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.

PZL Flight 42 to Chelyabinsk

     A knock at the door at 6:30 was the only interruption for the three of us as we were doing our final packing and getting ready to head to the airport. Kruk had, of course, requested a wake up call for our room and Vincent used it as a chance to deliver breakfast.  We asked him to stay and pooled our spare change to cobble together a proper final tip for all he and his young friend had done for us. It amounted to about $100. He almost cried and wished us well. He'd made sure that the Hotel to Airport shuttle was reserved for us and we were ready early enough to finish the tea and sandwiches we'd been treated to.

     Toshek had spent all night preparing his sample bags and then packaging up the whole mess for our flight today.   Sophia was always packed...as if she knew what it meant to be on the run. They both were talking a lot about the upcoming week and it was obvious to me that she was the detail person wanting to hear that risk was being managed with defined procedures and he was trying to say that they have to be flexible to react to the unexpected.  Having seen Toshek at work when he was preparing for and finally confronting Anatoly, I could appreciate his desire to work things out as they came. Knowing that we would not be in our element, I also wondered if these guys were ready to run if we were overwhelmed.  I think that was the main thing that Sophia wanted to hear from Toshek, that if the situation deteriorated, at what point would we bail and how would we protect ourselves as we escaped. 

     Vincent and the young boy waved at us as the van pulled away from the hotel Intourist. Sophia, sitting next to me in the third row bench seat leaned over and handed me an envelope and told me to open it. I did and there was $1000 in it.

     "For me?  What for?" I asked.

     "Joe wired it to us. Says its a bonus for hazardous-duty." She said, speaking just loud enough to hear over the Russian diesel engine of the shuttle bus clattering like an old tractor.

     I then had to wonder if it was for work done or for our upcoming work in Chelyabinsk. I asked, "For which work are we being paid extra?"

     "Don't ask me. I am worried about that, too." she said as she nodded her head and grimaced.

     "I know that you and Toshek have been talking about it. Are you really worried?" I tried to ask her as quietly as I could without Toshek hearing me two seats away busily tending to his baggage and moving things from one pocket to another.

     "Yuri, Toshek, and Vlad don't usually carry a lot of guns. We'll see what kind of 'camping' protection they have collected for this trip. In my opinion, it is one of the few things to keep our hosts from doing something crazy. All these guys are dreaming of is 'numer stulecia'."  Sophia told me and then looked at me to see if I understood the meaning of numer stulecia.

     "I know what it means." I said and told her to think about the day's adventures for now since we couldn't do much until we saw Yuri and Vlad later today.  Sophia just smiled and nodded in agreement.

     The driver knew to take us past the passenger terminal and straight to air cargo another half mile into the airport zone amidst enormous warehouses and aircraft storage buildings. I could see Kruk halfway inserted into the engine space of his Antonov biplane as we were approaching. He was in a set of grey mechanic's coveralls but I could see that his shoes were shiny and I thought to myself that Commander Kruk would probably have his best uniform on under those coveralls for our trip.  He looked over the top of his glasses when he heard our van approaching and pointed to the spot where he wanted our driver to stop.

     "One more carburetor adjustment and I'll be ready for you!" he yelled to us waving with a smile. The Antonov 2 was not the sort of plane that inspired great trust when looking at it since it looked like a cross between a WWI biplane and a 30's era DC-3. Most of the people I'd talked to had said it was an extremely safe plane and that PZL was very proud of its fleet and took very good care of them. Poland had a history of aviation to be proud of so I wasn't going to allow myself to get wound up in undeserving anxiety about our 1000 mile flight from Novosibirsk to Chelyabinsk.  Sophia and Toshek never flinched nor showed concern as we were preparing for our flight. They seemed even more amused than I was that we were being treated to this special air transport.  Kruk's official and formal approach also made them laugh but they listened closely and obeyed orders as Kruk got us ready for our trip.

     "Since I will be flying at a low altitude, I want you to have your parachutes very close to you the whole time! If you go to the bathroom, take it with you! Also, here is the rip-cord...this metal handle near your chest. We don't have time to practice but please raise your hand if you have ever parachuted before." Both Toshek and Sophia raised their hand. Sophia looked at me anticipating that I would be surprised and have a question. I just gave her a thumbs up and never asked her about it.

     Kruk went through the use of the seat belts and harnesses and told us that he may request help during the flight if we ran into weather problems or cargo weight shifted. We'd put all our baggage in the passenger compartment with us and strapped it down so any other baggage we didn't know about was in the cargo hold or someplace we didn't have access to. He even gave us some basics about the instrument readings and what we might "feel" if we take controls of the plane later on. When he started to go over Polish aviation history, I decided I'd better cut him off before he got too long-winded.

     "Poles have a stellar record in military and commercial aviation...that we know about! Thank you, Kruk!" I said hoping to halt his speech.

     "OK...OK...we'll get started." he disappointingly relented and finished his pre-flight checklist.

     I remained outside with Toshek and Sophia having their last cigarettes.  I wandered around the tarmac circling the plane looking for the obviously forgotten bolt or latch or open cowling that would bring us down if I didn't make this last inspection.  To my relief, I found nothing and was making my way toward the other side of the plane where my colleagues were when Kruk caught up to me and asked me who Toshek and Sophia were.  "What do your colleagues do? Are you in business with them? What shall I put on my passenger record for 'occupation'?"

     "You have to record our occupation?" I asked.

     "It is kind of dinosaur question from socialist days." he explained. "I am sort of curious, though."

     "Toshek is a businessman/trader and Cindy is a Project Manager." I told him.

     "Project Manager with sky diving experience is interesting profile. Maybe she is former KGB...be careful!" he suggested and advised. 

     With a wink and a "follow me" gesture from our excited pilot, we all got on board the PZL Antonov 2, strapped ourselves in, and got the lumbering gooney bird's engine started.  The engine was knocking very loudly and even Toshek took his attention away from his ichthyol notebook, unstrapped himself from his chair, and quickly tapped on Kruk's shoulder from behind.  We couldn't hear what he asked him nor what Kruk said back but Toshek seemed OK with his answer and we waited to hear from Toshek. After we taxied to the beginning of the runway and Kruk throttled the commie biplane up for takeoff,  Toshek pulled our heads together and yelled, "Knocking is normal after the piston rod work. It'll quiet down once we get into the air."
     Sophia crossed her fingers and I acted like I was saying a prayer. We all laughed as Kruk pulled back on the wheel and the nose of the Antonov 2 lifted. We were finally on our way to Chelyabinsk on the PZL Gooney Bird Express.

      The skies were mostly clear that morning and temperatures were a very comfortable 10 C or about 50 F. The wind was calm and we had a very smooth take off. Kruk took a very gradual and long turn to the right heading almost due North after going about five miles West. As he'd told us before, we were avoiding restricted air space over a very large nuclear missile base. He pointed to what he said were the buildings servicing the active missiles.  He added for my benefit and amusement,

"As long as the imperialistic West continues to threaten the peaceful Eastern countries of the former Soviet Bloc, Russians will be forced to defend themselves and their loyal brothers!"

     We all laughed and Sophia took my coat collar pulling me near her and yelled in my ear, "He says these things very much like the propaganda minister would say on television. I think he was responsible for PZL propaganda program...or he is a good actor."

     "I know he was a good socialist at one time. He helped me at FEDEX and is a good man. I don't really care what he believes in unless he decides to crash the airplane to save the world from us." I told her.

     Sophia looked puzzled a bit and responded, "It is sometimes important to know what people really think. That is what is paying my bills...for now."

     Kruk leveled the plane off at an altitude that I would guess was somewhere around 10,000 feet. I could tell that the air had thinned quite a bit but I knew we were considerably under 14,000 feet...the height of Mt Rainier in Washington State...a mountain I had climbed and could remember my labored breathing as I summited that peak.  All three passengers huddled on the left side of the plane looking out the window until Kruk turned around and motioned for us to split up. He asked us to have at least one person on the other side. So, of course, we switched sides for about an hour as Kruk took us in a Western heading straight for our destination. After about 90 minutes, he signaled for me to come to him in the cockpit to tell me something.

     "We are fighting a headwind that is a little stronger than I expected. I will land at my usual refueling place and give my friends their presents. We will have to quickly take off after refueling to stay on schedule so I cannot invite everyone for the picnic lunch with Polish people that I promised." Kruk told me with a disappointed look on his face.

     "Don't worry about it! We are enjoying the ride. A short break will be nice. Thank you for telling me." I smiled at him and said.

      I went back to the window where I had been sitting watching the desolate country below pass by slowly. It looked just like parts of the Dakotas or Wyoming or even Eastern Washington with unending grassland and small hills. Only patches of trees were seen here and there with very little in the way of rivers or bodies of water. Sophia was watching, and, too, seemed a little mesmerized by the unending panoramic views of the steppes. I interrupted her blank stare with news from Kruk that we'd be landing soon to refuel and that our greatly anticipated picnic with the Poles was not to be...since we were running behind schedule with the headwind we were bucking. It hadn't been a particularly bumpy ride but after four hours we were all starting to get a little airsick and welcomed the idea of a short break. Sophia wanted to be in Chelyabinsk as soon as possible but was going to have to tough out an hour on the ground and four hours in the air. According to Kruk, we'd probably be landing around five in the afternoon if we could stay on schedule.

     Minutes after my announcement to Sophia, Kruk cut the engines down to an idle and the Antonov biplane began to tilt downward toward a landing strip and an unnamed village that promised fuel for us and Polish treats for the airstrip tenders, a mostly Polish extended family that had been living nearby for decades since forced removal from the Lvov area in the 1920's. While not a smooth landing, Kruk was under control the whole time and when the plane stopped, he jumped from his seat and greeted the twelve or possibly fifteen people that were running up to the plane from a small building that was on the edge of the runway...if you could call it a runway. Their smiles could be seen for a hundred meters as they ran to the plane. A young man, possibly a teen-ager by the looks of his face, but quite tall and husky was pulling a cart behind him. I guessed he would be loading Kruk's presents to haul back to wherever they lived. I hadn't noticed any houses and wondered how these people could live so far out in the steppes without visible signs of an economy, agriculture, or any industry.  We all deplaned and greeted the excited crowd and got hugs and kisses from everyone.

Everything said was in Polish:

"I am Darek. Welcome to Nowy Wies! (New Village) This is Zofia, and that is Bartek. My wife Magda. Our children, Danuta, Benjamin, and Stanislaw. Are you tired and hungry? Surely you will stay and have dinner with us? Can you spend the night? Hello Wladek! Thank you for coming again! We look forward to every visit that you can spare for us. Tell us what is happening in the world. What is going on in Poland? Russia? United States? These guests, are they your friends? They look very nice. Oh please come to our little shack on the airport property and have lunch with us!"

And as Darek was speaking, so too were the children:

"Hi Mr. Kruk! Do you remember me?! I am Danuta. Did you bring candy? We love everything you bring! We are getting older now but we still look forward to your presents of food and candy and drinks. Juices for us?! Those Polish cherry juices are so sweet and wonderful! Not all of the food seeds you left us in the springtime would grow but we had wonderful tomatoes and squash. We love you Mr. Kruk!"

      I looked over at Sophia and she was talking to one of the older girls, probably fifteen or sixteen. She had long blonde braided pigtails and was dressed in a white peasant top, a plain pink skirt that had probably been bright red when it was new, and a very colorful neckerchief with a Polish embroidered design...probably a traditional Krakovian scarf since they were the most popular. Sophia was smiling and laughing then walked over to the plane, reached inside where she had left her bags and pulled out a pen and paper to write something down.  After writing, she tore off the piece of paper and gave half of the sheet to the young woman and folded up the other half, putting it inside her rear pant pocket.  They hugged and kissed in the Polish style:  left cheek-right cheek-left cheek (...or is it the other cheek first? I never got it right but it never mattered to me in 22 years of living and kissing like this.)

     The young big Polish boy, very shy and only nodding to us as he passed to unload the plane of what Kruk had brought, began putting the ten or twelve packages on his cart. Those packages had been in the rear cargo hold, and appeared to be canned goods, ultra-pasteurized milk in cartons, medical supplies, some clothing, shoe boxes, lots of candy and chocolate, as well as coffee and tea. The big boy also wrestled some sort of machine screwed to a wooden Euro-pallet onto the bottom shelf of his cart. I guessed it was a small generator.  We were all then rushed to the airstrip "terminal" to have some warm drinks and eat a lunch that had been waiting for us.

      Also waiting in the terminal "lobby" was the next welcoming committee of Babcias and Dziadeks (Grandmothers and Grandfathers) with sweets and vodka for us passengers. Kruk grabbed one shot of vodka and drank a "bruderschaft" with one old man whose dementia was such that he always told the stories of bruderschafts with hero pilots at the end of the Second World War. Every time he saw Kruk, he'd demand a bruderschaft and Kruk would happily play to the old man's memory challenged romantic past.  Kruk looked at me and shouted across the room, "We leave in 45 minutes or whenever they refuel the plane! Tell your friends to eat and drink something and take a walk to get yourselves rested!"  Toshek and I walked around inside the terminal marveling at the beautiful tapestries and art that adorned the walls. There was enough beautiful folk art from the Tatry mountains and all the other regions in Poland famous for their embroidery, pottery, tapestries, wood carvings, and glass art to fill two huge Cepelia warehouses in Warsaw or the Sukiennice (Cloth Hall) in Krakow.

One of the Old Style Cepelia shops in Warsaw filled with Polish folk art.

One Polish Regional Booth of Dozens in the Sukiennice in Krakow

     As the special guests flown in by PZL Air Express, we were probably a disappointment for the Polish community of Nowy Wies since we couldn't stay and enjoy their sincere hospitality. But, we all spoke Polish so I know that was a big positive in our favor and both Toshek and Sophia had interests that would keep them in contact.  For Toshek, a chance to leave some samples of his Ichthyol Mousse was his hook on Nowy Wies. For Sophia, I think she saw a little of her past in this strange little Polish village and the tight knit family that had somehow survived three generations through to the end of the Soviet Union. She had promised the young woman a chance to visit her wherever she might be in the world next summer...and they would write to each other to keep in touch.

      Every opportunity I could escape to monitor progress on our refueling, I would sneak around the corner away from the party and watch the young man tending to the airplane. He was unhooking the gas refueling line when Sophia came up behind me, grabbed my jacket sleeve, and took me to see Kruk behind the terminal  building holding court arguing politics and laughing at the same time as the men and women around him were stuffing him with little treats that had been specially prepared for his visit. Sophia and I watched the show, then she let out a big sigh and said, "Enough...go get him. Time for us to go."

     Kruk came out of his state of elation when he heard my voice over his own, "Kruk! Plane's ready to go! Wind's a howlin' against us! All aboard!"  We'd given him a full 90 minutes with his Russian Polish fans and it was no secret that all three of his passengers had enjoyed the stopover. The hugs and kisses were followed by the tears and promises (by Kruk) to be back soon.

     It was true that the wind had picked up and we would now be fighting a stronger headwind than before. We filed back into the plane trying to shrug off additional hugs and kisses from our hosts and then shut the door. We took a short inventory of everything that we thought we should have with us to make sure we hadn't left something outside and then signaled to Kruk we were ready. The mighty Gooney Bird fired up again...less the irritating knock of earlier in the day...and we lined up on the smoothed out track that served as the runway here at the Nowy Wies stopover. Kruk had us airborne in less than 100 meters and we were off! Nest stop...Chelyabinsk!

***

     While getting us back to altitude, Kruk tried to find alternative heights to fly that would be less bumpy than what we experienced as we got back to around 9000 feet or 2800 M. He brought it back down to around 6000 feet at 500 foot intervals but it was turbulent everywhere he tried. The wind was basically there for us to fight. I wouldn't have minded the bumpy ride so much but Toshek and Sophia both were getting "greener" by the minute as their stomachs were being tossed in the Gooney Bird. At this pace, we would be getting into Chelyabinsk at around 6:30 or 7pm. It was starting to get close to Yuri's absolute limit for time. Our "ticket" was valid for entry to the Soyuz debris site only until midnight tonight but Yuri also needed time to scout out our site before we set up camp for the night. With a three hour drive ahead of us once we arrived and transfer of baggage to vehicles, that was cutting it pretty close.

     "No chance for flying lessons today!!" yelled Kruk from the cockpit back to us. "Just too windy and difficult to fly even for me! I am sorry!"

     "No worries, Kruk!" I yelled back.  "We want to arrive safely and I don't think all of us are feeling so well for professional flying lessons."  About that time an especially hard gust of wind and turbulence hit us and Toshek, without his seat belt on while coming back from the toilet, hit his head on the bulkhead over him. He said he was ok but I could see blood coming down his forehead and he was now occasionally vomiting and then holding a paper towel to his wounded scalp.

     The windy conditions eased up after a couple of very tiring hours and the last hour of our flight was a night time air-tour of the surrounding villages and towns as we approached Chelyabinsk. Kruk pointed out the closed cities we passed on our right and left as the airport got closer. Weapons production, special metal smelting, refining, and fabrication, and nuclear related sites were all around. Again, I thought of Richland, WA and the Hanford Reservation in Washington State as comparable instances of Cold War research hidden from the eyes of the enemy. (Actually no longer hidden since we are always watching them and they are always watching us by satellite.)

     "Fasten your seatbelts, please!" yelled Kruk as he turned toward us. "We are cleared for landing in Chelyabinsk." He had been barking on his radio in English with the control tower at the airport but I could tell that he was having a hard time getting them to respond in English.

     "PZL - Flight 42 cargo plus passengers requesting approach details...over"

     "Pa Ruski...pizhalsta...PZL 42 cargo! Over"

     "International language of air traffic is English...please...thank you!  PZL 42 again requesting approach guidance. Over! "

     "Kurwa! Huj!(Swear words in Russian and Polish) pa ruski!" (Say it in Russian!)

      "Da...da...daj spokoj!" (OK...OK...give me a break!) in Russian and Polish.

     We landed smoothly despite the international air traffic communication issues and Kruk brought the Gooney Bird up to the "Corporate and Commercial Aviation" hangar and terminal.  No immigration or passport related formalities were required but there were more armed policemen and SWAT team looking characters carrying AK-47s than I had ever seen in one location.  Because of them, we were asked to show our ID and that caused a small sensation that an American was arriving as some kind of SWAT action was getting ready to take place. Kruk asked the ground crew officer that was helping us what was going on and the answer, though somewhat cryptic, sounded like a group of mafia types were expected to fly in anytime.   Toshek, Sophia, and I looked at each other and almost said in unison, "I wonder if that is who we are meeting later tonight!"

     Kruk got us to Chelyabinsk before our deadline and had shown us a good time along the way. Before my tired, bloody, and a little bit vomit stained partners got too far away, I asked them if I could use $300 of the extra cash to tip Kruk for all he'd done. Neither Sophia nor Toshek objected and only Toshek commented, "We have enough for the assholes ahead of us. Kruk deserves it."

     Kruk was very grateful for the cash and tried to put on a good face initially in refusing it...albeit a little too short lived to be believable.  We gave the three cheek kiss, I thanked him, and I told him that he now had all my new contact numbers. We said goodbye and waved at each other three times as I was jogging to catch up with my colleagues...carrying my toolkit, my diplomatka, and small suitcase. 
      Ahead of Toshek and Sophia, about 50 meters, I could see Yuri and Vlad standing behind a fence that was being guarded by two AK-47 bearing Russian gorillas larger than Vlad. Even from that distance, aided by the light that was shining on their lined faces, I could see that they were as exhausted as we were. I was hoping that they had matters in hand and had good news for our next week in the Siberian wilderness...but their faces certainly weren't telling that story as we approached.

Sofia

     Toshek's response to our change in plans focused on how it would impact his business activities, "It is good for me. If I can work through the night, I can get things done and Ichthyol Magic Mousse gets to market faster." Cindy, on the other hand, said she was happy about doing something out of the ordinary flying to Chelyabinsk but once again got extremely pre-occupied with the new mission...and probably knew a lot more about things than she was willing (and possibly allowed) to say. She suggested that we go down to the bar and have "dinner or drinks or something".  I could tell that she was on edge because of more than just the upcoming work in Chelyabinsk, but it wasn't obvious to me what was eating her and I could see that she was very good at hiding things.

     "Yes, let's take advantage of the delightful gourmet menu of squid and Pacific Northwest halibut cheeks in the Intourist restaurant and bar, my Dear!" I joked. "Unfortunately I need to call Dima and cancel everything else that we had planned and make sure that he's not organized any sort of grand expedition to salvage Soyuz rockets in the wilds of the Siberian North." I reminded her.

     Unaffected by my grandiose attempt to make her laugh, she replied, "OK, do it. I am waiting. I am a little hungry and I want a drink."

     Dima was not mad at all when I called to tell him we were leaving town quickly. In fact, he was so busy during my call that he put the receiver down on me several times to take other calls. He would be talking to me about how he was managing the RFP's and then suddenly put the phone down and answer another phone...without any warning.  My years of high-level and not so high level meetings in Poland and Russia told me that Dima was a middle manager that had at least four phones on his desk.  From our decision to construct an RFP to get information from the dozens of participants interested in the MBA Joint program, Dima was creating all kinds of money making competitions and charging academic institutes for getting on short lists for the MBA program cooperation.  Those competitions included trips that he would insist he be included on to see satellite campuses or cooperating private sector businesses or he'd just flat out say he needed a vacation and if someone paid for it, they would be in a more favorable position to win.  I'd never seen anything more blatantly corrupt the way he was doing it and really worried how I would be received the next time I showed up in Novosibirsk.  I thanked Dima for all he had done, and was doing, and promised I would be back in 90 days or less...with my own short list of interested American MBA programs.

     I'd made the call to Dima from one of the phone booths in the lobby of the hotel and when I finished, stepped over to the house phone and called up to my room to let Cindy know I was free for "dinner or drinks or something"...as she had suggested.

     "Wow...I thought you would be out late like Russian man. It is good you are fast.  Get me something to eat and drink. I don't care what. See you in a minute. Thank you." she said.

     Vodkas, juice, and water were waiting with some stale pretzel sticks when she met me near the window where the last bit of light of day was coming in . I'd made sure that we were sitting as far away from where she and Georg had had bar sex. It was somehow in the back of my mind that her experience with him earlier was part of why she seemed out of sorts. I couldn't imagine anyone being so brave as she had been to do such a thing. If that was what was bothering her, I certainly understood.

     "Do they have food in the restaurant tonight?" she asked me when she saw the pretzel sticks.

     "Yep. Grilled filet mignon for you my dear!" I informed her. I knew she didn't believe it until the wonderful smell of fresh beef grilling came wafting out of the kitchen. Vincent knew we were leaving in the morning and was working his magic for one last big tip and goodbye. He also had some wild mushrooms that were sauteed and served with the meat. That and not so fresh rye bread and butter made for a fantastic meal all washed down with very average vodka and orange flavored drink. (They called it juice.)
   
     Cindy, happy that she'd eaten real food, made an attempt to steer our conversation back to Chelyabinsk and Yuri and Vlad...unsuccessfully...as my friend Kruk suddenly showed up in the restaurant with three huge PZL gift bags for his "first class passengers" as he called us. He was walking faster through the bar towards us than I could run and his hair, combed high and back, was rocking side to side with each stride he took. That was the old Kruk I remembered as he was introduced to me as my "operations man" three years earlier. He actually cried that first day from happiness to be wearing a "real American business uniform" as he put on a FEDEX polo shirt that I had given him.

     Kruk's one man show there in the bar was memorable:

     "You are Cindy! Billy told me about you! Americans aren't as polite as Polish men so let me introduce myself. I am Wladyslaw Kruk, former Operations Director for FEDEX on the territory of Poland, and currently the Chief Operating Officer of PZL's new operation for European and Asian Air Express Delivery Services...we don't have a name for it yet so I give you the full description. (He kisses her hand at this point.) Of course, FEDEX was our chance to study this business and now we will compete against them in a difficult market. I am a pilot and I will be your pilot and travel assistant tomorrow to Chelyabinsk. My good friend Billy (who by the way was my boss for a while) has given me this opportunity to serve you.  My gift bag is more than a gift bag. It includes your necessary flight jackets, goggles, and hearing protection as well as some snacks and small gifts from PZL - Panstwowe Zaklady Lotnicze - the Polish State Aviation Works.  We also have included a small first aid kit that has motion sickness tablets if you might have that weakness in your system. They also will make you sleep...so be careful. Will you please deliver the third bag to your colleague, Mr. Toshek?"  With Kruk out of breath by this time, I slid in an invitation to him to sit with us and have a drink.

     "Don't mind if I do...but only one drink. I must be fresh for flying tomorrow!" he was happy to accept our invitation and smiled as I'd never seen him. Kruk's body odor issues were on the edge of breaking out but he was very tolerable at the moment and he was being so nice to us there was no way we couldn't invite him to have a drink.

     He started back in:

     "At 8 o'clock sharp we have flight tower approval to take off with a slight northwesterly bearing to avoid some nuclear missile sites directly west of the city here. After we get past them, we will cut back a little south and west to put us on a direct flight pattern for Chelyabinsk. there will be a few sight seeing opportunities along the way so I will vary my altitude to give you the chance to see some interesting things."

     Cindy asked him point blank in Russian, "Will all these tourist related things slow our arrival time in Chelyabinsk? We have important meetings tomorrow afternoon."

     Undeterred from his mission to show us we would all be having a good time, he fielded her question and continued his pitch.  "Our delay will be minimal. You will all be given a chance to fly the airplane and we will practice using our parachutes before we depart. I have some delicious things...or maybe not so delicious since they might be old...but that will be ok. If we are ahead of schedule, we'll land for a picnic lunch and refuel at my favorite farm where many Polish families have been living for almost 70 years."

     "Is that one of the Gulag camps?" Cindy asked him.

     "Not exactly but half the residents at this place were forcibly moved there and a few were in Stalin's camps, as well."  Wladek answered.

     "Great! I bet that is a happy place. I know exactly what kind of lovely atmosphere that is. " joked Cindy.  I started wondering about Cindy's past since she was beginning to open up a little with her sarcasm and bit of facetiousness.

     In a way that only Kruk could do it, he smiled at Cindy despite her ribbing, toasted to her health, and drank his shot in one gulp. Sitting between me and Cindy, he patted us both on our knees and stood up to say, "Thank you! I must be on my way. Please be at the airport by 7:30. Looking forward to a nice day of flying with you!  Good night!"

     "Good night, Kruk! And thank you very much for taking care of us. I am very lucky you found me in Novosibirsk!" I told him with a big smile on my face. "See you tomorrow!"

     Kruk departed at the same speedy pace through the bar as his arrival. Cindy commented as he left, "Seems like a very reliable guy. I wouldn't doubt if he is loosely connected to Polish Intelligence Agency."  I had never doubted that possibility but I thought it was very interesting that she came up with that after just a few minutes with him.

     Cindy's mood took a turn for the dark when she asked me to discuss seriously the dangers connected with our Chelyabinsk mission and the "unknown elements of surprise" that might be there. "I want you to think about ending your activities now on this trip. You have big success with me and Toshek here in Novosibirsk and Joe can do without your involvement in his Soyuz debris trip I think.  It is your connections with Dima that you are best at. Your protections disappear when the bad people are all around you."

     "So you think that Yuri, Vlad, Toshek, and you are not enough protection?" I asked staring at her running her finger around the rim of her glass.

     "I only know for sure that Yuri and Vlad feel very insecure about it, too. That tells me to be careful.  Also, we have never done this kind of thing in the open wild country. If we get separated, we can get lost or, even worse, bandits who know the countryside can have a big advantage over us.  There is no morality in places like that. The Russian style mafia is different from Italian. There is nothing unethical in Russian version of organized crime.  When you met Vlad, he was getting rid of a body that was killed in a place similar to where we are going."

     "OK...OK...let's give it a rest for a moment." I urged her. "Let me think."

     Cindy grabbed my arm and added to her argument, "If you are now going to think, then please think about this:  I want to remind you that we are not employees and can accept or reject work whatever we want. As long as we don't do something completely stupid or take jobs from Russians or Chinese or terrorists, we will be asked to do more work. In other words, if we view the risk as too much, we should not accept it and go home."

     We were talking quietly but the lobby bar women could see that we were discussing something pretty intensely. Two of the women came over to our table and stood by it looking at me and shaking their heads. The taller of the two blondes said to me in English, "Why are you discussing it? Maybe she is too expensive for you!? Come over to our table."

     Cindy frowned a little and said to them in Russian, "My fiance wants to fly me to New York to get married and I want to be married in London. That is what we are talking about. Get the fuck outta here!"

     The shorter woman shook her head and said, "I don't believe it." and they both walked away.

     "That was well done.  So now we are engaged and can't decide where to get married. Maybe I should know your name finally." I took the chance of asking after her bold lie to the lobby bar "bitches" as she called them.

     "I am Sofia." she said quickly.

     "Thank you for telling me. Very nice name and it fits you a lot more than Cindy." I replied.

     "You are married and I am not. Tell me about your wife. You never talk about her."  Cindy asked with only a little interest it seemed, so I did not say a lot.

     "Joe and others at the Embassy say not to talk about family. That is why I haven't said much. Also my marriage is dying.  Her name is Magda. She was my Polish teacher. We've been together about ten years.  It will probably end soon. This life has killed our relationship. When my daughter and son find out, they will disown me." I told her.

     "What does it mean 'disown'?" she asked.

     "They will be upset and say to me, 'You are not our father any more.' " I said.

     "I see. Not good." Cindy frowned and asked.  "You like to have an official job, don't you? Does it help?"

     "My corporate shield is very difficult to maintain. Keeping a responsible job when this kind of work is also important to me, is almost impossible. I am always trying to take time off or I am getting sick or family members are dying to be able to leave my work for these things that we do. I am not very good at this masquerade."  I told her. She liked the word 'masquerade' and said it was a good word to remember.

     I decided to ask about her. "Can you tell me more about you, Sofia?"

     What Sofia told me did not come out in one monologue. It took some time and questioning to understand how complex her life had been. She told me she is from a Russian family that was relocated to Southern Ukraine but lived among Poles who had been in Gulags and conscripted to work farms without hope of returning to Poland. Her Polish came from that experience and the children running around the village that were secretly learning Polish at home.  Her father was a miner and took her on trips where Arabic was spoken, she has a working knowledge of Arabic and some Chinese/Mongolian. She never worked as a prostitute except when role playing for jobs...like with Georg.  Officially she has lived in 12 countries according to her various passports but thinks she wants to slow down and live in the British Virgin Islands soon. There is a healthy bank account in the BVI but not healthy enough. Friends in Miami have invited her and she was ready to go but the anti-terrorism team was forming and she wanted to get the account up to a more respectable level within the next two years. Men have come and gone in her life but she has luckily never been pregnant and hopes she can find a normal person in BVI or Miami.

     I asked her, "What was your first job for Joe?"

     She told me, "I was supposed to sit in a bar in Bucharest and record a conversation between two men. I had parabolic mics and a camera built into my purse. I got extra money for helping to steal a briefcase."

     "How much did he pay you for that?" I asked.

     "$500...cash in advance." she said. "And your first job for Joe?"

     "I sat in a cafe, a restaurant, and a bar outside Wroclaw for seven days counting trucks going in and out of a military base." I said.

     "How much did he pay you?" she asked with a smile.

     "Same as you. $500...cash in advance." I answered and returned the smile.

     It had gotten late and we both had said many times to each other that it was time to go to bed. We were even signalling to each other over Toshek's head as we walked into the room that neither one of us wanted to talk about ichthyol ointment, but Toshek was driven.

     "Which is better:  Miracle Ichthyol Salve for Treatment of Infected Staphylococcus Sores or Ichthyol Ointment: A Cure for All Pus-Filled Sores ?" Toshek asked me as he was scribbling out possible pitch lines for his smelly salve.

     'Actually, I don't like either one, to be honest, Toshek." I told him.

     "Me either. Not descriptive enough." Toshek agreed.  Sophia and I slipped out of ear shot of Toshek toward my room and the bathroom.

     So it was another awkward goodnight building up as Sofia motioned that she'd go to the bathroom first and I would go after her. Spending only a trifle longer than usual in the head, I had my usual 10 minutes to gather my sleeping things and cosmetic bag and leave them by the bedroom door to wait for her signal that she had finished and I could go in for my shower. Usually I would hear the door close behind her and the fan running for the short time that she'd open the door and then close it. I heard neither the door close nor any fan running and was slightly startled as my door opened and Sophia stepped in very quietly just six inches in front of me and shut the door.
She turned around and said in a near whisper and clearly almost crying,

"I feel very dirty tonight even after washing myself. This time in the restaurant with Georg was a short hell for me. He started to get up to call Anatoly so I had to stop him. I had to touch this dirty man who was stinking terribly, including from his open pants, until he came all over himself and me. If I go to bed alone, I will cry all night. If I can have you beside me and you will be nice company for me, I will be better tomorrow. Can you let me sleep next to you?"

     I smiled at Sophia and put my hands as softly as I could on her head and face the way she had done to me the previous night.  Before I could say anything, she looked at me between her straight hair that was in her face and said, "If that is 'yes' then please go to bathroom and come back soon. Don't worry about Toshek. He is worried about ichthyol mainly."

     I stepped out of my room and did my things in the bathroom. Toshek was almost always quietly talking to himself but when I stepped out of the bathroom, I could tell that his mumbling was a little louder.  He noticed I had just come out and motioned for me to come over to him. He did the same thing he had done earlier before we left the room for Anatoly and squared himself up in front of me to say something. I could tell that it wasn't going to be an ichthyol sales pitch.

     "Cindy probably told you Yuri and Vlad are not feeling completely safe taking you to the Soyuz sites.  Yuri is afraid because Vlad is afraid and knows some people that are asking for money and too many questions about our 'customer'. There are other ways for your Joe to get what he wants from rocket trash. You don't have to be the American businessman we are protecting. Risky mix. Very bad men around an American and a woman. For me it is fatal combination. It is only my opinion."  Toshek stopped for a moment then went on but had turned away and was no longer facing me straight on, "Good we are flying with your friend and get to Chelyabinsk quickly. Ichthyol to market faster means more cash.  I have another question. How big bottle should smallest bottle be for selling in America? Two ounces, three ounces?"

     Even though I was trying to wrap my head around what he was warning me about Yuri and Vlad, I thought about Toshek's ichthyol question and decided he deserved an honest answer. "Your smallest size should be what you can get 10 to 15 doses or applications out of. I also think that 0.5 oz sample packs would be good for selling at holistic pharmacies." Toshek was silent but smiled and shook his head as if he was digesting what I had said. He saluted me 'goodnight'.

     Once again, I was being warned to reconsider this final part of my mission. Having seen how proficiently Sophia and Toshek had assessed and handled the situation at the Intourist, I probably should have taken their advice more seriously and considered backing out.  I didn't, though.

     So Cindy -- now Sophia -- and I slept in the same small bed together. From what I remember, after I let myself in the room quietly, Sophia opened her arms to me and we held each other so tight that I was sure that I was smothering her...as she was doing to me. We only released our grip on each other through the night to move from one side to the other. If my back was to her, then she held me firmly...even as she snored a little. When she turned away, she took my arm and wrapped it around her with a tug to tell me to hold her tighter. Even when we faced each other, she was able to sleep while holding me and my full weight resting on her arm. I don't think we even kissed.   The only significantly unpleasant thing about the night was having a full erection from 11pm to 7am...almost nonstop. Even when I dozed off and then awoke, there it was standing at attention like a little dog waiting for its master to take it on a walk.

     At about 6 o'clock by my guess looking at the light coming in the room through my window, Sofia began to loosen her grip on me and I allowed her to slip away to the bathroom. She came back to the room fully clothed but wiggled her way back beside me between the sheets with her back to me. She asked very quietly, "Did you decide something about Chelyabinsk and our new mission? Will you continue or will you quit?"

     "I want to continue." I answered.

     It took a while for her to respond but she said, "OK...time to get started.  Thank you for the night of good sleep." Sofia turned and looked at me and then left.

Bad Guys Bushwhacked

     Toshek and Cindy were talking very quickly when I burst into the room and, at that pace, in Russian, I could hardly pick up on details, but knew that they were coordinating their activities. Toshek nodded to me when I rushed in with his best -- almost toothless -- smile. From years of adjusting his mouth to show what teeth he still had, his smile curved to the left exposing the couple of teeth on that side. They went on talking and it sounded like there were four or five scenarios in which Toshek felt confident enough to enter our friends' room but he needed X amount of time if scenario one was initiated and Y amount of time if scenario two was opted for...and so on. Cindy kept saying "da" to each scenario but took no notes. I could also tell that there were others involved and waiting somewhere outside the hotel. There were policemen or some kind of law enforcement and there was a hazmat truck mixed in somehow. It was going to be my job to call Vincent when the operation began. He would be waiting down in the lobby for my call and was to step outside and raise both his hands as a signal to whomever these other people were.

     As their conversation slowed a little, I dared to interrupt and ask what was known about the call everyone had been waiting for.

     "Call was from Zurich. It has been traced and we were given the OK to pick up the hot bad stuff. There will be a hazmat truck from the Physics Institute at NSU and some Americans are waiting too."

       I was surprised and reacted. "Americans?!"

      "They never tell me and I am always confused.  You have too many intelligence agencies and you think you can send your legal people anywhere in the world when there is action." Cindy commented. "I just hope they don't fuck this thing up if it gets messy."

     "Legal people?  Like DOJ?" I asked
     "That's it." She said.

      Just as Dennis Jakoboski from Teledyne in Krakow had told me some time ago, DOJ guys are everywhere looking for evidence of international crimes. I thought it extremely brave of them to be in the heart of Russia's nuclear weapons belt throwing their weight around...if that was, indeed, who they were.

     The phone rang interrupting our conversation. Cindy snatched the receiver off the hook.

     "Da?! Georg?! He is downstairs in the bar now?" She asked.  As quickly as she picked up the phone, she threw the receiver down now and ran into the bathroom, shutting the door and yelling for me to pull a dress from the closet. "Daj mi sukienka najbardziej seksowna wedlug ciebie!"  ( Give me what you think is the sexiest dress. She said it in perfect Polish as if only we would understand...but of course Toshek could understand Polish, as well.)

     Since it was still late afternoon and the sun was quite a ways up, I avoided what appeared to be a leopard skin suit with lion fur and opted for a skimpy LBD (little black dress). She smiled at me as I opened the door and handed it to her...of course seeing her completely naked for the first time. Compared to her morning ready routine, she was out in record time and even had a decently done face on...albeit a tad sexier than usual...if I could be the judge.

     "Call Vincent and make sure he stays in the lounge! I'll be down in two minutes. Tell him to have an orange juice waiting for me at the bar!" Cindy anxiously barked out orders.

     Before she left, she quietly described to Toshek that she was going to keep Georg in the bar until we called down to say it was over or until she saw Anatoly and Georg being hauled out. Toshek looked a little scared but grinned and told her to be careful.  I couldn't be sure of it but I think Toshek asked Cindy if she needed anything to put in his drink. She emphatically shook her head , "NO".

     Cindy left and Toshek took a straight on stance in front of me to emphasize he wanted no misunderstanding between us about what was going to happen. He then said very slowly, "I am going in to Room 605 and will try to open or unlock the outside door to the suite where the uranium is. When I enter the room, call Vincent. He will signal to our outside help."  (The door to the small suite would not open from the hall.) "Anatoly will try to fight or argue with me. You will hear us. Go into the room and get the bags and take them to the waiting people downstairs. You must act very quickly...but do not disturb the bags too much...like dropping them. You understand why?!"

     "Possible criticality I suppose."  I said very nervously.

     Toshek grabbed a large towel from my bathroom. He also took the floor mop that was in the shower room...removing the mop head quickly and then soaking one of the towels before we left my room.  We sprinted down the hall and then down the stairwell to the sixth floor. Toshek went straight to the door to 605 and put his ear to it. He slowly checked to see if the door was locked. It was. I backed up and partially hid inside a small linen storage closet but with a full view of what Toshek was doing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an interestingly shaped metal rod and slipped it up his sleeve out of sight while he continued to listen with his ear glued to the door.  As he was standing there and I was hunched over looking at him, the little boy hiding in 608 opened the door slowly. Seeing him, I suddenly realized that I could call Vincent or tell the boy to call Vincent the moment Toshek entered the room. I'd suddenly broken into a nervous sweat realizing that I would lose precious time if I had to run back to my room to call and then hope that it wasn't too late to grab the hot bad stuff from the suite as Toshek had instructed me. Or worse, come back from my room and find Toshek beaten to death by Anatoly...who looked like a large version of Vladimir Putin and about five times meaner. (Even with his shirt on!)

     I walked over to the boy and told him to call Vincent downstairs the moment that Toshek entered the room. I also told him to close the door and do not come out until all the commotion ends.  And, as my Mother said to me many times during tornado warnings in Oklahoma, "Go lie down in the bath tub and don't move until it's safe!"

     Several minutes had passed and Toshek had not moved an inch. He had the wooden mop handle and towel in one hand and the door "jimmie" tool in the other. The towel was dripping on the floor and in that tense silence, I could hear the "plop...plop...plop" as the water began to form a small puddle at his left foot.  Toshek turned his head toward me after another minute and signaled that Anatoly was on the phone. He returned to his stance with his ear glued to the door. Another minute may have passed and then Toshek started to bob his head up and down. He turned to me and winked and then slipped the jimmie tool between the door and the frame where he guessed the bolt of the door handle would be. I was surprised by how quiet it had been. I turned to see if the young boy understood that this was the moment we had been waiting for and he shook his head and shut the door to go call Vincent.  Toshek stood at the open door for about five seconds and then I understood why he had chosen that moment to enter. I could hear the shower or bathwater running in the bathroom.

     In that ten minutes leading up to Toshek's entry to room 605, things down in the lobby were going well enough for Cindy and her attempt to keep Georg busy. While she had not said what she was going to do to "keep him busy", I assumed that she'd come on to him as one of the women of the lobby and promise him something lovely later on. She had entered the lobby bar lounge and grabbed her OJ that was waiting for her at the bar. Vincent had poured it himself and then pointed to it as she walked passed him scanning the room to see where Georg was sitting. When she finally spotted him, she realized he was in a spot looking out the window that would probably be the best vantage point to witness the approaching police and hazmat van in about five minutes. As nervous a guy as he was, he'd put two and two together quickly and cause a bigger problem than we already were trying to manage. She had to act quickly to get him re-positioned somewhere in the bar. According to Vincent, her "methods to entice him elsewhere were extremely effective". With a well placed hand to the back of his neck and something whispered in his left ear...the side of the head pointed toward the window...he stood with her and they fled to a dark corner, where they stayed...until the policemen came with clubs and guns to take him away. Poor Cindy got a bit of blood on the side of her face as Georg protested initially when asked to lie on the ground face down with his hands out from his sides. The billy club cracked him across the side of his face and nose. It was the blood from the nose that got on her. She later told me she was glad I picked the little black dress since the blood was not noticeable.

     Back at room 605, Toshek turned to the left after entering the room, away from the shower sounds and walked up to the door of the  suite room where we assumed the "bads" were.  But a naked and surprised Anatoly stepped out of the bathroom and saw Toshek reaching for the door handle. Anatoly screamed something unrecognizable at the top of his lungs and Toshek whirled around swinging the mop handle at Anatoly's head. Anatoly caught the full force of the wooden handle on his forearm and screamed in pain. Toshek then jabbed  the handle into his stomach, pulled it out, and gave Anatoly a hard crack to his left knee. Anatoly went down and was still yelling.  With the skill of a western calf roper, Toshek then flipped the wet towel around Anatoly's neck and shoved one end of the towel in his mouth. The move ended with a foot on Anatoly's neck and head, placed so that the towel was securely in his mouth and Anatoly's air flow could be "adjusted" with a slight tug.  The door was open all this time and, to our misfortune, that noise got the attention of the one security guard in the hotel that we had all forgotten about as we had planned our action. The security guard ran into the room and blocked the door saying he would kill anyone who tried to leave.  I am sure that a bloody, naked man in the middle of his own room, being strangled by two guys looking like thieves did not weigh very heavily in our favor. He spoke no English so I told Toshek to tell him to call Vincent downstairs and everything would be clear. He had a walkie-talkie and did so.

     Five tense minutes ensued and the guard finally motioned for me to leave when he understood from Vincent that the whole hotel was now involved in the anti-terrorist action.  I then entered the suite slowly. To my right were the two bags, sitting on the floor next to a sofa.  I gingerly lifted them and was surprised by how heavy they were. I didn't relish the thought of hugging them close to my body but as I tried to get a good hold on them, they would begin to slip. Holding them next to my chest was the only way I was going to make it all the way down the hall to the elevator and then down to the lobby. Luckily, the hazmat team, looking like Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin on the moon's surface with full coverage suits, met me as I was approaching the elevators. They pointed to my heavy bags and motioned for me to put everything down on the floor, go back to my room, and shut the door. The police...or whoever they were...came right behind hazmat and nearly ripped the door off of room 605.  Dressed in grey camouflage with a variety of hand weapons on their belts and an AK 47 in their hands, the two SWAT team guys grabbed Anatoly who again was screaming as he spit out the towel he'd been sucking on. They threw him to the ground and wrenched his broken arm behind his back. These SWAT Team looking guys lifted Anatoly, each had one arm and one leg, and took him out of the building screaming the whole time.

     Toshek and I scurried back to my room on the 7th floor. His first words when we walked into the room were, "You know anyone that wants to buy a ton of Ichthyol concentrate?  I can have it delivered FOB Krasnoyarsk or CIF Kiev. No better quality.  No first aid kit should be without it!"  Yes, I could see that, above all, even after saving the Western world from another terrorist threat, Toshek was, more importantly, the Ichthyol King of Central Siberia.

     Cindy was not far behind us. She came in during Toshek's ichthyol sales pitch. Knowing exactly what it was for, she jokingly said she might need it rubbed all over her body after what she had just been through with Georg.

     "Not a good idea." quipped Toshek.  "Not recommended for large areas of skin." he added.

     Cindy rolled her eyes and asked if she could shower again. I nodded my head and pointed to the bathroom hoping she would take a long bath. Vincent had told me that she and Georg had been quite "engaged" as she was doing everything she could to keep him downstairs and occupied until the SWAT team arrived.

     "Give me 30 minutes?" Cindy asked. Toshek and I nodded at the same time.

     "So, I have a couple of questions, Toshek." I started as I was curious about a few things.

     "About ichthyol?" Toshek asked with hope in his voice.

     "No. Not exactly. Who were the SWAT guys? They didn't say much and they didn't show any badges or credentials."  I asked.

      Toshek pondered his answer for a moment,  "Let's call them locals with Western and Eastern anti-terrorist training. Your Joe Guy at Embassy has paid them for services more than once."

     "So, this anti-terrorist activity is all under ground? Nothing official? But who is leading it?"  I asked really wondering who was pulling all the strings.

     "No leaders but three or four very strong actors that sometimes make quick decisions and then inform the other three.  Might be something happens that Israeli's are coordinating and then Americans come in and help or take over. Problem for me is that I worry someone might get confused and decide I am bad guy. That's why I take money from everyone."   Toshek was saying a lot more than I expected and it matched what Yuri had said on our train trip from Samara. He added, "Risky business like this makes me hope for big success with ichthyol selling."

     "Good luck with that Ichthyol stuff!"  I told him. "It saved my ass more than once." I added.

     Toshek laughed when he realized I was talking about my own terrible boils.  I actually hated that stuff. It took a long time to work and was very unpleasant as pressure built up in the sore.

     Cindy called out from the bathroom interrupting my conversation with Toshek.  "Bill...can you come in, please. We need to make some decisions."

     "OK...you are decent?" I asked as I slowly opened the door.

     "Why do you ask if I am decent? In this case does it mean 'good' or 'not-naked'? Cindy asked shyly.

     "Not naked", I replied.

     "You won't see much. Come in, please." Cindy urged.

     "OK...can I sit here?" I asked as I pointed to the toilet seat where her LBD was sitting. I picked it up and draped it over the towels that were hung on the rack.

     Cindy, naked but completely covered by bubbles in the tub with only her head showing, said in a very serious voice, "Joe says we have some problems in Chelyabinsk with Yuri and Vlad. We need to be there latest time tomorrow afternoon but we already missed the night train."

     "You and Joe have been talking here while you are taking a bath?  I asked her more than a little confused.

     "I get messages during the day. Joe gave me magic message machine.  My message says we three should all go together to Chelyabinsk. Flying is better if we can do it." Cindy acted like she was telling me more than Joe would have liked me to know, so I did not ask anything more about her magic message machine.  (I later found out that she was getting coded telegrams from the hotel office. I never asked her if that was her magic message machine but assumed it was.)

     The offer to fly home with my old friend, Kruk, in his 60's era Antonov- 2, was still fresh on my mind as all this unfolded. How perfect! He'd just invited me to fly back with him. If those repairs he'd mentioned were complete and he could leave tomorrow morning, we could be in Chelyabinsk by noon.  I told Cindy about it. She answered, "Maybe you ARE a businessman after all.  There are no commercial flights to Chelyabinsk tomorrow until late afternoon. Please try with your friend, Kruk."

     "Can you tell me why do we have to be in Chelyabinsk so quickly? And why are you going? I thought we were going to say goodbye soon since you got your guys here." I asked Cindy as I started to worry what was up that Yuri and Vlad (and Joe) were rushing me to get there sooner.

     Cindy began squirming a little as she noticed that the bubbles hiding her body in the bathtub were disappearing rapidly. As she used her hands to pile them back up in strategic locations, she said, "Doors open and close sometimes. Door to your three Soyuz sites may close soon. Yuri and Vlad are keeping it open for another day or two. I might be able to help with other doors, Joe thinks. He already pre-paid me. Means it is important."

     What little I knew about how Yuri, Vlad, Toshek, and Cindy worked, I had a feeling that the element of "anarchy" was at work here and Joe trusted them the most to deal with it. I'd read of the Central Siberian mafia and the other mini-mafia spin-offs that they were operating everywhere that there was money to be made or influence to exert. I assumed that access to these Soyuz sites was difficult to get and there weren't "open tickets".  I left the bathroom before Cindy's bubbles all popped and went to make a phone call to Kruk at the TechnoPark dormitory. I was hoping that his Antonov - 2 was fixed, there was enough room for all of us and my friends would all be welcome to fly with him.

    Vincent came to the rescue again. I called down to the desk and asked him to try to find Wladek Kruk at the TechnoPark dormitory. Wladek called me back in about ten minutes. Excited to be playing pilot and host to me and my friends, he said, "Oh my God! I've got to get it gassed up, cleaned up, and ready for first class passengers!  Flight departs tomorrow for Chelyabinsk at 8 o'clock sharp!"


   

An Old Friend and New Plans

     Six o'clock in the morning came unusually quickly for me. Cindy was up as usual doing her bathroom routine and I decided to take a stroll in the hallways...gravitating toward room 605. Padding down the stairs one level and then down the hall as quietly as I could, I noticed that the door to room 608, about 20 feet past 605 on the opposite side of the hall was open about four inches. I slowed and then saw our young friend from yesterday sitting on the floor with a notepad. I stopped and pushed the door open a little. He looked a little shocked but I smiled and whispered, "Thank you...but please be careful." I then pulled the door back to where he had had it and continued down the hall. I took the stairwell on the opposite end of the hall up to the seventh floor and then went back to my room. Cindy was towel drying her hair and turned around smiling when I came in.

     "Having breakfast with Georg and Anatoly this morning?" she jokingly quipped.

     "I wanted to but they were still snoring. I saw our young hero from yesterday on duty. He is in room 608 waiting for something to happen."

     "I have some important news for us." Cindy said with a little more concern than I'd seen in her.

     "Interesting. Please tell me." I said.

     "Looking at the negatives from the last photo I took when the bag was partially opened on the floor yesterday, I would say that the container is for enriched uranium. The symbol we saw next to the radioactivity warning definitely starts with U2. The rest is not visible. But, I know a little about the standard cases used to transport U235 fully enriched uranium and I would say that they are definitely in possession of a weapons grade uranium container. Does that mean U235 is inside that container?  Not necessarily...but I don't know."

     "Should I call the embassy and try to talk to Joe?" I asked Cindy

     "No. I already got some information from him." Cindy admitted.

     "I guess you didn't get much sleep then."  I said with a frown.

     Cindy continued,  "We are waiting for the call from Switzerland or wherever it will be from. There will be extra ears on that call and we will know what to do soon after.  It is likely that we take the stuff from Anatoly and Georg."

     "Somebody's likely losing their balls, then." Surprised, I said very seriously. Cindy rolled her eyes.

     I thought about it. It made sense. The call gets successfully traced and enough information is gleaned from it to understand who the intended buyer is. The hijacked material needs to end its journey here. I was actually feeling I would be relieved to see this job end now. The last thing I wanted was to be told by Joe that I am assigned to be the naive American heading to Uzbekistan in a sleeping compartment with two guys carrying enough fissile material to blow up a city of 1.5 million people.

     Cindy interrupted my thoughts as they were drifting towards mushroom clouds and armageddon, "Another little detail for you:  We will probably have to share the room a night with one more person you know. Your old friend Toshek is arriving today late in the evening. He is coming here from Krasnoyarsk.  It is possible that you and he will travel together back to Chelyabinsk. If the call comes from Switzerland, he will probably help with taking the Uranium. It is his specialty."

     "Uranium is his specialty or taking things from people is his specialty?" I asked quite seriously.

     "Definitely the second thing you said." Cindy replied shaking her head up and down.

     Very surprised by hearing that Toshek was coming through Novosibirsk from Krasnoyarsk, a day's trip to the East, I just couldn't believe it. "But wait a minute. I left Toshek about two hours the other side of Chelyabinsk in the middle of nowhere just three days ago. He is coming from Krasnoyarsk? That is another day east of here. He would have to be traveling almost non-stop to be in Novosibirsk heading west on his way back to Chelyabinsk!"

     "Sounds exactly like Toshek's usual program. Not unusual at all." Cindy said trying to sound nonchalant.  "Toshek is the king trader of ichthyol ointment. Between jobs for Joe or whoever, he is always transporting or arranging transport for ichthyol concentrate going to the West."

     "Masc ichthiolowa?" I asked. (Polish for ichthyol creme or salve) "That stuff for boils and other skin problems that's in every Polish grandmother's medicine cabinet?"

     "Correct! Toshek is famous as the Ichthyol Man." she quickly agreed.

     "Weird stuff" I commented. "I am surprised that it has a market in the West."

     "Western European doctors have been using it a long time but the concentrate in raw form is best from deep inside Russia and China." Cindy knew something about it I could see.

Wikipedia helps us here:

Ammonium bituminosulfonate (brand name: Ichthyol) is a product of natural origin obtained in the first step by dry distillation of sulfur-rich oil shale (bituminous schists). By sulfonation of the resulting oil (or purified fractions thereof), and subsequent neutralization with ammonia, it results as a viscous, water-soluble substance with a characteristic bitumen-like odor. It is used in medicine (sometimes in combination with zinc oxide) as a treatment for different skin diseases, including eczema and psoriasis). Ointments containing 10% or 20% Ichthyol are most common. They are sometimes called "black ointments" or "drawing salves". Ichthyol's dermatological action was promoted by German physician Paul Gerson Unna.

     ***

     More impressive to me than Toshek's fame as the Ichthyol Man was Cindy's up to the minute knowledge of so many things.  She'd done all the photo development without a lab while I was sleeping.  She had constant contact with Embassy Joe. She somehow knew about Toshek's whereabouts and impending arrival, and now was part of a plan being formulated to seize the uranium when given the green light after the phone call from Switzerland.  I started to realize that my question about being a prostitute was really stupid. What a super-spy she was. I didn't have a lot to compare her to since she was the first real spy that I had collaborated with, but it was clear to me that her skills were impressive and my own awkward efforts were greatly overshadowed by what she was capable of...and actually doing. 

     Cindy finished with her "ready routine" (shower, hair and makeup) and said she wanted to talk to the boy in 608 and Vincent, if he was in yet.  Rushing off with a quick wave in my direction, I decided to give Dima a call to find out when our next MBA dog and pony show would be. Those meetings were producing good contacts for my guy Joe at the embassy and I wanted to get as many of them done up to the point of the call from Switzerland. I'd nearly missed out on the action here at the hotel during the last meeting at NSU so I knew that I was risking the same by leaving again. We had no idea when the call would be coming in and it was pretty certain that Anatoly and Georg would move quickly when they got instructions.

     During the call, I begged Dima to keep our meeting short. He was already acting on the RFP idea for dozens of institutes and collecting money for each. His obsession with setting up small meetings was starting to die, so I was no longer fighting his earlier over-exuberance to "meet and greet" every academic group in town. Nevertheless, we were scheduled as guests during the weekly board meeting of the Techno-Park. They were well funded by at least a dozen academic groups and close to 100 business interests in Novosibirsk and had regular guest speakers from around the former Soviet Bloc exploring economic reforms and how to implement market reforms in such a wayward corner of the Russian Federation.  As this had been my original reason for going to Poland back in 1983, I was more than a little interested in attending this session. It was also the group that Embassy Joe's people had identified as Dima's core people that could be suspect of plotting to secure radioactive materials for big money.  I really needed to attend this meeting and get as many contacts as possible.

     Cindy came back as I was in the last stages of getting ready for my meeting. She was again very focused on details that were important if and when the call came in. She filled me in on her meeting with Vincent and the young boy. The boy in 608 was completely asleep when she knocked on his door and suggested that he get some sleep for later. He was happy to comply...and to be getting paid for it. Vincent was behind the reception desk and Cindy talked to him about allowing her to take a look at the ancient phone switching gear that the hotel was equipped with. After the manager on duty went out for a smoke, Vincent took her immediately to the phone room and she tied our room phone line to the phone line for 605. I wondered (and asked) how she had done it without making our line accessible to Anatoly and Georg.  She just looked at me and winced. I assumed that meant that I needed to learn something about tracing and bugging calls.

     "We'll know exactly when the call comes in and be able to listen to it. That call will be heard in Warsaw, in Washington DC, Zurich, and somewhere between Afghanistan and Kazakhstan...wherever Joe has his southern team working. " Cindy said.

     "...and Room 734 at the Intourist in Novosibirsk!" I added.  "How did Vincent react to you messing with the hotel phone system?"

     "He let me do it. Didn't say anything. I think he assumes that everyone is doing some kind of dirty business. Since he kind of knows now that there is something terribly wrong with these guys, he's happy to help for now." Cindy answered.

     "Do you think the rest of the hotel staff suspects anything about us?" I asked.

     "They do but, just like Vincent, there is so much corruption around here, they are happy that guns aren't being used and people aren't dying in the hotel...yet." Cindy answered.

     I wondered if she was armed and, if so, whether she was prepared to shoot anyone.  With those sentiments from Cindy, I thought I might extend my meeting with the Techno-Park guys today.

***

     Dima admitted that this was the group that he had been talking about when we met at the Marriott in Warsaw. He'd described academic professionals and business people working together on "projects". As he drove the Volga through the pothole filled streets on this sunny day in Novosibirsk, again towards the Akademgorodok, he got sentimental telling of the "sadness of the falling of the Soviet Union" and the resulting power vacuums that were created in all of the State dependent science and technology organs in this part of Russia. I got brave and asked him if the nuclear weapons and the nuclear weapons industry had in any way been compromised by this "power struggle".  He admitted that he knew that there was talk of it in the West but he couldn't believe that there was anyone in the "inner circle" of weapons bases and weapon building that could ever betray the motherland .

     "Not even for huge money?" I asked.  "A million tax-free dollars goes a long ways in this part of the world."

     Dima was silent. It dawned on me that I may have gone a bit too far with this discussion since lab testing on his own briefcase had detected nerve gas and a trace amount of plutonium that had recently been carried in that diplomatka, with his knowledge or not.

     Dima eventually responded to my "huge money" question.  "Big money can make most people do stupid things. That is what government is for. Scare you enough to be good and not try to do, 'numer stulecia'".  He added, "I think you know this phrase, 'numer stulecia' in Polish."

("Numer stulecia" is an expression in Polish that describes an enormous deal or transaction. The "deal of a lifetime" might be the best translation.)     

     "I DO know that expression, Dima. It sometimes worries me that the economic climate here is so bad that even your closest friends that we are meeting today are capable of something stupid possibly."

     This time Dima did not comment.

     We arrived at the Techno-Park building, parked in a reserved space, and were whisked up to the main conference room on the 10th floor where thirty or more men and women (there were actually quite a few women) were sitting in high backed leather chairs talking loudly and passing out waters and sodas so that everyone had one of each at the 30 odd places at that huge table.  Lenin, Marx, and Engels were on the wall but so were Einstein, Tesla, and Abraham Isahakovich Alikhanov. (Russia's #1 particle physicist).  I liked this kind of meeting because it allowed me to meet and possibly talk to every single person there. Dima spent two minutes pointing out who was who, instead of formally introducing every single person. Most of this crowd was composed of physicists, chemists, metallurgists, research engineers, aeronautical engineers, and then business people labelled as either marketing, finance, or operations for the various institutes that were represented.  As I had come to realize over the years in Russia, scientists were a lot more fun to be around than bureaucrats and the nomenclatura that had been elevated to their positions by appointment from the communist party.  I think I would have been able to guess with at least a 90% success rate who was a scientist or engineer and who was from the nomenclatura just by looking at them.  (Scientists knew how to laugh and tell a good joke.) 

     Dima suddenly opened the meeting with a loud announcement that we should begin and the Techno-Park Director, Sergey, quickly thanked everyone for coming and introduced me. Very little in the way of juicy patriotism entered my talk today. Dima said that probably half of the people here had been at the NSU session and didn't need to hear another proud speech about their motherland. I spent 15 minutes describing MBA required courses in the US, deciding on a specialization, how the elective system usually works, and finally gave an example of business community cooperation and recruitment that goes hand in hand with many MBA programs. 
     
     When I finished and asked for questions, the discussion became quite heated over whether the program should be an MBA or a DBA (Doctor of Business Administration).  Since the European Master's degree is the first degree earned after high school, it was suggested that they offer only a PhD in Business Administration. MBA didn't sound impressive enough. As that argument got going in the room, I suddenly recognized a face from Poland. Wladek Kruk, the Operations Director for FEDEX where I had worked at PZL, the FEDEX agent, was sitting at the table smiling at me. His "hi-rise" spiked hair cut and toothy smile were staring right at me. How I'd missed him, I don't know. The crowd was so engaged in the discussion, I got up and walked over to Kruk and shook his hand. He insisted on the traditional three cheek kiss so that caught the attention of those sitting around Kruk.  

     "What the hell are you doing here, Kruk?" I happily asked, using the last name we always used for Wladek. 

     "I flew one of our Antonov An-2 planes here yesterday delivering something from the Polish government and saw your name on an announcement in the dormitory where I am staying. They said I was welcome to come and see you." Kruk explained starting off in English then apologetically switching to Polish like he had always done in Poland as my operations guy.

     "Isn't that the old Antonov that was like a 30's era bi-plane...two wings...upper and lower?" I asked Kruk because I couldn't imagine flying such an antique all the way here.  

     "Yes, exactly!" Kruk got excited that I remembered. "I stopped four times along the way. Beautiful trip! Maybe you will ride back with me?!"  Kruk got even more excited at the thought of us hanging out a while together.  

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     Kruk had been such a hard worker at PZL/FEDEX in Warsaw, I was very sad for him when FEDEX backed out of the contract and left all those people in the lurch. He was particularly fun to be around when we would travel on the job. His favorite line in English when he was excited was, "Oh my God! I'm going to pee all over my self!" Try that on for size when you are having dinner with the CEO of the European FEDEX group and Kruk gets excited telling about a work related incident.  He probably heard that from a child when he went to America many years ago and thought it was a great line. 
     The only real problem with Kruk was that when he got nervous or upset, his sweat glands went into overdrive. And not ordinary sweat glands. His produced an odor that made it very difficult to be around. One time, we were having considerable success clearing packages from customs for on-time delivery. The atmosphere was light and he smelled like an ordinary guy. Within a half hour, the customs agent suddenly became very difficult to work with and frustration set in. We'd slowed down so much that it was clear we'd not make the train departure to send packages to Krakow. Kruk's sweat glands got to working and it was impossible to be in the same space with him for the rest of the afternoon.  The customs agent shut down our clearing space and told us to come back tomorrow.

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     Kruk was especially hard hit by the fall of FEDEX in Poland.  Ryszard Leja, the General Manager for FEDEX's agent, PZL, fired everyone connected to the FEDEX contract when news broke that the American express delivery company was high-tailing it out of Europe. Kruk had worked for PZL for nearly 30 years and had expected to leave on good terms eventually. He had been a flight engineer turned pilot and probably had done some work for the Polish intelligence agencies flying near the Western borders taking pictures of whatever the Soviet partners were taking pictures of in the 70's and 80's. When I had packed my things in my office, Kruk was the only PZL boss that bothered to come and say "Good-bye" as I was leaving. He told me he had been fired and would gladly work for me if I "started something". He said he liked the adventure of business startups and all the action associated with FEDEX's beginning.  (As it turned out, Ryszard Leja hired him back to run an Air Delivery Service throughout the former Soviet-Bloc. This trip to Novosibirsk had been one of his important deliveries for the Polish government.)I had a real soft spot in my heart for Kruk and was very happy to see him in Novosibirsk that day.  Unable to really spend more than a few minutes getting caught up, he quickly jotted his phone number at the dormitory where he was staying and his room number on a small wrinkled piece of paper.  

     I left the event early again without Dima when a phone message was delivered to me in the conference room. It read:

"The Swiss Show has started at the hotel. Please come quickly!...Cindy"

     Kruk, who had come just to see me, wasn't interested in anything going on at the meeting and followed my as I was running towards the taxi line in front of the Techno-Park building. He called out to me when he saw I was going to hail a cab, "Hey Bill! I can drive you! I've got a car for the day. It's here!  Let me take you wherever you need to go!"

     "Kruk! You are a savior! Thank you!   It's the Intourist Hotel. Do you know where it is?"

    "Yes, yes. No problem." Kruk sped off in the East German Trabant ignoring lights and stop signs. I'd forgotten that he was the worst driver I'd ever been a passenger in a car with.  I then started thinking about my fear of flying and if I could ever imagine flying with him as a pilot.

     "How long are you in town, Kruk?" I asked him over the loud noise that the two-stroke engine of the Trabant was making.

     "Two more days only. My plane threw a piston rod on the way here. I am having the engine redone."

     "I will call you late tomorrow and invite you here for a drink." I offered.  

      As we pulled up to the hotel, I pointed to a street corner on the side entrance and said, "I have to run!  Thank you, Kruk!"  With that I opened the door and was in a full sprint toward the side entrance of the hotel hoping not to be caught in the middle of something Toshek and Cindy were staging. I also wondered if Toshek had arrived.