The Upside of Death

The Russians Part 2

Part 2.

The cell phone in Vronsky’s jacket trilled. “You got her?” asked the voice. Texas vowels and curt with them.

“We have,” Vronsky replied, working the cell under his hair. “Soon you have the file.”

Silence greeted his answer. Vronsky was forced to continue. “We see no problem at this time.”

“Let’s hope so. The Tuesday a.m. deadline isn’t moveable.”

“You will have your video clip tonight. As arranged.” 

“I’m waiting.” The connection terminated.

Vronsky switched off. Semyon and Yuri were in the other room with the girl. He hurried to join them. Semyon, in particular, was not to be trusted in the company of females. Especially helpless ones.

The girl sprawled on the residential motel bed, still unconscious. Semyon spoke to Vronsky but was looking at Keera. “She has tasty bufera. As good as I have ever seen.” 

Yuri clucked his tongue in annoyance.

“It is important that she’s untouched. Move your thoughts to a safer place.”  Semyon was always thinking with his penis first.

“She excites me,” Semyon said, inspecting the sleeping girl, ignoring him. His ability to terrorize any hostage into silence was an asset, his predilection for sampling the quality of the female hostages a nuisance, but controllable in the past. This time, Semyon wore a defiant air, like he deserved more side benefits than he was getting. Vronsky wasn’t sure this girl would stay undamaged. He could only try to restrain Semyon as best he could but if matters got out of hand it was bad luck. Some kidnappings had unfortunate endings. It was the nature of the business.

“Put the chains and tape on before she wakes,” Vronsky said and Semyon looped dog chain around two legs of the bed, brought the ends to her wrists. He spread her arms akimbo and attached the chains with nylon ties. A six-inch length of duct tape covered her mouth a few seconds later. Semyon knew his stuff.

The girl’s dress had ridden up to expose her underwear and Yuri tugged the hem down to a respectable length.

Semyon said to him, “You scared of seeing something exciting, eh?”

Vronsky threw his arm around Semyon’s shoulders. “Let’s not talk here, she may be faking the sleep, might understand us.”

“What does it matter?” Semyon said but allowed himself to be guided into the living room. “Once we’re finished here we scoot home. No one can touch us.”

Vronsky closed the door on the girl. So far this was an easy operation. He’d been hired in Moscow by a man who called himself Mr. Robert. He had been vetted by Vronsky’s colleagues to be a genuine customer, not someone from Russia’s FSB, Federal Security Service or a police plant. Vronsky had to snatch a girl, video her, wait a day or two then release her. 

His inquiries also revealed that Mr. Robert was Bobby Flint, the majority shareholder of Flint Oil Services, an independent contractor to the major oil and gas companies. The company was based in Houston but held drilling contracts all over the world.

“He didn’t tell me what the exact situation is,” Vronsky had explained to the others, “but it’s probable that he’s bringing pressure on somebody. It won’t be a straight asking for money because he wants the girl released afterward. He must have a way of stopping the people involved from going to police or FBI. If there is death, then everything becomes more difficult.”

He had fixed Semyon with a hard stare as he said this. Semyon Grigori Nikitin, a boulder of a man, was enormously effective at terrifying victims. But his enthusiasm in inflicting punishment had caused unnecessary fatalities in the past.