Chapter Twenty- Five
Without catching anyone’s attention, we make our way out of the airport. As we leave the tarmac, Kolya discreetly handed some cash to the worker at the gate, ensuring that our passports are stamped. San Francisco bustles with the same energy as Moscow. The constant honking of car horns and the chatter of pedestrians fill the streets. This is my first time in the United States, not exactly how I wanted to come here. Whenever my father had to come, he would always leave me in charge back home.
I am worn out and in desperate need of sleep. Despite our attempts to sleep on the multiple plane trips, the anxiety got the best of us and prevented all three of us from getting any rest. We want to get this done and over with so we can go back home to our families.
I gaze at the city through my window. The towering skyscrapers glisten in the sunlight, reflecting the hustle and bustle of the city below. The iconic Golden Gate Bridge stands proudly in the distance, its majestic presence a symbol of this vibrant metropolis.
As we navigate the busy streets, I can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. Everything is so different here, from the language to the cultural norms. I find myself constantly reminded of my foreignness but also intrigued by the diversity that surrounds me. Luckily, the three of us are fluent in English, so despite the language barrier, we”ll manage.
The aroma of various cuisines wafts through the air, tempting my growling stomach. I catch glimpses of food trucks serving up flavors I’ve never tasted before, and my taste buds tingle with anticipation. Our mission takes priority over satisfying hunger for now.
The driver takes a turn and suddenly it feels like we”re in Moscow again. Kolya turns around to us, “Welcome to Little Russia. Maybe you’ll feel more at home here, huh?” Kolya points out the main cathedral and some other little shops. “This deli up ahead is where you’ll be staying. The apartment above it is all ready for you guys. We”ll provide all necessities; if anything is lacking, we”ll get it. Don’t expect fancy though.”
“We have good women here if you need to relax and unwind.” The driver offers. Kolya nods in agreement, turning to us to gauge our interest.
“Net (No), that won’t be necessary.” Ilya says, speaking for all of us. Kolya shrugs, turning back around in his seat. I chuckle as I look over at Oleg, making a whip-cracking motion towards Ilya. Our women have us all wrapped around their fingers, there is no doubt about it. While many men wouldn’t hesitate at the opportunity to taste the local “cuisine” the three of us have all we need back home.
“We must park farther away and walk because of the busy crowd today. We will grab your bags.” The car pulls over and Kolya exits before the driver even cuts the engine.
We move with purpose, blending into the crowd, determined to stay inconspicuous. Our journey takes us through a neighborhood filled with eclectic Russian shops and colorful murals. The vibrant street art tells stories of a city that embraces creativity and individuality. You see little of that in Moscow. Kolya walks ahead of us, stopping at a small corner building and holds the door open for us.
Entering the little deli is like walking into the kitchen at home. The familiar scent of cured meats and bread reminds me of Lina. I want to call her, to tell her I miss her and the boys. The owner greets us, “Welcome, Pakhan. If you require anything, please let me know.”
“Food and rest for now, I think.” I extend my hand, taking his in mine. “You’ll show us to the apartment?”
“Da, ser (Yes, sir)!” He motions for a teen boy to stand at the counter and ushers us toward the back.
We follow the owner through a narrow hallway, passing by shelves stacked with jars of pickles and cans of caviar. The smell of freshly baked bread fills the air, making my stomach growl in anticipation. At the deli”s back, the owner opens a door, unveiling a stairwell.
The space is simple yet comfortable, with mismatched furniture and a worn-out leather couch. Some fold out cots are pushed up against the corner of the room. The framed photographs adorning the walls capture moments of joy and laughter. It feels like a refuge, a place where we can let our guard down and rest. Where we can plan how we will get to my father without making too much of a mess of San Francisco’s streets.
Ilya takes a seat on the couch, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Kolya plops down on a nearby armchair, his exhaustion clear in his slumped posture. Oleg, always the vigilant one, stands by the window, scanning the surroundings for any potential threats.
“Where was Igor last seen?” I ask Kolya, scanning the room. Walking over to the kitchenette, I notice a kettle sitting on the stove. I fill it with water and set it to boil, the familiar routine bringing a sense of comfort. As the water heats, I scan the shelves, grab a loaf of bread, and slice it into thick, hearty pieces. The aroma of freshly brewed tea and toasted bread fills the room, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere.
”He was last seen here in Little Russia, he hasn”t been back to the pier since he arrived. We”ve made sure of that.” Kolya says, taking a bite of the piece of bread I offered to him. “We have men watching the pier, and if he was to go back they would have alerted us.”
We gather around the small dining table, our fatigue forgotten as we savor the simple pleasure of a meal shared with comrades. The deli owner joins us, pouring tea into delicate porcelain cups and offering us plates filled with cured meats, cheese, pickles and caviar.
As we eat, conversation flows freely. We discuss our plans for the upcoming mission, sharing our thoughts and concerns. The deli owner listens attentively, offering words of encouragement and support. His presence reminds us that in this dangerous world, there are still people who offer help and a sense of home.
After we finish our meal, the deli owner excuses himself, leaving us to rest and recuperate. I sink into the worn-out couch, my eyelids heavy with exhaustion. The events of the day weigh on my mind, but for now, I let them fade away, finding solace in the comfort of this humble abode.
As I drift off to sleep, I can’t help but think of Lina, Dmitriy, and Vasya. I miss them terribly, but I know that this is necessary. I promise myself that once it’s over, I will return to them, to the warmth and love that only my family can provide.
Surrounded by my brothers-in-arms, I find the strength to continue with my resolve. Although our women may have control over us, it is their love and support that drives us to confront the challenges that lie in front of us. Their protection is paramount to everything.
A sharp breeze wafts over me, waking me from my sleep. I grunt, shifting to a seated position on the couch. I rise and gaze through the window. Nightfall transforms the city into a mesmerizing spectacle. Neon lights illuminate the streets, casting a magical glow on the faces of those passing by. The sounds of laughter and music fill the air, bringing a sense of joy amidst our weariness.
I reach for my bag, the weight of it familiar in my hands. Finding my father awaits, and I can’t afford to waste any more time. Every part of me aches to be back with my family. The adrenaline surges through my veins. I am ready. I glance at Oleg and Ilya, their eyes filled with the same unwavering resolve.
“Kolya and his men are downstairs waiting for us,” Oleg says, closing his laptop and slipping his gun into the holster. “You ready to do this, brat (brother)?”
I change clothes and make sure I am all geared up. My guns in their holsters, my knives sharp and ready to go. “Da (Yes), let’s go.”
We step out into the night, the city’s pulse beating beneath our feet. The neon lights guide our path, casting eerie shadows on the walls. In the distance, the faint sound of sirens pierces the air, a reminder of the chaos that awaits us. Kolya has two SUVs in the alley waiting for us.
“Word is your father is at the main cathedral here, attending an evening Liturgy.”
I snort. My father attending liturgy is a surprise. But I guess if you were trying to blend in. That”s the way to do it. We load into the vehicles and head toward the church. “No parishioners are to be harmed. All I want is Igor, eto ponyatno? (is that understood?)” I say aloud and into the earpiece that is connected to every man coming with us.
The resounding “Da’s (Yes”s)” that come through the earpiece is reassuring. I take a deep breath, centering myself. It’s time for Igor to face me.
The lion he made me into is hunting him now.
We reach our destination, the enormous cathedral where my father is hiding. The situation”s gravity sinks in, and nerves and anticipation fill the air. By exchanging glances, we silently acknowledge the risks we are taking, as well as the understanding that unites us.
Outside the church building, we move swiftly, effortlessly blending into the darkness like phantoms. We calculate each step carefully and measure each breath. I enter the church and climb the stairs to the choir loft for a view of the nave. My eyes pan the open space, landing on my father, who is near the front.
It’s eerily quiet. Too quiet.
Suddenly, the sound of gunfire shatters the silence. Bullets whiz past, barely missing their mark. Instinct takes over, and we dive for cover, returning fire with deadly precision.
From the protected balcony of the choir loft, I cautiously peer through the tiny gaps in the wooden railing. Standing beside my father are two men, their hands clutching guns. From above, we could hear the chaos unfolding in the nave below us, with people frantically running in all directions.
“Leonid…Leonid…Leonid, you’ve come all this way to hide like a little suka (bitch)? That doesn’t sound like my syn (son) at all. The syn (son) I raised is a vicious lion who would rip apart the man who had his pregnant wife raped.” The sound of his shoes echoing off the wood floor helps me to track his movements. “Lenya, are you going to kill your father…because of some pussy? When did you become so weak?”
The flames of rage consume me from within. As he casually belittles Lina, his words fan the flames of the hatred that has consumed me my whole life. All I ever wanted from him was to care, to see me as the man whom would take his place someday. To respect me. He doesn’t and I cannot take any more of it.
As I rise, my gun is already in hand, ready to strike with deadly accuracy. Two bullets burst from the chamber, obliterating the skulls of the men standing beside him. Blood spatter and brain matter hit Igor from both sides. “Weak is something I am not, Igor. It’s you who is weak. You feared your syn (son) would change the way your Bratva runs, and you are correct in having that fear. I do plan to change things.” I motion for all the men to stand, giving me cover as I make my way down the stairs to the main floor of the cathedral.
I turn the corner and approach Igor, coming face-to-face with him. “You think taking them away from me would stop any of that?” I stand toe to toe with him. “I already hated you. This just sealed your fate. You hurt moyazhena (my wife). Moya chertova zhena!(My fucking wife)”
“I should have known the three of you would turn into pussies. You were my only hope, Ilya,” Igor glances to my side. Ilya and Oleg come to flank either side of me. “But then I get word that you, too, are being held back by some young pussy.” Igor shakes his head in disappointment.
“You couldn’t just fuck her, and use her like you did all the other women. Ty glupyy sukin syn(You stupid son of a bitch.) you had to fall in love.” He sneers at the words in disgust.
“Fortunately, you won”t witness the changes we”ll make.” I draw my fist back, connecting with his face. Igor hits the ground with a thud that reverberates off the walls of the church. “Sweet dreams, Igor.” I crouch down. “Soon we will be back home and you will suffer for what you’ve done.”