The Russian Problem (Darby Stansfield Thriller Book 2) Page 4

  We landed at Minsk International Airport at 1:05 p.m. local time. Minsk was eleven hours ahead of San Francisco. Thankfully, I slept most of the flight. While we were taxiing, I noticed there weren’t any commercial planes on the tarmac. I only saw three others and they were all from Belavia Airlines, the Belarusian airlines. Military aircrafts were aimlessly parked around the airfield in lieu of commercial airlines. I guessed the airport didn’t get much action. This was further confirmed when I exited the plane.

  The terminal was desolate. There were no smiling counter personnel, no anxious passengers waiting to board. Most of the lights were turned off, except right where we happened to be walking, and even then it seemed like only every other light was on. Most of the airport seemed to be lit by natural lighting. The overall color palate of the building was gray and black with a little ‘70s wood paneling here and there. The mood was barren.

  Also, we saw no other travelers—just our group and ten other passengers from the flight. There was not a single breathing soul in the airport until we reached passport control. On the way, we passed one store. It was closed.

  After guiding us out of the maze of empty hallways, Elana immediately directed us to a desk off to the side where a very serious woman sat. She wore a brown military uniform and looked to be in her mid-twenties. Her red lipstick popped against her fair skin, while her short blond hair remained neat and orderly. Not once did she crack a smile or say anything.

  “All visitors entering country are required to buy state health insurance,” Elana said.

  It wasn’t much, only five bucks American.

  From there, we headed over to passport control. There were two other non-residents besides us. They reached passport control first. They must have looked suspicious to the young man in the booth because for the next hour or so, various uniformed men entered and exited the little booth. Slam. Slam. Slam. I felt sorry for that little door. It took almost two hours for all eight of us to get stamped through.

  Earlier on the plane, Elana had coached us what to do next. She said there would be two lines for customs. Her instructions were very specific. “Don’t look at customs. Don’t speak to customs. Follow green arrow, not red one, until you reach baggage claim. They don’t stop you if you look confident.”

  I was beginning to wonder what I had gotten myself into, but we followed her words of wisdom to a tee and everyone got through without any problems. Except for the two other dudes. They wavered.

  Entering the city was a bit surreal. The weather was sunny and the sky cloudless, so everything was clearly on display. The landscape, once we left the airport, quickly turned to forested land. Birch trees were the dominant life force outside my window. It felt like the middle of nowhere for miles, but soon signs of a city began to appear. We passed big blocks of utilitarian apartment buildings. Then there was, of course, the occasionally oddly shaped building, like the national library that looked like a giant ball filled with water.

  As we got closer to the center of the city, the buildings on the main street featured ornate facades and regal entrances. The rich lived here. Businessmen did business here. Everyone else got thrown into block housing and liked it.

  I had read in a travel guide that most of the cities in Belarus, especially Minsk, were completely leveled in War World II. When the Russians took over, they built it all from the ground up according to their tastes. Those same buildings still stand today. It’s as if one traveled back to the old Soviet era. Everything was uniquely preserved in that snapshot.

  Aside from the boring buildings, one thing I did notice on the way in was the armed police presence. There were a lot of what seemed like normal police walking around in their brown uniforms and then there were the SWAT-looking ones with high-powered rifles. Was this good? Did someone say police state?

  Elana must have read my mind. “You know, in Minsk there are four policemen for every one citizen? Very safe city. Nothing to worry about.”

  I couldn’t argue. In fact, I had to agree so far. My first impression of the city was that it was extremely clean. People moved along the sidewalks in an orderly fashion. There were no stray animals. Homeless? Forget about it. I didn’t see any.

  “No jaywalking,” I asked.

  “Never. Not here. Everyone obeys law.”

  Of course they do and everyone dresses in black, which may or may not be highlighted with gray. Smiles? They don’t exist. I had not seen one since we landed. I had to ask. “Elana, why do people look so harsh? They don’t smile.”

  “Americans are different, always say hi and smile to strangers. It is not like that here or in Russia. It is because of communism. You only trust people you know. If you smile to stranger, they think something bad about you. Maybe you spy for government.”

  “I hope the women we meet are friendlier,” Alonzo remarked.

  “Once people get to know you, is fine,” Elana said quickly. “They smile and welcome you into their house. Girls are different. They sign up for this. They look forward to meeting you for weeks.”

  We were booked at the Hotel Yubileinaya right along the Svislach River. At first glance, it looked like communistic block housing. My second glance told me I was right. Nothing special from the outside: thirteen stories of high-rise drab.

  It got better as we entered. The lobby was lively and they had a little casino tucked away in the far corner of the building. The lady working the front desk was thin, young, and beautiful. I was beginning to think this was a requirement of all Belarusian women.

  After we all checked in, Elana motioned for us to gather around her. “Okay, everybody is checked in. I have hotel rules for you to follow. Nobody leave hotel without informing me is one. No guest in your room is two. Nobody use phone in room is three. Nobody watch porno on TV is four. Nobody walk around floors. Only lobby and room.”

  When Elana switched hands so she could count higher, I tuned out. I wouldn’t remember her rules anyway.

  Satisfied that she had given us all the rules, Elana clasped her hands in front of her. “Now, go to your rooms, settle in, and be back down here in thirty minutes. I have minivan hired to take us around for city highlight.”

  We all nodded and then headed up to our rooms.

  12

  Ever show up at a club at eight so you can get in before the bouncer comes on at nine? I have.

  The sun had just set when the minivan pulled up outside of a nondescript building. If it weren’t for the small neon sign that hung outside flashing back and forth between the words “night” and “club,” I would never have guessed it was a place for clubbing.

  Elana turned around to face us from the front passenger seat. “Okay, guys, I have rules for nightclub. Do not treat women badly. No hanky panky in club. If you want to arrange date with girl, ask her and then both of you come to me to finalize. Okay?”

  We all nodded, though I was a bit surprised there wasn’t more.

  She motioned to the building. “This is very popular nightclub called Traxx. Usually is filled with university students, but tonight it is closed for our private party.”

  Once inside, there wasn’t any doubt that this was party club central. The club had two floors, each with a fully loaded bar and a decent light show. In the corner, I spied the DJ spinning. There were also couches and beds to lounge around in. This place would easily fit into the LA or New York scene.

  But what really sold me on the club were the fifty or so women spread out around the dance floor. They were dressed to the nines and already sipping cocktails and swaying to the music. Some of them wore skirts so short you didn’t need to be a little person to get a good look.

  Elana steered us over to a table where two women were sitting. “Okay, everybody. I want you to meet Masha and Lena. They will handle translation with girls if needed. Or you ask me and I can do it. So, the bar is open, guys; the drinks are free. Talk to the women, dance, and have good time, okay?”

  There we stood, all five of us, like scared little boys at a
junior high dance with our testicles tucked high up into our groins. None of us knew what to do or wanted to make the first move. Finally after a few minutes, Elana and her associates grabbed us by the arms and shoved us into the group of women to get things going. From that point on, it got better.

  I found myself surrounded by blonds, brunettes, redheads, and a couple of purpleheads, each one more beautiful than the last. I was a playboy in control of the game. Hugh Hefner ain’t got nothing on me. These women were interested in one thing and that was getting to know Darby Stansfield.

  With my mojo set on high, there was no time to waste. I told them, “My name is Darby,” and they responded, “Such a manly name.” I couldn’t go wrong. Everything I shot was a hole in one. They all wanted to stand right next to me. Girl after girl jockeyed for the pole position on one of my arms. They all wanted to answer the questions I asked. It was exhausting being the center of attention. Now I know what it’s like to be a hot model in a string bikini walking along the strip in Miami on a Saturday night. Euphoric. Suddenly someone somewhere grabbed my package. That I did not mind.

  “My name is Inga.”

  “Hello. I am Liudmila.”

  “Hi. My name is Tasha.”

  The introductions continued.

  As the floodgates flapped wildly open, more women flocked to me. Two had already hooked their arms tightly around my mine. One was a tall slender woman with long blond hair. She wore tight jeans with knee-high black leather boots. Her top was a tight sweater whose only job was to accent her breasts—and accent them it did.

  The other woman was shorter, but much more exotic looking. She was curvy in a J-Lo way. Her hair was black, but her eyes were bright blue and she wore the reddest of red lipsticks. She had on a short skirt that barely covered her booty. A tube top under a short denim jacket rounded out the top, and stiletto pumps finished out the ensemble.

  The small one pulled me down and spoke into my ear.

  “I am Zoya. She is Sveta.”

  “Hello, Zoya. Hello, Sveta. Nice to meet you. I’m Darby.”

  “Tell us what you do for job?” Sveta asked.

  “I’m in sales—telecommunications.”

  “Oh, sound important.”

  “Yeah, it can be.”

  Zoya tightened her grip on my arm and batted her eyelashes. “I bet strong man like you has big responsibility.”

  “I do, you know. I’m responsible for getting companies to spend a lot of money with us. I’m pretty special in my company.”

  “Oh, tell me, Darby,” Sveta chimed in.

  “There are only a few like me. They call us heavy-hitters.”

  “Heavy-hitter. That sounds so masculine,” Zoya said. She squeezed my bicep again. “Strong, smart, handsome man. You must have many woman around you.”

  They even liked the jokes I told, especially the one I made up about Sveta right there on the spot about her sweater. I asked her, “Sveta. Are you sveting in that sveta?”

  I knew these women were laying it on thick, but man, did it feel good. I felt like a king. King Darby was finally in the right kingdom. Could I really find someone special here? I was hoping.

  By the end of the night, I had met and danced and drank champagne with most of the women. They all thought I was strong, handsome, and intelligent. I was on track to improving my love life—and definitely my ego.

  This might have been the first time I found myself at a nightclub where at the end of the night, I felt like a champ and not a strikeout. I would easily date all of these women. They were all my type and totally into me. But I knew we had another social the following night and I couldn’t wait to see what was on offer. I made notes on my top ten and pocketed it away.

  Outside the nightclub, the air was crisp and refreshing. It must have been in the low thirties, but that didn’t matter. I was flying high with energy. Deep breaths of the frigid air felt great. So much so that I decided to walk back to the hotel. I had a heavy jacket with me and felt quite warm. All I needed to do was walk along side Janki Kupaly Park and then follow the Svislach River back to the hotel.

  “Elana, is it okay if I walk back?”

  “Why you want to walk?” Elana said with a frown.

  “It’s a nice night. It might be neat to see the city.”

  “You saw city in afternoon on tour.”

  “Yeah, well, I want to see more. So I’m going to walk back.”

  And then Alonzo piped in. “Hold on. You got a girl waiting for you, don’t you?”

  “You have a girl stashed away? Which one?” Gene asked.

  “Darby, no women tonight. Not allowed,” Elana said.

  I grinned. “Look, there’s no girl. I’m not meeting anyone. I just want to walk back. It’s a nice night. I can find my way. So please, all of you, get into the van and I’ll see guys tomorrow.”

  Elana was hesitant at first, but gave in. She and the rest of the gang piled into the minivan and took off. I watched them until the taillights disappeared around a bend in the road. I crossed the street and headed toward the park.

  The park was empty and serene. All I could really hear were my shoes crunching the frozen grass every now and then. It was an extremely peaceful way of walking off a buzz. Every now and then I would pass a person, but for the most part the streets were mine at one in the morning, at least in this area. It seemed like the entire city had already settled into bed. Even though the lighting in the park was dismal, it didn’t feel the least bit threatening. It was beautiful and calm.

  And then I heard a scream.

  Definitely human.

  13

  The scream sounded like it came from inside the park somewhere. It must have since I was the only one on the sidewalk as far as I could see. One part of me said, “Someone’s in trouble.” The other part of me shouted, “Get the hell out of here!”

  Tav is always asking me how I find myself in the middle of these situations. I honestly think these situations find me.

  There were two lamps in the area of the park around me, but they might as well have been cheap flashlights hanging upside down from a tree branch; the illumination was so pathetic. I didn’t feel like leaving the safety of the sidewalk, so I just stood there.

  I scanned for any type of movement. Nothing so far. And then I heard the scream again. It was closer this time and heading in my direction. I prepared myself for whatever it might be. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was already committed to helping.

  Suddenly a person appeared from the darkness, running toward me. “Pomogite! Pomogite!” she shouted.

  By now I could see her better. She was young, only a teenager.

  In seconds she reached me. Her nails dug into my arm. Tears ran down her bruised face.

  “Pomogite,” she said again.

  “I don’t understand. What’s wrong?”

  “Help me.”

  I looked around. The streets were empty. What do I do?

  “Please.”

  I grabbed her arm. “Come on; let’s go.” We immediately ran across the street toward the buildings. Whatever was chasing her, we had a better chance at losing it by getting back into the safety of the city.

  We turned down one narrow side street and then another, sticking close to the buildings and using the shadows for cover. Where are the four policemen for every one Belarusian citizen?

  By now I had a pretty good idea of what was chasing us: a gang of men. I could hear their voices, and they didn’t sound happy. They were gaining ground quickly. We wouldn’t be able to keep our distance with the speed we were maintaining for much longer. They would eventually catch up.

  I took a chance and guided us both up the steps of a nearby office building and hid in the shadows of the entrance. “Shh,” I breathed into the shivering girl’s ear. I pulled her close to me and wrapped my coat around her. She had on practically nothing: a light t-shirt, sweatpants, and a pair of athletic shoes—not exactly the sort of outfit you want to be wearing at this temperature.


  Suddenly three men ran past us. They were big and looked extremely pissed off, especially the first one. His was a face full of rage and determination. It was obvious he wanted this girl captured.

  The girl froze when she saw them, even stopped breathing. Only when they were completely out of sight did she dare take another breath. Right then I realized she wasn’t so much as shivering, but trembling. We weren’t far from the hotel. If we could make it there, we’d be safe.

  We stuck to the shadows of the buildings and moved on our tiptoes. I didn’t say a single word to the teenager and she didn’t once question any of my decisions. We were on the same page: finding safety. Once more we spotted the three thugs and had to duck into some bushes alongside a building. They walked right by us.

  As soon as they cleared, I took off, pulling the girl behind me. The hotel was across the street—thirty yards until safety. I hoped and prayed they didn’t see us run inside.

  The front doors of the hotel burst open, startling the young man behind the desk. The two of us were wet with sweat and breathing heavy, trying to catch our breaths. I looked around the lobby. It was empty. Thank God. We walked over to the boy, his big eyes not once straying from us. He didn’t dare move an inch. I didn’t want any problems, so I placed a fifty, American, on the desk. I pressed my finger against my lips and nodded at him. He nodded back and pocketed the money.

  Once upstairs in the safety of my room, I learned that the blond-haired girl was only sixteen and her name was Natasha Buchko.

  I sat on the bed contemplating what to do next. Natasha was still frightened when we got to the room. The first thing she wanted to do was make a phone call, but not on the hotel phone. She said it could be bugged. A little dramatic, but given the situation, I agreed to let her use my cell phone. I had no idea who she called or what the conversation was about, but I could tell she was relieved.

  I offered her a hot shower, to help warm up. She jumped at the opportunity, leaving me to wonder what I had gotten myself into.