?"

     "Michael went into a fit of road rage and nearly killed them. Cindy had already nearly castrated, I'm sorry, dismembered them by the time Michael found out about the wreck."

     Wow! That meant that Cindy had held her own against the two goons.

     "And finally, I understand that Yuri and Vlad limited out on their fishing trip but were the fish biting at the Lakes?"

     "As expected, we got some small trout and a carp or two. Not bad, though. As a whole the trip was more successful than we had hoped."

    Joe asked, "When should Yuri come to get you? Or will you arrange your own transportation and meet him in Chelyabinsk?"

    "Give me two days to rest up and see if my skull fracture kills me." I said. "Yuri can come. And Joe, I need to arrange two express visas for Russian citizens to the United States. We will send details soon.

     Katerina heard that in the next room and ran in quickly and said, "Bill...make it three visas! Please! Dr. Sokolov wants one, too!"

     "Three it is!" said Joe who had heard Katerina's impassioned plea for three.

     "Unless you have something else, I should sign off, Joe." I said as I began to feel a huge relief that everyone I had left behind was OK.

     "Fine. Don't linger, though. Need to see you soon back in Warsaw."

     "OK, Joe. Bye"


Sunday, May 26, 2019

Escape with a Bump on My Head


     Struggling to keep my balance even when on my knees on the pallet, I moved my head around to see if there was a position or angle that I could hold my head and be able to walk. When I was in high school, I was upside down on a homemade gymnastics high bar at home that rolled out of the brackets falling to the concrete on my head from about seven feet in the air.  I was feeling very similar symptoms unable to stand and putting my head down between my legs would bring back some amount of balance. At minimum, I would stop vomiting. That incident was on my mind as I tried to remember what I did during those crisis moments as my Father was trying to stand me up and get me in a car to the hospital emergency room.
     At some point I made it up and off the wooden pallet and began walking the road we had taken in to the debris site. I saw absolutely no one as I zig-zagged down that black sludge-like muddy road, falling I don't know how many times as I slipped in the water filled ruts that were at times eight to ten inches deep. As I would look up to see what was in front of me, I'd feel a wave of nausea and would start dry heaving as I walked along.

     I remembered that I would soon come out into a large clearing and be in distant sight of the headquarters to my right, and our camp to the left, I hugged the scrub trees and bushes that were around ten to twelve feet high to my left. I followed those woods on the perimeter but just a few steps inside the trees. The ground was drier here and I could use the skinny tree trunks to balance myself.  The camp came into view suddenly and I was literally walking into our kitchen tent before I realized it. Not being able to look up very well, I stumbled into the camp frantically trying to think what I should bring with me. Everyone at the Embassy had been urging me to take as much money as possible in the event of a crisis where I was separated from my protection, and that moment had arrived...in a most disturbing way. Our cache of cash was in a box that was in a box wrapped in a bag and stuffed under a seat in the cage on the "66". My $5000 seemed like enough to make it to Bali and back but I had no idea what was going to happen with us.  I wanted to take the whole $100,000 but something told me to hold off. I decided that my own cash reserve should be enough...if I could get to Dubrovnoye to catch the tourist shuttle to Dalmatovo near where Katarina and Zhenia were refurbishing their family estate...a distance of about 120 km from the camp.  I had no fucking idea how to get from the camp past the guards and to Dubrovnoje without being seen and decided to pull my own maps out that seemed to be extremely detailed. I had focused on the main roads when I had perused the map before but now began to look more closely for trails and undeveloped roads...which were in the Legend but I wasn't too sure of the vocabulary in Russian.  It also didn't help that I was still unable to see clearly. There is a faint recollection of the moment that I decided to pull the bicycle down off the cab of the "66" and grab Toshek's smelly brown coat and hat...very Russian industrial style.  The coat and hat reminded me of Heroes of the Revolution from old posters extolling the virtues of Socialism.  My hope was that any guards or other mafia assholes would not yet have heard what had happened and just think that it was one of their comrades bicycling out of camp.
     There was a faint road (not labelled a trail) that cut through the woods and around a pond that seemed to be a straight shot to Dubrovnoje. A 20 km ride in the mud would be terrible but I was hoping that it hadn't been used too much and the ruts weren't too deep. The bike's tires were pretty fat and that would probably work best in the conditions that the roads around here were in. I climbed the ladder to where the bike was attached to a long railing on the roof with Russian-style bungie cords (rubber straps from an inner-tube without hooks). I remember swearing under my breath for what seemed several minutes as I couldn't get the straps undone and I didn't have my handy-dandy spy knife with me, having left my toolkit in the cage. Eventually they came loose and I let the bike down with a bit of a drop. The chain came off but since it was kind of loose anyway, it went back on without a problem. The tires were aired up and I suddenly realized I was in the middle of my "mission abort plan". If I had ever been scared on mountain climbs or other missions to date, this was 10X worse than anything I had ever experienced.



     My cowardly ass was shaking as I put both straps of my toolkit on my shoulders. It was filled with a few of the spy toys I had come with and a lot of money. I also had one clean white Lacoste polo shirt in the bag. Don't ask me what I was thinking when I added that. Joe's folks had given me documents related to procedures if I got to a place to make a phone call and wanted to code the discussion. I folded them up and put them in the bag, as well. I'd thought about just going to Dubrovnoje and trying to make the call but I assumed that everyone there would either be scared stiff to help me or were simply working for these mafia bosses. In fact, I imagined that I might see Michael or someone else from our earlier meeting in the town. There were only a few streets that paralleled the lake front and the same number that were perpendicular to the lake shore. I just wanted to make it to the resort and buy a ticket or bribe whomever I had to for a ride to safety.

     By the time I actually saddled up on the bike, I had nothing left in my stomach to vomit. The continuing dry heaves scared me a little and I was also alternately shaking and then burning up with a fever. The "lights" were still on, as well. I now understand what "Seeing stars" means after getting hit very hard. Since I had been kicked on one side and collided with a titanium ridged wall on the other, I had constant tunnel vision where my peripheral view was shimmering and I could only see objects directly in front of me. But, being able to sit on the bike and ride it seemed a big improvement.  I then ventured off with my Socialist Hero Hat and Toshek's coat to get me to the trail head or dirt road to Dubrovnoje that I believed was not far away.


The Hungarian Version of My Socialist Hero Hat and Jacket

     The bouncing bike on the uneven surface nearly did me in as I was trying to find a rut that I could stay in without nearly shaking off the bike. My head ached terribly and that shaking was making it worse. I was going very slowly and stopping occasionally looking for the entrance to the road to Dubrovnoje. About 50 meters from the headquarters, and way too close for comfort with people milling about not more than 30 meters away, I finally saw a dry road heading to the left and into the woods.  I got some waves from a couple as they were standing looking directly at me and I could hear some laughter. What they were saying, I had no idea. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I heard some yelling behind me as I turned down the road. I did not turn around, though, and began to pick up speed as the road wound through the woods and high bushes. My heart was racing as I began to think that perhaps I was really going to get away so easily. It bothered me that if this was a public road from the village at the lake, why wouldn't there be guards posted here?

     The ruts were not very deep and my tires moved smoothly between them. After about two miles, I came upon a Niva that was parked on the far right side of the road that allowed me to pass without a problem. The Niva was empty but I could see three men at the edge of the nearest forest. They had a chainsaw and were sitting around an old fire that was only smoldering. I could see several vodka bottles and something cooking or staying warm on the dying fire. While these are images that have come back after time, the one image I remember vividly was one of the men standing and telling me to stop. As I rode past as fast as I could, I yelled obscenities at them in Polish and told them to fuck off.  They sat down and laughed. My escape seemed more and more likely at this point.

     My final test on this road from the camp to Dubrovnoje (that I remember) came in the form of a pond. The road disappeared exactly in the middle of the pond and I could see that it reappeared about 150 meters on the other side. Any attempt to go around the pond would be stopped by what was bulldozed boulders, logs, and scrap pieces of old concrete highway. I would never be able to ride through the pond but had to dismount and walk it through the black opaque water that came up to my chest. The road became very slippery and like quicksand at my feet.  I was worried that I was going to walk off the road since I could not see my feet nor tell if there were turns in that 150 meters I was attempting to cross. Coming out on the other side, I saw that the bike was covered in some kind of algae or moss and I had to clean it up. The mud, the moss, the blood on my head and face, and the smell of vomit that had gotten all over me probably made for a delightful scene. As I dreaded having to appear in the open at the resort, I suddenly understood why I had packed my white Lacoste polo shirt in my toolkit. It would certainly soften the blow of seeing me.

     I still had to pedal about 5 miles to Dubrovnoje. I began to pass farms and some small houses after wading through the pond.  The road became smoother but I had to steer my way around potholes. And, my vision had not come back yet. Feeling safer for the moment and wanting to walk a bit (My butt was hurting from the metal seat that had lost whatever upholstery it had originally had.) I took the bike by the handlebars and walked alongside it for several hundred yards. Some cars passed and I just lowered my head without acknowledging anyone. One of the cars that passed turned around and came back. An older man with a hat similar to mine started accusing me of stealing his bike from his farm. Using a mix of my bad Russian and good Polish, I told him that of course it wasn't his bike and I had grown up riding this bike. He looked at it closely and saw that the mud and moss were hiding the real colors -- a kind of light blue. He then shook his head and said, "A woman's bike! It's not mine for sure!" He then left me alone.

     Dubrovnoje, visible in the distance, was a lovely sight when I first got a glimpse of it. Not that it was particularly pretty or anything but it represented the next step in my escape and I thought it was the most lovely village I had ever seen. The trees and scrub hid the view most of the time but now the farms and open country allowed a view from this slightly elevated roadway.  I was back on the bike and pedaling quickly. The road went straight to the waterfront. I had no idea what direction to go. Go left? Go right? The road sign  for Dubrovnoje Center pointed left so I went left and then saw a grandmotherly woman with a scarf carrying groceries and a lot of vegetables. I yelled to her in Polish, "Where is the sanatorium on the lake?"

     She stood and stared at me completely motionless with a look like she had seen Stalin himself.

     "Hotel?  Resort?  Noclegi? Wczasy na jezioro?!" I was trying any Slavic words I could think of.

     She broke her motionlessness with her arm pointing further left. Not a word from her mouth, though.  I saddled up again and pedaled in that direction. After two or three minutes riding quickly, shops and official looking buildings started to appear on the waterfront and I realized I must be getting close. Rounding a corner that led to a hidden cove, I saw signs for Dubrovnoje Hotel on the Lake * Sauna-Restaurant-Cafe-Massage-Salt Baths-Sport-Fishing-Hunting*  

     I had found my lake resort.

     Outdoor toilets and a place to change into swim suits (no showers) were not far from the main entrance to the hotel. I could see some activity near the entrance and decided to put my Lacoste shirt on and try to lessen the effect of mud, moss, blood, and vomit. Getting my other saturated shirt off and trying to keep the white Lacoste shirt clean was a fruitless task but I hoped I looked a little more presentable. While I remember feeling very little fear in approaching one official looking man to ask where the bus stop for Dalmatovo was, I was not prepared for his reaction to seeing me as I walked up to him and spoke in my Russian-Polish mixed dialect. He had been standing by the roadway talking to someone in a new Volga luxury sedan. He waved goodbye to them and I walked up behind him and said, "Excuse me, I want to go to Dalmatovo today. Can you help me?"  He turned and made a sickening yelp of fear and ran the full 10 meters to the front porch of the hotel. I stood there a little shocked and just said a little louder since he was now much further away and hiding behind a fence post, "Sorry, I've had a bad fall and hurt my head. I need to go to Dalmatovo. Can you help?"

     Regaining his composure, he cleared his throat and said, "The bus is coming soon but all the seats have been reserved. If the driver allows you to sit with him in the front seat, you might offer him something extra."

      "Where will it stop?" I asked

     "Right here." he said and pointed to the benches that were off to the right.

     "Thank you!" I told him and decided to go sit on the benches and wait. Others from the hotel had gathered to look at my multi-colored face and head as well as the muddy mossy dripping pants and snow white shirt I was wearing. I was holding my disguise under my arm as I waited. The hat and jacket had done well to get me out of the pickle I was in and I wasn't sure what my best outfit to successfully finish my journey should be. I have faint recollection of asking someone for an aspirin on the street and getting an answer that I might have given someone that looked like I did, "Buddy, you need more than aspirin, I would say."

     By the time the shuttle bus arrived, a cool breeze had come up and I was back in my socialist hero garb with the jacket buttoned up most of the way to my neck. Even before the arriving hotel guests had stepped down from the bus, I was in the driver's window asking if I could offer him money for the passenger seat in the front. He didn't even look at me as I spoke. He nodded but was silent. I'm sure he recognized that I was a foreigner but he was doing his passenger list and didn't want to be bothered too much I assumed.

     "Here is $50. Is that enough to reserve the seat?" I said as I stuck the $50 bill through the window on his side of the bus from the street.  His blood-shot eyes opened widely, stared at me for just a few seconds, and then he took the money.  He then opened the door for me...moving his lunch, light-porno magazines, and thermos from the seat. We were separated by an engine cover that was quite hot. He put these things on a foam rubber pillow that I guessed was there to insulate his food from the heat coming up from the engine.  I looked at the tariff sheet for trips between Dalmatovo and Dubrovnoje that was pasted to the glove box in front of me. The normal price for an adult was about $1.25 at the current exchange rate. His $48.75 tip represented a pretty decent week of wages in this poor part of Siberia.
(I had no smaller bills with me and the way I was feeling, I just wanted a first class ticket out of Dubrovnoje.)

     I guess I fell asleep as passengers were boarding the bus. We were halfway out of town when I woke up with a start and reached out putting my hands on the dashboard to stop the black Volga that was coming at me at high speed. I had been dreaming. My head was still hurting and I was terribly thirsty. The driver seemed at ease with me very quickly but we didn't talk for quite a while. It was a 90 minute ride to Dalmatovo with a lot of bumps and potholes along the way. About halfway there, I ventured to ask if he had something to drink. He pulled out a bottle of vodka from behind the seat and I smiled but said I needed "gasnica" first. (Fire extinguisher). He laughed and gave me a small bottle of Oranzada (orange soda pop). I drank half the bottle and he acted happy to have helped. I refused his offer for the vodka that came a few minutes later but I pulled out my piece of paper from Katerina with the address of her estate and photo and asked him, "Would it be possible to find someone to take me to this place after we arrive in Dalmatovo?"

     "I can take you to where the women live and the men are working all the time. I know this place. I drive a truck during the weekend and bring building materials here very often. Some rich women own it." he told me excitedly with a smile and shaking his head.

     I couldn't believe my good fortune and told him I would pay him extra for this. He replied, "You already paid me for a 1st Class Ticket and drinks for it." A little overwhelmed by the events of the day, I started to cry in his bus and tried to hide my tears from him.

***

     Dubrovnoje Road ended at the Oblast highway #354 and we turned left for the last 30 kilometers to Dalmatovo. I found out that the driver's name was Nicholai and he wanted me to call him Nick. Nick had actually been to Brooklyn not that long ago and was amazed at New York City.

     "I didn't have to speak a word of English the whole month I was there!" he exclaimed. "Brooklyn is filled with Russians and Poles and Ukrainians and Jews from everywhere! I loved that place! I gained twenty pounds in four short weeks eating and drinking everything since it all was good!"

     I was getting tired and hurting again as I kept my head turned to the left to listen to him as he talked. Sleep overcame me at some point along the way and I woke up in Dalmatovo. Nick picked up his instructions for tomorrow at his dispatch office and then jumped into the van to run me out to Katerina's estate. He handed me a liverwurst and cheese sandwich with a small bottle of mineral water. This time I also accepted as he pulled his bottle of vodka out before we hit the road.

     It had gotten dark but I could see that the terrain was changing here as we approached Katerina's farm estate. In about twenty minutes, we turned left onto a well maintained dirt road where a large house was visible at the end of a long row of trees. Pallets of lumber and other building materials were neatly lined up along the road as we got closer to the old limestone rock and wooden house with antique looking windows and shutters. I was glad to see that there were lights on but I was prepared to be turned away if Katerina and Zhenia were not there. Knowing that the two were very busy with the complicated task of restoring such a house and farm, it did not surprise me that the woman that answered the door told us that Katerina and Zhenia were in Kamensk-Uralsky trying to arrange something important with Oblast (county) officials.  Nick translated for me what she had said and the woman at the door suddenly blurted out, "Are you Bill? Bill from the train ride from Kiev to Chelyabinsk?! I am Nadezhda! I have been helping Katerina and Zhenia for several years while they were gone to Moscow and Kiev."

    "Yes. You know about me?" I said.

     "Katerina has been saying every day that she hopes you have time to come after your work in Chelyabinsk! You are early. She will be so happy! Please come in and I will make a room for you! Have you eaten? Is this your driver? Will he be staying, too! Oh, I've got to call Katerina right now!  Excuse me for a minute. Please have a seat and take your shoes off and relax!"

     Nick sat down beside me on a couch and quietly explained very slowly in Russian that he thought that Nadezhda should call a doctor for me. He said, "You probably just need some sleep but I am a little worried about your head injury. The blood on your shirt and coat may have come from your ear. It is possible that there is something more serious with your head. Can I tell Nadezhda this? Also, you have been twitching very strangely during your sleep in the van. I was worried it was a seizure."

     I thought about what Nick was saying and couldn't tell him not to say anything to Nadezhda but I suggested he not say anything about his diagnosis about seizures. I told him with a serious face, "I always have seizures and anxiety attacks when I am in Russia. Isn't that normal?!"

     Nadezhda was back with us in a few minutes and happily reported that Katerina would be here tomorrow afternoon after her meetings.  Nick immediately told her about his fears about my head and she, of course, asked how it happened. He very diplomatically said, "You know these American spies will never give you a straight answer. It was just a bad fall."

     "Thank you Nick! It is all true what you said." I said in Russian.

     "I will call Dr. Sokolov before it gets too late. Maybe he will come before Katerina arrives tomorrow." Nadeshda announced.  "Will you be staying with us Nicholai?" she asked.

     "No. I am leaving now. Please let me know how things are going in a few days. This is my card for my hauling business. I live less than ten minutes away and I have delivered bricks to this house several times. I hope I see you again."  Nick told us and then shook my hand with a kiss on both cheeks.  "Good bye, Mr Bill!"





Saturday, May 25, 2019

Best Laid Plans


     Even though Yuri had made sure his weapon would be seen on the seat between us in the "69" as we arrived, he did not want us visibly carrying weapons while in the camp nor while out at the debris site. So, when we all finally figured out where we were sleeping that first night, some of us had pistols under our pillow or under the covers...and some had both. I, of course, had nothing. Cindy had her mics pointed in the general direction of where we thought their camp and headquarters were located. A large campfire could be seen several hundred meters away and, with the use of the infrared scopes, we could see that there was a small bacchanalia underway there. Standing on top of the cage, Cindy reported that there were primitive barracks and tents set up around a larger trailer or shop-like building. And as she put it, "There is enough room for 20 or 30 normal people to sleep in those spaces. 100 or so psychotic assholes could also be there."

     Cindy slept up in the cage and I was on a cot in a tent that one would have had to walk thru in order to get to Cindy. Toshek slept in the spacious cab of the "66" and Yuri made a comfortable place for himself in the back of the "69". Vlad was no where to be seen but I had earlier noticed him folding blankets for himself to make a bed. He was probably within earshot of all of us and we just didn't know it. I got up and peed twice during the night and it did cross my mind that I needed to be careful that I didn't pee on Vlad. I didn't want to lose whatever good favor I had gained during the day by giving him the golden shower in a half conscious state. Before we turned the lights out, I asked Cindy if the wild dogs I could hear howling were some kind of Eurasian coyotes or some other relative of coyotes or wolves. She told me that it was the Golden Jackal or European Jackal. They sounded amazingly like the coyotes I'd grown up hearing in Eastern Washington. They quieted down by the time we were starting to doze off and it was only my imagination and fear of the human threat around us that caused my fitful sleep. And, as Yuri had warned me, there would be no contact with Cindy once the lights went out.

     The light of day came none too early as we all wanted to see where we were and understand better what our location was in relation to the camp and the nearby debris site. If anyone had had anything to drink alcoholic the night before, they had drunk alone. Vlad wandered in and out of camp in the morning grabbing his own canned fish breakfast and making tea. There was no discussion with him except for his brief reports that there was a lot of activity at the headquarters. We all seemed pretty fresh for whatever we were facing on our first day. Yuri even seemed upbeat as he decided to make some "cowboy coffee" in hopes that the aroma would entice the mafia scouts to report that the "American camp is drinking their cowboy coffee as we expected." Toshek and Yuri were actually quite good cooks and coordinated their activities in whipping together a very large sausage and scrambled egg plate. There was bread and butter and, if the eggs weren't enough, we had about 100 cans of sardines and 10 kgs of white farmer's cheese that could be used to make a tasty fish paste for open face sandwiches.

     Cindy, the last one to get up, was happy to have a good breakfast but she was all business that morning and was dressed in fatigues, a matching jacket that might have been a little large for her, and brown boots. The weather in June was usually a little warmer than what we were experiencing but it hadn't frozen during the night. The days, normally approaching 65 during this time, hadn't gotten to 60. I had my climbing boots from my days in Washington State hiking throughout the Cascades and was well dressed for the wilds we were in...except I didn't have a cowboy hat...which might have cast doubt in our hosts' minds that I was a real American businessman.

(It seems impossible to us now but many Russians at that time (as well as Poles) held the iconic image of oilman JR Ewing in 'Dallas' as the consummate US businessman.  As I had been in Europe by this time almost 10 years, I'd never even watched the damn show and always had to lie and say, "Of course I'm a 'Dallas' fan! JR and I are cut from the same mold!")

     With Toshek making an effort to clean the pans we had used for breakfast, we had a small meeting in our makeshift kitchen tent. It was decided that anywhere we went this morning, Toshek would stay behind to watch our things at the camp. We guessed that we'd be invited some place to discuss next steps.

     I asked Yuri, "How much have these guys already received from us?"

     "Almost $3000." Yuri said.

     "How much cash do we have here?" I hesitated but asked.

     "Not including what you got from Joe, about $100,000."

     "Is that going to be enough? It seems like a lot of fucking money for these guys sitting here in the mud." I said with a certain amount of disgust in my voice that might have been taken badly by Toshek since he was a 'down in the dirt' trader.

     "It might be. I don't know. These guys start their bidding at $10 million and sometimes take $10,000 for worthless shit. I really can't tell you if it's enough." Yuri said with his shoulders shrugged and a voice filled with frustration.

     "You mentioned, Yuri, when we were driving that we can do wire transfers. Can we do a letter of credit based on receipt of goods or something that protects us?" I suggested trying to introduce standard business practices for risky deals.

     "We can suggest it but we shouldn't demand it. Instead, we take possession of whatever we can, we signal to our bank to make the transfer, and it is possible that we aren't allowed out of the compound until someone confirms that funds have transferred and are on an account.  That is one scenario."  Yuri's scenario was exactly how I had done a deal on the Lithuanian border two years earlier. But in this case, away from communication channels, we weren't sure how we would be communicating with our "bank". That was one of the most important things to find out as soon as we could. As we were ending the meeting, I asked Cindy if her Magic Message Machine worked out here. She only shook her head and pouted.

     Vlad stuck his head inside the tent a few minutes later and said in Russian, "Attention! We have the next welcoming committee coming. Two Lada Nivas with just drivers. No passengers. Probably coming to pick us up...I think."

     Yuri thought about it for a couple of seconds then told us to take our bags with docs and leave the most important mission related things locked up in the cage on the "66". He'd also suddenly decided that Toshek should not be left behind. Virtually everything was already in the cage so we were ready by the time one of the two drivers stepped out of their cars  talking on his walkie-talkie. He was clearly at least two meters tall, about 6'7" and had the features of a cross between George H.W. Bush and the famous American mountaineer, Jim Whittaker (the first American to scale Mt. Everest). He was almost jovial in the way he was reporting to someone back at headquarters, "We have arrived to pick our guests up. They are up and the smell of American coffee and breakfast is still thick in the air! They all look to be in fine spirits and we'll have them delivered to the office shortly. Over, Boss!"

     "Good day, ladies and gentlemen!" looking at Cindy with a small bow of the head as he greeted us. "Michael and the others are waiting for us. Our two little Russian Jeeps should be sufficient to take you over...unless you have something large you need to bring for our discussions.  Your group is five people?"

     "Correct" said Yuri. "Michael is the one I have been talking to for the past 10 days, I hope."

     "And you are also correct, Mr. Yuri." Michael is looking forward to meeting you all.

     "Billy and I will go with you. Cindy, Vlad, and Toshek will ride with your colleague."

     "Very good! More introductions when we get to the meeting. My name is Leo. We gave you a little extra time this morning since you came in so late last night. We are behind schedule so hopefully we can get a lot done this morning and come to some agreements. I am sure you are hoping to see the crash site here as soon as possible. The security team at the site is expecting you sometime later this morning. They are there 24 hrs a day with no access for anyone without Michael's approval."

     Cindy joked to me out of earshot of Leo, "Glad we know that now. Guess we won't be going there to walk our dogs." I don't know why I said it, but I responded, "...or to steal a kiss."  Cindy's facial expression, to my eye, said, "Oh well."

     We split up as Yuri ordered and drove the 400 meters on the muddy gravel road to the portable trailers that Cindy had seen last night as she stood on the cage with her night vision binoculars. Leo only remarked that he thought we would be a larger group and he turned around and said to me, "I hope our American friend is enjoying the beauty of the Siberian steppes. It is this part of Central Russia that I love the most with the lakes and the small woods that dot the landscape. Further south and the trees mostly end. It is here that we have a special kind of beauty. Someone told me that it is a little like West Texas here...but a lot colder in the winter."

     The Nivas parked side by side very close to the trailer and it was quite muddy all around the cinderblocks that formed the porch in front of the door. Leo apologized for the "muddy mess" and lead us through the door and into a room with a long table and decent looking brown office chairs that all swiveled. A large but quite pretty woman about 40 years old was making tea at the end of the long room and was putting cookies from a package onto a large plate. She was as muddy as we were and the bottom of her skirt, about halfway from her knees to her ankles, was also quite muddy. The sound of men's voices and loud steps in the trailer came as we were sitting down where Leo had suggested. We were on one side of the long table and our hosts were to be on the other side...nearest the door.  The only unsettling thing about their approach was that their stomping was so loud coming through the trailer and there was no talking whatsoever. Leo had been quite talkative but he became silent as we began to sit and waited for Michael.  Four men in average looking (but muddy) suits entered the room and we all stood. The reflex action to shake hands kicked in and I reached across to shake their hands and only Michael reached out. (I assumed it was Michael since he sat at the head of the table.)  I said, "Billy" and he said, "I am Michael." In that unexpected moment of being the one to introduce myself first, I quickly pointed to my colleagues and said their first names. Michael's response was, "These are my colleagues." and did not introduce them.

     Michael did not talk for close to half a minute looking at some papers and organizing some documents. My assessment of that moment was that he did not know if I would be the voice of our group or if Yuri would carry the conversation. Yuri spoke up and said, "Michael, we should continue where we left off on the phone last week. We will translate for Billy periodically...not simultaneously."

     Michael seemed relieved that he would be dealing with another Russian and began with general questions about our arrival, if we had enough provisions to be self sufficient, and our intended length of stay. He suggested that his people might be able to provide some things but "everyone is very busy so we can't really promise anything."

     "We will be fine in our little camp for the short time we plan to be here and, with your good will and cooperation, we will all be happy businessmen." Yuri said.

     "As I promised on the phone, we have your first choice Soyuz remains on a trailer about 40 kms from here at another guarded location.  We are willing to release the entire trailer to you if you have a standard tractor that can pull it. We can also pull it someplace for you but it must be covered and disguised. We want you to offer a reasonable sum for the whole trailer load."

     "Michael, it is interesting you decided to jump to the big prize first. We expected to pay cash for items we retrieve here at this site and then start negotiations on the big prize." 

     "You can still pay cash for whatever you want from this site. That will make us very happy and it will pay our operating costs. But it is not really worth our time for you to come here and bother us for a piece of titanium from this site. I am sure that Mr. Billy did not come here for a bolt or a screw. Please accept our offer to travel to the priority site and examine it for yourself. If you like what you see, you will make an attractive offer, we will exchange goods for payment, and our deal is done. Very simple."

     "Michael, you have given us something to think about. I suggest that you let me translate this to Billy and we can reconvene in 10 minutes. Can we be alone for a short while?"

     "Of course," and our hosts bowed then stepped out of the room.

     Yuri quickly started in hoping we could quickly agree on a strategy. "So, I think you understood most everything. He is pressuring us to make an offer on his trailer load...as a whole. This site was his cash cow but I think it is not so profitable now and he knows that we want the third stage. If Vlad and I go with your papers from Joe to the trailer site and confirm that it is really what Joe wants, and you stay with Toshek and Cindy to see if the device below the attachment ring is there and removable, we should all be safe. He is going to be very surprised and likely accept a number less than $100,000 for such a quick deal and we will make a follow up deal on the rest of the trailer...and get our asses out of Dodge."

     I didn't love the idea of both Yuri and Vlad leaving us but it seemed safe to remain with Toshek and be with all of our things and vehicles nearby. And even though I knew that Cindy could take care of herself in most situations (probably better than I could) I was almost ready to suggest that Cindy go with Yuri and Vlad...but I didn't. I wish I had.

***
     Our Central Siberian mafia hosts returned and after 30 minutes of relatively easy discussion, we came to an agreement. Yuri summed it up for Michael at the end of the meeting, 

     "So, 1) it is agreed that three of us will stay and inspect the nearby site AND if we identify what we want, you will price that part and, if we agree to the price, remove it or help us remove it and take to the camp. 2) At the same time, two of us will go with you to the trailer site and inspect it. You are expecting an offer for the whole trailer. Your price is $500,000. There is some room for reasonable negotiation.  Is this what you understand from our discussions?"

     "Yes. We can start when you are ready." said Michael.

     Yuri shook his head in agreement then changed the subject, "Good. One last thing. One of your colleagues here is involved in a large military surplus supply business near Chelyabinsk. (That quiet guy, sitting across from me, woke up when Yuri mentions him.) I helped a different American buy a lot of things there. We paid some cash and the rest by bank transfer. So you can trust us if we make an offer and pay some by wire transfer, that we are good for it." 

     "It is not preferred but I will talk to Oleg about his experience with you and we will discuss it possibly." Michael said while staring at Oleg who looked a little embarrassed by the unexpected rise to stardom at the table.

     "We will prepare a larger vehicle for our trip to the trailer site and I will call the security team at the local debris site and tell them to expect three potential buyers for inspection in one hour. One thing you must know, though. It is not healthy to be at the site here for too long. Ten minutes is maximum exposure and then you should take a break. The security team will show you the safe zones and the danger zones." 

     "Fuel that came down with the rocket?" Yuri asked

     "Yes"

     Cindy rolled her eyes and put her hand to her mouth and said, "I knew I forgot something, the respirators."

     Our final meeting, again in the kitchen tent, was to go over panic procedures. Yuri felt that we were sitting in a good position with very little chance of things going south. He told us that the presence of the other mafia bosses, especially Oleg, at the meeting actually encouraged him because they represented a kind of conglomerate.  The pressure for a numer stulecia with the rocket debris was a lot less since they had businesses elsewhere (at least one) that was doing quite well.

     "You three stay within sight of each other. Who knows how Michael is treating his 'security team'. If they are marginalized from the others, they could try to do something on their own. That's when it gets dangerous.  We should be back by four or five in the afternoon. We'll figure out where we are and what we do next tonight."

     The driver arrived in an UAZ, to pick up Yuri and Vlad for their trip to investigate and confirm the stage 3 debris.  If all went well, they would be back from the trip in 2-3 hours and be ready to offer Michael a sum of cash that would cover our retrieval of the device(s) we were after and get us out of the "mafia preserve". That in itself would represent a very successful end to our mission.


      Cindy, Toshek and I viewed our stage 2 investigations today as insurance against the possibility that we were being scammed with debris that was not actually from the stage three site.  If we actually found the "lower priority" electronics and housing today, we'd still be able to say that we'd successfully accomplished our mission.  Because the meeting with Michael had gone so well and our sense of danger was beginning to come down, in retrospect, it is quite likely that we let our guard down. Yuri had warned us, and Cindy had been sensitive to the fact that the lower end mafia "servants" could be a unique danger on their own, and this is what bore out in the end.

     Within half and hour of their departure to the third stage rocket trailer site, Toshek, Cindy and I were ready for our "tour" and inspection of the local stage two site. One of the Niva's we had ridden in earlier arrived with the UAZ that picked up Yuri and Vlad.  It had been waiting for us sitting about 100 meters from our camp. We made a small plan for the visit that, if we were allowed, we would spend as much time as possible inspecting the debris carefully. It had been agreed upon several times that we would not separate during the visit. We piled into that car with my toolkit and Cindy had her own tools in a small bag. If Toshek was carrying any weapon, it had to have been in his coat. My weapon, the dagger-like knife that I had been given at the Embassy was the only thing I had that was in the category of a "weapon". If I had known how to use it, I might have thought of it as a weapon, as well.

     It took about ten minutes for us to get to where we could see the main hulk of the debris in the immediate distance. It just looked like big darkened pipe lying on the ground from where we were. The muddy road and the driver's swerving to avoid deeper puddles made the distance seem longer than it really was. At one point we avoided a very deep gully and the driver told us that it was a crater from where the twenty ton Soyuz rocket debris hit the Earth first and bounced after it's 20 mile free-fall back to meet the ground. He then pointed past the main body of the third stage and said that there were other pieces that had broken off or "came down with it" not far away. One thing we all had noticed as we got closer, there was a large carcass of some type of animal about 100 meters from the main body of the debris. I wanted to ask our driver if the space junk had hit the animal but I got my answer before I was able to make my joke. Toshek translated what the driver advised us about:

     "Rocket fuel killed a lot of animals here.  You'll see them as you walk around. We are suggesting that you do not spend too much time...maybe 10 minute intervals...at the debris itself. We usually start to feel sick after that much time. It's probably still in the soil. Depending on the wind direction, get about 50 to 75 meters away for 10 or 15 minutes." Cindy and I nodded to each other since we had been informed about such a possibility in the docs we got from Joe. 

(The use of Syntin or 1-Methyl-1,2-dicyclopropylcyclopropane in the Soviet Union and later Russia made for an extremely toxic fuel for the Soyuz -U2. But, I doubt that any environmentalists were screaming about it during the Cold War and shortly after the political changes.)

     Well, that certainly would be a limiting factor on what we could get done today, I thought. Effectively, half our time is spent detoxing. The driver stopped about 30 meters away and said our "monitor" would be meeting us in a few minutes.

     "He is told to stay with you at all times to make sure you don't steal anything." he added. Looking at me straight in the eye I nearly stuck my tongue out at him but thought better. Cindy kicked me in disbelief when she heard him say it.

     "If we find something we want, what is the procedure for removing it?" I asked. Toshek translated.

     "Just tell the monitor and mark it on the diagram he has. You can negotiate a price with Michael." was his answer.

     Three men came out of the woods to the left and were walking directly towards the main fuselage lying in the dirt and grass. We were interested in the front or leading edge where the attachment ring (we hoped) would be and the hypothesized target electronics package just below the ring attached to the inner wall...or the ring itself. We got out of the car and walked directly toward the rocket. The three men followed us closely without speaking to us. They were, though, talking to each other about this or that "bastard that had cheated (them) and wanting to 'fuck them up' next time they saw him."  Cindy was looking at me with a disgusted facial expression and she told me, "This is the asshole that noticed me in the "66" last night and said what he said about the Americans."

     All six of us, in two groups of three, huddled around the front of the second stage fuselage and then I began looking at the inside lip of the 9ft diameter tube we had walked into. There seemed to be several potential locations for small electronics to be tucked into the collar where the attachment ring would be located. Standing inside the Soyuz U2-A I began looking very closely at the rivets and was hoping to see an area that looked more like screws. I did not have a torch but I knew that Toshek and Yuri had a small torch in the "66" if it was necessary to cut a piece out (That was, of course, assuming that we had a torch that could cut some of the special metal alloys that these rockets were made of.)

     "I need a flashlight to check the line around the inside of the leading lip." I told Cindy

     "We've already been here ten minutes. At most we've got five more minutes. How do you feel?" she asked me.

     "I feel fine. The wind is blowing enough that I think the draft through the fuselage is giving us natural ventilation." I told her.  "And you?"

     "I feel nothing."  she said in agreement.  "Let's stay a while longer." With that, Cindy handed me a mini pocket flashlight so I could see behind the inside lip of the opening. After about 10 more minutes of going rivet by rivet, I saw no possible location for an electronics package but I had only done 20% of the whole ring...and the part that was 9ft in the air represented a problem without a small step ladder or something to stand on.

     Cindy broke the sounds of me talking to myself as I was counting the rivets and giving each a negative grade, "Monitor Mike here is pointing to his watch saying we need to leave, Bill."

     Toshek heard Cindy and shook his head agreeing to begin moving away from the crash site. At about that time, the third monitor returned to where we were and asked Toshek if he wanted to see where the other parts of the debris site were located.  Toshek probably agreed to do so thinking that Cindy and I together would be fine. He said to Cindy, "I'm going to take a quick look at the other two debris sites very close to here. I'll be back in a few minutes."

     I didn't understand that we were now alone inside the fuselage but I noticed that the behavior of the two monitors immediately changed. The main monitor, who had been two or three meters away but tracking Cindy's movements throughout the fuselage, inside and out,  was now right on top of her within a few feet. She began to pull away from him and show that she was very uncomfortable with his approaches. Instead of yelling loudly to signal to Toshek that something was happening, she shoved her palm into his face starting a fight. He grabbed her by the crotch and then the fight went full tilt. It was at that moment that the lights went out for me. The second monitor saw me grab for my toolkit, yelling, and kicked my head from the left side. It must have hit the side of the fuselage along the ring because the skull fracture I had was on the right. Cindy must have put up quite a fight because it wasn't until the second monitor saw that I was out, that they gained control over her. He stepped in to help Monitor Mike and Cindy was eventually taken to the guard shack some 100 meters away. I don't know if I was left on the ground where he had kicked me or if they had dragged me to where I woke up some minutes later. Whatever had happened, I was covered in mud on the front and my mouth was filled with it too. I'd either been dragged face down through the mud to where I was left about 50 meters from the shack on a large wooden pallet, or I had gotten up and made it to the pallet on my own...falling several times along the way. My head wasn't bleeding terribly but I couldn't see straight and I remember gagging and then alternately vomiting, talking to myself trying to figure out where I was and what had happened. When I stood up, I would get sick and would lose vision after a few seconds. I reached up to feel my head and could tell that it was swelling along a line from my temple to about the middle of the top right.  Sitting on the pallet, holding my aching head and hoping that the nausea and vertigo problem would go away, I tried to focus looking out to see if I could see Toshek anywhere. With the buzzing in my ears, I couldn't hear anything and the one time I tried to yell, it nearly caused me to faint again from the pain. At some point I was able to stand up and I set myself, to the best of my recollection, on a course back to our camp. Luckily, my toolkit was still clicked into my belt loop and everything was still in it.

     (The rest of the next 24 hours I have pieced together from what others have told me and from the reports that Joe sent me over the weeks after I returned to Poland.  I remember "snapshots" or mental images of people and places along the way and I also remember very clearly my obsession with getting away from the Lakes. I also worried at the time in my state that we had all been tricked and that Toshek, Yuri, Vlad, and Cindy were either dead or being held for ransom and all I could think of was how I would get away. Once I decided to leave alone, I focused on that and didn't really think about anything else.)



Monday, May 20, 2019

Chelyabinsk to the Lakes


     Vlad and Yuri were already helping Sophia and Toshek load their things into the two vehicles by the time I walked up to them. Yuri was complaining to Toshek about the ichthyol packages and boxes and told him to load them last so that they could remove them wherever Toshek decided he was going to leave them in Chelyabinsk.

     "No room, for Toshek's capitalism!" joked Yuri.

     Toshek wrote down the address where we would drop the boxes off on the way out of town and handed it to Yuri.

     Yuri asked Toshek, "What is this place?"

     "A doctor's office. He buys some of my product every month. He will help me." Toshek reluctantly told us.  The extent of his ichthyol network was becoming clear on this trip and I began to see why everyone called him the Ichthyol King.

     Yuri barked out our seating arrangements for the long trip.  "OK...fine. Billy! Give me your things here. We will throw them in the back of this Gaz 69. You ride with me. We'll catch up on what's going on and some other news.  More room in the '66' so Cindy goes with Vlad and Toshek."

     "We are all going to choke to death from the fumes from these Russian monsters!" Sophia cried out as she climbed into the '66' between Vlad, who was driving, and Toshek on the passenger side window.  Vlad had not made eye contact with me since I had walked up to the group and I hoped that whatever had been eating him about me on the train two weeks ago was at least in remission.  The last thing I wanted was for Vlad to abandon his security role for me. Since he was part of the kidnapping and ransom deterrence program for my safety, I would have happily made amends with him...if I knew what the problem had been. I felt in the dark, though.

     The '66' fired up without a problem, though it was loud and smoked a bit. The '69' sounded and looked a little like a WWII era Jeep but it was all fine...as far as I could tell.  I especially liked seeing the old grey bicycle strapped to the top of the cabin of the '66'. Balloon tires that looked like something from the 50's and a basket on the front made for a strange sight as we lumbered off into the night.



The '69'


The '66'

     Winding our way in Chelyabinsk through miles of 70's and 80's era residential high-rises, I wondered how Yuri could figure out where we were and how to get where we were going. Socialist urban planning, especially the Soviet version, did not plan for the increase in popularity of the car and the requisite parking spaces that came with that growth of numbers. Therefore driving on narrow streets that were clogged with double parked vehicles was not easy and Yuri was not the most patient driver. Having to drop the ichthyol boxes and bags off irritated Yuri but it was clear that he preferred to do that than have the black tarry shit occupying space in the vehicles. 

     Yuri complained about the ichthyol as we were leaving the city, "We're going to be cramped enough as it is when you find what your looking for at the crash sites. I don't know how heavy it will be and I don't know how much room it will take. So, damn Toshek can take care of his capitalism without it fucking us up or getting us killed somehow. These crazy mafia guys would probably steal it and send Toshek into a fit."  

     Yuri was telling me another story of ichthyol "getting in the way" of something that the two of them had to take care of when Vlad began honking behind us and waving to pull over.  He then was pointing to a low building between two 20 story high rises to our left.  We followed them and pulled up to an official looking building that was clearly a medical clinic. Toshek jumped out and knocked on the door. We could see that there were lights on in the reception area. After about 30 seconds, a man opened the door with a white smock on and motioned to bring the stuff through the front door. We all jumped out and helped Toshek get his boxes and bags unloaded. It all took less than five minutes and we were on our way again.

     Clearly behind schedule, Yuri told Vlad in front of the clinic that we really needed to make good time and he wanted Vlad to push the '66' as fast as he could. We were going to be driving east on a pretty good highway, #30, so Yuri thought we would make up some time during the 250 KM before we pulled off the highway onto some local roads. For the first time, I heard the name of the closest village to where we would be camped out. It was Dubrovnoye.  The rest of what Yuri said was difficult to catch but I understood that there were lakes and forests around and the three sites were all in a row within about 50 km of that village. Two lakes in particular were mentioned, Ozero Bolshaya Kavyka (Big Fly Lake) and Ozero Chasha (Bowl Lake...though I wondered if chasha was also slang for "skull" as it is in Polish therefore being Skull Lake. My imagination started working just thinking about these two lakes. Lotsa big flies and skeletons around.)

    Bouncing along in the "69", I remembered that I had almost bought a Gaz or Uaz Russian "Jeep" two years back but had been told that finding parts and constant breakdowns were the life of a Commie Jeep owner.  And, just as Sophia had said, the fumes coming into the passenger compartment were only occasionally overpowered by the cigarettes that Yuri had been chain smoking since we left Chelyabinsk.  The "69" had manual transmission and I could see that downshifting and going through the gears speeding up were a hit and miss proposition if you cared about mis-shifts and grinding gears.  Yuri had all the "69" expert moves down with his double-clutching, choking it when the carburetor would flood out without warning, and regulating the heat and air with twice as many levers as there were vents in the cabin. The noise was deafening at times depending on the gear we were in and whether or not we were passing socialist tin-can cars like an East German Trabant or a Polish Syrena that night. Downshifting and punching the gas to pass a slower vehicle would make the "69" shake and then roar as the gas guzzling 4WD monster would pick up speed.  The "66", always about 100 meters behind us, could do whatever we were doing on the highway and I wondered if Sophia was suffering as badly as she had feared. I also wondered if her earlier air sickness might return with the combination of fumes and boat-like rocking that I could see the "66" was doing as we negotiated turns through the countryside that night.

     Yuri drove like a madman the whole time. Taking my attention away from the dangers of every curve, I pulled my map out and tried to find where Katerina and Zhenia's estate was in relation to where we were going. It seemed in the general direction but was a good ways further east of their place I guessed. After some time I gave up but then decided to ask Yuri if he could find the place on my map. I told him the name of the village and he took the map, nearly swerving off the road, but almost immediately showed me that it was further north but only about 50 miles from our Dubrovnoye. He added, "There are tourist buses going back and forth from that place you want to go and a small resort on the lake at Dubrovnoye."  Yuri glanced at me a couple of times and then asked, "Katerina is there?"

     I nodded and said, "Da".
     
     With two hours ahead of us before we left the highway, I studied the documents that Joe had given me about the first, second, and third stages of the Soyuz. Photos that had been photocopied were not very clear but it appeared that the most interest was in second and third stage debris. Joe wrote, 

"If there is a choice between accessing second or third stage debris sites, go to the third stage site.  That site will, of course, be further north and east of Baikonur.  Securing technology within the attachment rings between the third stage and the payload or fourth stage is really our goal." (I was surprised to find that some of these rockets had a fourth stage.) 

     Photos and some drawings made it look like the target for our trip would be within a metal housing that attached just inside the upper ring of the third stage. Second stage upper ring technology was open and easier to get to but it was not as hot a commodity for Joe as the contents of the housing on the third stage ring. I asked Yuri if he understood why the three sites had been selected and if he knew anything about location of 2nd and 3rd stage debris.

     "We are only able to get to 2nd stage debris this week. I asked our hosts about the site to the northeast and they had funny answer." Yuri said.

     "What was their answer?" I asked

     He said, "They said they have whole rocket on truck and it will be delivered to where we are soon...if we are willing to negotiate more money for anything we take from it."

     It didn't take long for Yuri's revelation to sink in. Getting to the site tonight was all we had to do for the two most important targets: second and third stage attachment rings and whatever was just inside that we could identify and remove. Logistics of getting to two sites and dealing with all of the mafia administered bureaucracy seemed to be cut in half...if what Yuri was saying was true. It sounded good to me but then it dawned on me just how unlikely it was that the "whole rocket on truck" was really the debris from the spy satellite booster that we were hoping to find and perform surgery on.

     I asked Yuri about this. "Do we have any way of confirming that their rocket on the truck is, in fact, the third stage debris of the rocket we want?"

     Yuri shook his head and was looking at me as if I was an idiot, "Look at your papers more closely. There are all kinds of identifying numbers and letters for us to confirm it." His look was spot on. I was an idiot. There was a whole five pages of detailed instructions how to identify our target. Yuri spoke very little after this exchange between us until we reached the intersection where Dubrovnoye Road left Highway 30.  It was getting close to 11 pm and I knew that Yuri really wanted to arrive at our destination before midnight. There was a small place that sold diesel and some food at this intersection.  Realizing that we were not going into Dubrovnoye but taking a backroad to the meeting spot, Yuri decided to stop and get fuel.We all took a break here and stretched our legs. Sophia came up to me and said, "Let's walk a bit."

     "Did you notice that you called me 'Sophia' once on the flight and once at the Polish party? Remember to call me 'Cindy' from now on. Yuri and Vlad and Toshek are trained for it so you should be too." Sophia scolded me as we walked. "Did Yuri tell you that we might have good situation with the second site debris on a truck?" she asked.

     "Yes!  It sounds very good if they haven't stripped it of the things we are looking for." I said. 

     "Maybe they stripped it for us and it is waiting for us to buy." she then suggested.

     "Maybe. We could be packed up and gone in two days I think.  You seem less nervous about the situation and our safety than you did earlier today." I told her.

     "Maybe I am. Yuri and Vlad got some respectable vehicles for this trip and I like the 'cage' in the back of the '66'. It is almost like a jail to lock someone up or to hide in and keep the bad guys out.  Vlad is acting like civilized man, too, and he is not so worried like Joe was reporting." She continued, "Two things I wanted to tell you before we leave: First - I am Cindy because Sophia is a name that our hosts might react to because of something that happened earlier this year during action at a factory near here. Joe said that the name must disappear.  Second - We stay together as much as possible. Getting us away from Vlad and Toshek will be someone's goal. If that happens, we are at big risk. Understand?"

     "I understand."

     "Maybe you want news about Anatoly and Georg? Magic message machine in Novosibirsk was working this morning."

     My face lit up to say "YES!", I'm sure.

     "Joe says congratulations for grabbing a big piece of weapons grade uranium that was missing and making many people very nervous. Both Anatoly and Georg are sick from radiation poisoning. Joe wants you to get back to Warsaw as quickly as possible after this Soyuz debris project. There is kind of pow-wow in Poland with other parts of the anti-terrorism team soon.

     I listened quietly to the 'magic message' from Joe and just smiled and nodded. It was clear that I should probably put my visit with Katerina and Zhenia on the back burner for my next visit...but I really had doubts that I would ever come back to this place.

     "Let's go! 45 minutes to camping place." yelled Vlad in our direction...in English. I was shocked. He actually spoke and didn't grunt or growl...and in English! No wonder Cindy felt better.  

     Instead of running to the outdoor toilet by the fueling station, I peed behind a tree quickly then caught up to Cindy and squeezed her shoulders before she got into the "66". I climbed into the "69" and Yuri immediately told me, "No sex and no kissing from here on. It can be used to compromise you. I know these assholes very well."

     His words woke me up to the fact that I was missing how close Cindy and I had gotten in Novosibirsk...even if it hadn't turned completely sexual yet. I also realized that my desire to see Katerina again was growing. I wondered if I should tell Cindy about Katerina and my intention to go see her after we finished this operation. Knowing Cindy, she would not be fazed by it. I also wondered if Yuri or Toshek had told her about my strange meeting on the train with Katerina and Zhenia.  These waves of sentimentality were coming at a time that I should have been more focused on the danger that everyone seemed convinced we were now exposing ourselves to. Maybe that was my oddball reaction to it.  More than once in Moscow and in Kiev I had felt myself cornered in situations that I had gotten out of by the skin of my teeth but this felt different. Entering a place where the rules were made up by someone else and law was whatever the mafia boss said it was, felt very scary. Walking (or running) away from a meeting gone bad in a downtown hotel is a lot different from driving 30 miles through three hostile check points into a mafia controlled region that had no escape routes except for returning on the road we came in on in the vehicles that we were driving. It became obvious why Cindy was hypersensitive to getting separated while in the vast"mafia preserve".

     I ventured to ask Yuri about his approach with our hosts for the next couple of days.  I asked, "Do you have any special strategy or technique for dealing with these guys since we are completely surrounded in their territory? How will you keep control of the situation?"

     "Money. People need a little money to open their door and then the promise of more money keeps that door open.  Every request we make and every desire we or they have should involve the exchange of money or the clear promise of money. Some people will not move one centimeter for us without a cash payment. That cash should be with us all the time. Other people are interested in making a business. We are here to 'purchase' some equipment that fell out of the sky. We need a price and terms and conditions. If we cannot pay cash, then we need to convince someone that we are good for the bank transfer." Yuri said this very matter of factly as we were driving down the increasingly narrow and muddy road, leaving the highway in the distance.

     "And are we good for a bank transfer if we suggest it?" I asked

     "We've done it before and I am hoping that there is someone in this group that we have already dealt with so that there is some trust." Yuri answered.

     "And what can I do to help guarantee our success?" I asked

     "We want you to be the untouchable making them believe that there is big money for them. Joe says you work for big American companies sometimes and you know philosophy of big money. You must act like there is money behind you...not in your pockets. If we get what we came for, then our ticket out of here with the Soyuz devices will be cash (if we have enough) or a transfer payment for them and money in the future that seems guaranteed." 

     I pondered his money strategy for this mission but had to ask, "Two questions: What does 'untouchable' mean? ...and why do we promise money in the future? Why can't we pay for the devices and get the hell out? It seems like making promises for the future puts us at risk." I asked Yuri.

     "Harming you or kidnapping you needs to be understood as blocking money and not a way to getting money...so you are untouchable. Answer to second question: Everyone wants to be part of big money. If we pay and try to leave, we'll never make it out because someone was not paid. Gatekeepers will open the gate as we leave if they see us as a future flow of money for them, too."

     "And my last question: How does Vlad help you with this strategy?" I asked.

     "Vlad takes care of paying the people that need cash immediately. These guys are always threatened and sometimes cheated by the big bosses. Vlad is scary but he also has big pockets filled with cash. Also, Vlad tries to watch for someone who might go crazy or loses control from alcohol. Something like rich bodyguard." 

     Thirty minutes on this muddy road and Yuri took a right at the first "Y" we came to. All of the signs for Dubrovnoye were pointing to the left and a sign for several lakes (Ozero) was to the right. I noticed a man with a walkie-talkie standing off to the side of the road partially hidden by scrub and some bushes. Yuri just shook his head up and down when I turned to see if he saw him or was going to react to him.  

     "Next intersection should be with welcoming committee." Yuri said without emotion. Seven or eight minutes later Yuri's prediction came true. Lights flashing ahead of us - flashlights pointed in our direction - grew to become six men (there may have been more that we did not see) in para-military type clothes armed with AK-47 short style automatic weapons (almost like Uzi's) and white holsters with small pistols...much like the Polish police carried throughout the country in the 80's.

     Yuri reached under his seat quickly and pulled out a similarly styled automatic pistol with a large clip and put it on the seat between us. He rolled his window down and, while doing so, told me to roll my window down, too. We came to a stop and I could see in the mirror that the "66" was about 100 meters behind us and slowly approaching. There were already several men walking alongside the "66" as it was getting closer to the roadblock we were now stopped at. So, we were already outnumbered about 2 to 1 and I was sure there were others in the shadows around us. With the window down, I could hear the men standing near the "66" laughing and making jokes about the bicycle strapped on top of the cabin.  

     "American motorcycle perhaps? Where is the motor?"

     "Toys for the childcare center, I think."

     One of the men stepped forward to about three feet from Yuri's window, took his hat off and said, "Good evening! Here for some space parts?" At the same time, his younger twin, about 30 years old and focused on the weapon between Yuri and me, walked up to about the same distance from my window and stood silently. 

     Yuri:  "Yes. Gostonov and Mays"

     "OK...second vehicle?"

     "They will tell you...maybe it's different for you than for me."

     (Laughter)

     "OK...go straight ahead about one kilometer. Don't leave this road. No sight seeing. There will be a big clearing with space for you and your camp at the opposite end of the clearing. You will see it. Bare dirt and some bushes for your latrine.  Welcome to the Lakes."

     As he was giving us instructions, I heard one of the "sentries" that joked about the bicycle, whistle and say, "There is a woman with them! Americans are very kind (or generous) to us!"  Instead of jumping out of the "69" and telling them all to fuck themselves, I sat quietly and began to feel as if I was being dropped into a combat zone with only dollar bills to deflect bullets and beatings. A feeling of dread that I had never experienced came over me at exactly that moment. And, while the paralysis of that moment did not last very long. That feeling was constantly sitting on the periphery of my thoughts as I noticed my breathing had gotten very shallow. I instinctively put my finger to my wrist. My heart was racing over 200 beats per minute. 

     I wondered what Cindy was thinking now.

***
     
     Yuri pulled up to the camp site, assessed what kind of configuration was best, and left enough room for the "66" so that the entry door to the "cage" was facing the bushes. My memories from that night are not so clear but I remember thinking that the bushes to our latrine were very dense and afforded a great hiding place for someone.  I think Yuri saw them as excellent cover for us instead of effective hiding places for them.  He stood in the lights of the "66" as Vlad pulled up and motioned how he wanted Vlad to position the truck. Vlad hesitated but did as Yuri showed. Toshek and Cindy jumped out of the cab as Vlad was maneuvering the "66" and were looking around to see if any of the welcoming committee had followed us here. We could hear voices in the distance but nothing that suggested we were being watched...as least very closely.

     In a voice that was frantic but in a very low volume, Cindy said to me and Toshek, "Get as many lights  lit as possible so that I can see everything within 100 meters of us!"

     Toshek calmly responded, "Not a good idea. Our eyes will adjust soon. Let's keep light at low level. Set up your parabolic mics, let's have some tea, get this place organized, and you, Cindy, stay close. Maybe you go into the 'cage' and hand things down to us."  Cindy agreed and climbed up into the cage where most of our things were. Between handing down cots and other supplies, I could see her putting on her earphones and testing her microphones. I noticed she was bringing down a heavier case that looked like it might have optical equipment in it and, on a hunch, I walked around and stepped up into the cage. 

     "Hey Cindy, are those night vision goggles?"

     In Russian she answered, "You're fucking right they are! And if I don't catch these assholes sneaking up on me, I'll shove them up one of those fucker's ass!"

     It is safe to say that I was not the only one who got spooked that first night at the Lakes.