TS 2 Part VI Chapter 16

Chapter 16

April 14^th, 2012

Moscow,

Guntram followed his companion meekly across the train platform, still too afraid to do anything against him. Although the man had been kind to him, buying two glasses of food for Konrad and offering to get extra diapers, Guntram knew better than trusting men. He wondered when he would ask him to do “a special favour” or would turn him back to Constantin where he would be punished for trying to run away.

As the train continued his journey, he became more and more restless, thinking that the Russian would kill his child in a horrible way to punish him.

Ramazov studied at the man-boy sitting across the small compartment and sighed. 'No doubt he was really tamed the hard way. He must be thinking this is a set up. Poor creature, a bullet in his brain would be an act of mercy.'

“I have two daughters myself,” Ramazov said and took his wallet out, noticing how stiff the boy's back went at the simple gesture. With ample and slow moves, he opened it and showed Guntram the photo of two girls. “Natalya and Lara. They are twins and look like their mother. Good for them.”

Guntram said nothing at all and briefly peered at the photos, returning his attention to his now deeply asleep son. He rearranged the child over his shoulder and leaned against his seat, fighting against the tiredness and the mixed feelings battling inside him. Was it true? Was that man really taking him back to Konrad's? Was he going to see his boys? Would they remember him?

Would Konrad want to see him? After all, he had broken up with him in the worst possible way. 'I have to thank that to 'daddy dear'. We should marry him with Konrad's mother and send them on a cruise to the Easter Island. They are perfect for each other. How could I believe him? Why didn't I trust Goran's judgement? He sounded so sincere and concerned about me! And here I am, the toy of a mobster by daddy's courtesy,' he thought bitterly. 'A ten roubles whore. I'm not even clever enough as he is to get a fantastic price for what is worthless.'

“Are we really going to Moscow?” Guntram asked very quietly.

“Yes, we are. A car will take us to the hotel. The Ararat; that's the Order's pied à terre when they're visiting us. Lintorff used to go there a lot. Very fine place and we can't have the former Lord Consort in a pension, can we?”

The phrase hurt Guntram more than anything that could had been said. “Has a new Consort been appointed?” he asked fearfully.

“I doubt very much someone would be as crazy as to like that old hulk,” the Russian chortled with a derogative grimace.

“Konrad is not that bad looking!” Guntram shouted immediately.

“What? I mean Georg von Lintorff. He must be over seventy years old! Maybe eighty! The real Lintorff was kicked out of office in 2010! His cousin replaced him. Pavicevic is still around and crazy as ever. You really changed everything.”

“The Duke is not the Hochmeister any longer?”

“No, they voted him out in December 2009 and he founded his own club. The Order is nothing nowadays as all the Komturen sided with him. In a way, he's much more powerful than ever before. He has no one to answer to. Those who follow him are real Catholic Church fanatics. We are expecting him to organize another crusade to Jerusalem any time soon,” Ramazov snickered.

Guntram looked at the man in shock, unable to find the words to pose all the questions that rushed through his mind.

“You were really out, weren't you? Did Repin tell you nothing?”

“No, the last I know was that the Duke was still looking for me in February or March 2010. A Colombian came to us in Paraguay shouting that he was killing all Colombians because of me.”

“All Colombians is too much. There are some still left,” the Russian chuckled. “But Pavicevic turned the country into a little Yugoslavia. There's the rumour that even the FARC got some of the heat for some unknown reason. Americans soldiers were shocked when they started to find pieces of bodies hanging from the trees.” Ramazov chuckled at a memory and added: “Considering all the meat they spread around, the jaguar must have been spared from extinction.”

Guntram looked through the window and took a deep breath, closing his eyes to ignore the hellish images coming to his mind. 'Not Goran, he's harsh, but he's a good man. He wouldn't do something like that. He's a cultivated man. A humanist.'

“On top, our own Antonov took matters into his hands and scared the shit out of boss. I never saw Oblomov, working so diligently to look for someone. It was a blessing that those idiots of Korsakhov's gang were bragging that they were getting easy money from a rich faggot in Siberia. We found you through them. Boss will settle the score with Repin and your job is to get the Germans back to Europe and keep them there.”

“What did Antonov do?” Guntram couldn't help to ask.

“Let's say he's quite persuasive and Oblomov doesn't like to pick up the pieces of his mistresses in his own bed. If you convince Antonov to be a nice boy again, that would be a plus. He's quite a maverick, but I'm not surprised if he spent six months of his life with the Taliban in Kandahar and lived to tell. The sole survivor of his unit. He killed many of them too. A national hero in the old days. Did he ever show you his medals?”

“No,” Guntram whispered, feeling very sick. “He never told me a thing about the war or his work. We were always speaking about art, literature or films. I know nothing about his past.”

“Typical KGB,” Ramazov chortled. 'Good, he's talking to me.' “Boss says you paint well. Is it true?”

“I paint, that's all,” Guntram answered with real terror lacing his voice and Ramazov wondered why a simple question like that had instilled so much fear in the man.

“May I call you by your Christian name?” Ramazov tried again.

“I prefer Fedia,” Guntram mumbled, fixing his gaze on the floor.

* * *

Still hiding behind the hut where the fodder for the animals was stored, the old Gennady watched the unknown men attack the young man who lived in the large estate next to his. He bit his lips to prevent to cry when he heard the faint shoots in the distance.

Afraid to reveal his hiding place he ducked even more behind the manger protecting him. He heard the vans driving away and sighed with great relief. He lost track of time of how long he stayed hiding and remained there till he heard other cars driving in.

Some minutes later a strong hand pulled him to his feet and he closed his eyes, believing it was his time.

“Hey, Gennady. It's me, Dima!” the tall dark haired man greeted him. “What are you doing here?”

“They came with many vans and took the boy and the baby away.”

“Did you see what happened?” Constantin asked, entering the stable with long strides.

“Yes, through that crack in the wall. Massaiev and the boy came here around twelve o'clock. The baby was here and they were watching the animals when five or six white vans drove very fast over the lane. I was not expecting tourists, so I stayed working here. Massaiev took the boy but the man who was with them shot him in the shoulder. He shot back and killed him. He tried to drive away but the vans started to fire and the car crashed against the trees. Four men, heavily armed dragged him out of the car and I think they killed him. The boy shot two of the attackers and tried to run away with his baby but the men caught him. He really fought against them but they were stronger. Then came this other big man and shouted not to hurt him.”

“Is Fedia dead?”

“No, they dragged Massaiev out of the car and shot him. The man spoke with the boy in English I think and another man took him to a car and they drove direction the city. The other vans drove direction your house. Fedia didn't want to go with them but he had no other choice.”

“It's all right, Gennady,” Dima said evenly. “We will take care of everything.”

“Do you want the films? I don't know how to use it but my son installed these cameras to protect the animals from rustlers. Maybe the police can identified the ones who took your child.”

“Do you have videos?”

“I don't know how to use it.”

“Show them to us, please,” Constantin asked.

* * *

'It's hopeless. He's brainwashed. Seven hours in the fucking train and he didn't drink or ate a single thing. Only fed the baby, after he tried that disgusting glass jar. He keeps telling me that his name is Fyodor Tarasov no matter if he knows all the Order's members,' Ramazov thought darkly. He watched how Guntram carefully inspected the large living room of the suite they had been given at the luxurious hotel, not really crossing the door, but standing at the doorstep. He sighed and walked over his steps and closed the door almost hitting the young man with it, but effectively forcing him to jump into the room to avoid being crushed.

The semi modern-baroque decoration drove Guntram more nervous than before as it reminded him of the many places he had been before. The short ragged yells of happiness made by Konrad forced him to put him on the floor and the child, laboriously stood up, grabbing from his trousers and tried a few unsteady steps before deciding to crawl as it was faster and safer.

“Do you want to eat something now?” Ramazov asked nonchalantly, looking at the baby crawling very quickly around the room.

“Why don't we fly tonight?”

“We need papers for the child. We were not expecting him. Boss was running like crazy when he heard where were you. He needs a passport. Takes some time to make one that really looks good. We leave tomorrow morning, Guntram.”

“My name is Fedia Tarasov.”

“Suit yourself.” 'I will have to put him on Lintorff's doorstep or better, on top of his darn desk. I don't trust he will go to his people on his own. For some reason he's terrified to return home. Weird.' The Russian walked toward the phone and picked up the receiver and once more asked “I'm having dinner. Do you want to eat with me? You could really use some meat.”

“Just water.”

“Look, if it's because of the money, Oblomov pays the tab and he's happy to do it. Maybe Lintorff is nicer to him afterwards. The sirloin with pepper is good. Ah no, you have a heart condition! Plain grilled sirloin for you.”

“I have no heart condition. I'm healthy.”

“Denial is not a good medication,” the man smirked and realised something else. “Shit! We don't have your fucking pills!”

“I don't need them. I had a surgery and I only take one pill per day. A beta blocker. Nothing else,” Guntram lied calmly.

“You had a surgery? When? Where?” 'Please, don't tell me it's true. Lintorff is going to kill us all if Repin messed with his heart.'

“Mr. Kuragin saved my life.” Guntram said stubbornly.

“Boy, you're truly crazy,” the Russian mumbled before he dialled the restaurant's number to order two sirloins. “Check in which room there's a crib for your son and put him to sleep. Do you need something for him?”

“Some warm milk?” Guntram dared to ask after a long and silent debate, fixing his eyes on his child, entertained with the golden curtains' tassels.

“Sure,” the man shrugged. “Why don't you get him out of the snow-suit? It must be pretty hot in there.”

“I have no other clothes for him.”

“Shit! I didn't realise that. We have to get something for him... and nappies too. Babies shit everywhere and it's very late. Stay here. I'll ask the reception to get something for him. What's his size?”

“He's a year and a half old. An eighteen months size suits fine him. He's small for his age.”

“Don't open the door to anyone. Stay with him.” The Russian ordered in a hurry and left the room, locking the door behind him.

Guntram looked around in panic and controlled his breathing before it would start to be ragged. Konrad seemed to be very happy walking like a duck from one ornamented armchair to the other. Guntram crumbled over the sofa under the window and called his child who came to him, crawling as always. He picked up his boy and crushed him against his chest before he softly caressed his blond bangs. “What are we going to do, Konrad?” he asked desperately. “They say we are going home, but I don't believe it. It's another trick.”

The baby laughed at his father and placed his chubby hand on his face, slightly patting him, to suddenly become serious and focus all his attention on his father's shirt's collar, fondling with it.

“I wish I could to the same,” Guntram whispered, delicately removing the hand before the baby would tear the fabric. “If Oblomov distracts Constantin long enough, we might get to Zurich. If not, he will come after us or will do bad things to your brothers.”

'Who am I kidding? Klaus and Karl are not his brothers. Konrad would never let them be near me again. I lost them because of my own stupidity and jealousy.' He clutched his son against his chest once more and the baby slightly protested after he was squeezed for so long.

The sound of the door been opened made Guntram jump from his sofa and press his back against the wall.

“My, you are really nervous,” Ramazov said as he entered the room, a large pack of diapers hanging from his arm. “Reception called the owner of a baby clothes shop and she will be here with some things for him in half an hour. The bell boy got this from a pharmacy. For all our sakes, I hope they fit,” The Russian joked. “Why don't you get your clothes off and take a bath? You could relax a bit, too before room service comes here.” he added nonchalantly.

Guntram looked at the man with clear horror in his face and gulped noisily. 'he's blocking the door and there's no way I can overpower him. Time to pay for Conor's dinner.' Feeling as if he were dying of shame, he fixed his eyes on a point on the floor and removed his light blue jersey and began to unbutton his shirt,

Ramazov looked at him in shock as the young man removed his clothes, revealing his body to him. “What the fuck are you doing?” he yelled hysterically.

“Please, let's do it in your bedroom,” Guntram muttered as he unbuckled his belt. “Not in front of my child.”

“What???” the Russian roared. “I'm no faggot!! I'm straight. Very straight!”

“You told me to get my clothes off,” Guntram stuttered in shock. “I can make it worth for you.”

“I'm not into boys and much less into skeletons!” The man screamed and Guntram looked at him with watery eyes. “Look, the last I want in this life is a mess with Lintorff's boyfriend. I have a wife, two daughters, a lover and that's more than I can cope with. Get dressed or get your clothes off it in the bathroom,” Ramazov said, embarrassed and fixing his gaze in one corner of the room. 'Did Repin forgot to feed him? Shit, Ukrainians after the Revolution looked better than him.'

“You offered food for us and I...” Guntram started to say, mortally ashamed as he quickly picked up his shirt, putting it on back over his chest.

“Thought I wanted to fuck you?” the man completed the sentence, still unable to look in the young man's direction. “No!” He shouted emphatically. “I mean, you're not bad looking, but boys are really not my thing,” he added hurriedly. 'Great job, you piss off the little prima donna and he will complain to Lintorff and you are dead, Piotr. All faggots are like this, like stupid women.”

“I'm sorry for my mistake, sir,” Guntram mumbled ashamed.

“Were you doing this much?” Ramazov asked before he could bit his tongue.

“Sometimes,”

“Shit!” Ramazov cursed and then looked at the baby realising the situation. “Did you do this because of him?”

“Yes,” Guntram whispered.

“Don't do it again. I will tell nothing. You do the same. It's not as if you had a choice. This will only embarrass your child in the future.”

“You're right, thank you.”

“This is why you didn't eat in the train?” Guntram only nodded. “Get a shower, now,” the man growled and turned his back to Guntram, who silently left the room.

* * *

Dressed in the hotel pyjamas, Guntram ate part of his dinner after he gave the bottle to Konrad and almost coerced him into eating a peeled apple, before a woman arrived with a large box full of clothes. Unable to pick anything, Guntram's nerves almost betrayed him once more and Ramazov preferred to send him to put the child in bed with a pair of nightclothes he selected himself.

“I'll choose what's best for the child. You put him in bed,” he simply ordered and Guntram obeyed, relieved that he didn't have to make any decision with so many strangers around. The Russian sighed tiredly and returned his attention to the shocked woman standing in the room. He simply ordered her to select what a child would need for two days. The saleswoman was paid and dismissed after she finished her work.

The man silently opened the door to the bedroom and gasped when he saw his “protegé” leaning over the crib, carefully arranging the covers around the small baby. “Guntram, I am going to get your papers, now. Stay here, watch a little TV and go to bed. Don't wait up for me. This might take a while.” The Russian mildly ordered him. 'Forget about using his real name. He's crazy as a cuckoo. I will have to tell the migration officer that he's mute or he'll screw it up. Good we took some extra photos at the train station.'

“The name is Fedia,” Guntram clarified once more.

“Very well, Fedia,” Ramazov sneered. “Be nice and stay with your child. There's an international Russian news TV channel, if you want to watch it. Might be good to know what's going on in the world.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

Constantin watched in silence as Dima slit the old man's throat after he had shown them where was the computer. With his gloves on he searched for the footage and held his breath when the shooting started, amateurishly aiming at the car. Proudly, he admired how Guntram was able to kill someone without a second thought when his child was in danger. 'Finally he learned his lesson.' He gulped nervously when two unknown men caught him and tore the child away from him, hitting him to control him.

Dima looked at his boss' face display of pure rage when Constantin identified Oblomov's form shaking his angel awake.

“Ivan Ivanovich must have an accident, don't you think?” he whispered.

“As the old man said, they took Fedia and Conor to the city's direction. We can still get them, if we hurry.”

“No, first we clean up here. We must leave the place at once. Obviously Korsakhov sold us to Oblomov. Switch on all the devises and I want no survivors this time, is that clear Klatschko?”

* * *

Once Guntram was certain that his son was well asleep, he lowered his guard and crumbled on the sofa, unable to lift a finger, overwhelmed by the day's events, rushing through his mind in a frenzy madness. He closed his eyes but he couldn't cast the ghosts away. 'I killed two men today. I ruined two families and I still don't know why and how I could do it.'

'I never realised what I was doing. I just shot to kill.'

'I'm a murderer now. A cold blood murderer.'

'I've ruined my life and the police will take my child away. What's going to happen to him? Will he be sent to a foster home? In Russia? No one is going to believe me! I've been living with Constantin for two years! No hostage does this!'

'Did those two men have wives and children? What will become of them? Did they really try to help me and I killed them?'

'Am I really going back to Zurich?'

'Constantin would have never hurt Massaiev. Poor Mikhail. He was always protecting me when things were bad,' Guntram thought, remembering all the times the old man had done his best to calm down Constantin when he was disobeying him. 'Mikhail was always kind to my Konrad, playing with him or holding him. Like a grandfather. He always treated me well after I stopped giving him troubles. Maybe it's true that Oblomov wants to help me, but he was the one who deceived us into believing Constantin was dead in the first place.'

'Is Constantin dead? I never wanted that. I only wanted to escape him. He was brutal to me but he always did his best to make me happy. He loved me even if he knew I never loved him back. He gave me my health back and my baby and I loved him like a friend because of that. If I would have never met Konrad, I would have certainly loved him. Is he also lying dead in a frozen road like Mikhail? Will anyone care for him now? What will I do without him? He would have never set me free and he must be hiding somewhere, waiting to catch me again and punish me for trying to run away like before. Yes, that's right. I'm endangering my own son with my own recklessness!'

“These men are Oblomov's people! They are gangsters like Korsakhov's people! They won't take me home unless they get a lot of money from Konrad! What if he doesn't want to pay? What if they hurt my baby in revenge?'

'What if the person around my boys hears that Constantin is dead and kills them?'

'I can't return there! Constantin's soldiers could kill Klaus and Karl just to avenge him! What if he paid them in advance? What if they hate the Order more than anything? What if they are like my father?'

Unable to think any longer, Guntram rose from the sofa and walked toward the small automatic espresso machine. He took one of the white porcelain mugs and a teabag, his gaze getting lost in the steaming water falling over the teabag, drawing brown spirals in the transparent liquid.

“Hey, dark tea is as bad as black coffee,” a voice interrupted his trance and Guntram looked dumbfounded at Ramazov, standing at the door. The Russian walked into the living room and removed his heavy coat and scarf, “It's freezing out there, but we have everything almost ready. Illya is a master when it comes to papers.”

Guntram touched the mug and it was cold. 'What happened to the time? Did I space out again?' he wondered but said nothing, only watching the man go to switch on the flat TV, partially hidden in a closet. The blinking lights flooded the room and the man slouched on the couch.

“Did you know the two men from today?” Guntram asked nervously as the Russian loosened his tie.

“Who?”

“The two, you know...”

“The ones you sent to the other neighbourhood? Is that the correct expression in English? I don't know any more. We used to have very good English training courses, but not any longer.”

“Yes, those persons. Did they have a family?”

“I don't know. Not from our team, if that's what you want to know. Locals and real idiots. Who in his own mind comes near to a hostage who could be armed without telling a thing?”

“I didn't mean to hurt them. I still don't know why I did it.”

“Don't worry about it. It's logical what you did. If you have wolf in a cage, you run to safety before you open the latch,” the Russian shrugged. “Local police must be glad that you got rid of two of their problems. We won't charge Lintorff for this,” he added with a smirk.

“I just killed two men,” Guntram whispered, unable to understand why the man was so casual about it.

“First time, uh? Well, don't worry. No one will miss them, and it was only one. The other is just wounded. They were men of no importance.” He shrugged again. “Now, let me see the news, will you?” Ramazov returned his attention to the TV, forgetting that Guntram was there as he dropped two Uruguayan passports over the coffee table.

“We have one for the baby too. Private flight and as Uruguayan, you don't need visa to enter in Europe, right? We will stick to the story you already know, just to avoid troubles or slips. We have also included a Golden Visa, just in case but the Swiss never ask about anything as long as you behave nice and have a lot of money. It's their lifestyle, you know?” he joked.

“Yes, that's true,” Guntram mumbled.

“That watch of yours is a Patek Philippe?”

“Yes, it is. Do you want it?” Guntram detached the watch from his wrist and offered it to the Russian.

“No! I have a very good Rolex. My wife bought it for me. See?” He said very proudly but took the item to closely inspect it. “I just wanted to take a look at it. It's really nice and certainly looks expensive.”

“I bought it years ago...” Guntram froze when the images on the TV showed a well know landscape and he almost cried when he watched the mass of twisted metals that the four white vans from the morning had been reduced to. The images seemed to have been taken from a helicopter circling the debris.

“That's the entrance road to Mr. Kuragin's estate,” he said with a raspy voice.

“What?” the man shouted and turned the volume up to hear the news in Russian, his face paling as the anchorwoman's report drew on.

Guntram couldn't pry his fascinated eyes from the images showing the turned down van and the dark holes spots hurting the white snowy cover. “What happened? Is Constantin dead?” he whispered.

“Shh!” Ramazov silenced him. “This is very bad.”

“What?” Guntram asked once more but the man didn't hear him as he swore in Russian. “Please, tell me!” he shouted once the story changed into another.

“Oblomov and the others are presumably dead. The road was full of boob-traps and somehow they detonated. Crazy Repin had everything full with land-mines, like in Afghanistan. The bomb squad is trying to clean the area before the police can enter. No survivors, it seems.”

“Constantin is alive?” Guntram asked horrified.

“I don't know. Obviously, they didn't catch him. Korsakhov said he had nothing!”

“He will be furious with all of us! Massaiev told me he had people in the south, from the Red Army, but I didn't believe him. He said he was paying Korsakhov as it was cheaper than wiping him out.”

“Fucking Repin. He must be looking for you and the baby,” Ramazov mumbled. “We have to get you out of here as this is the first place he's going to look for you... Shit!”

Guntram looked at the man terrified but kept his mouth shut.

“I have to get you out of here ASAP. Get your clothes and the child. We are leaving now,” he said

“Where are you taking me?”

“To a safe house. That's the best I can do till Pavicevic or any of the others pick you up. I have to disappear before Repin finds and kills me. Without Oblomov, we are at war. All of us! You will stay there and do nothing, do you understand me?”

“Don't take me back to him!” Guntram pleaded. “He's going to kill my baby for running away!”

“I'm calling Lintorff! Don't you get it?”

“No!! Don't call him! If Alexander knows I'm with him, he'll kill my children!”

“Are you delusional, boy?”

“No, he'll kill my baby or my sons. I lose anyway! Take me back to him!”

“You're making no sense at all! Do you even hear yourself?”

“Take me back to Kuragin. You must know where he is!” Guntram pleaded. “Maybe he forgives me and spares my baby! I didn't want to come with you in the first place!”

“No! Do you think he's going to be a civilised man? I know Repin since 1999 and believe me, he's a butcher to his victims! You must return to the Order. With Oblomov gone, this is total war again!”

Ramazov was desperately trying to find a solution. 'The blast must have happened almost after we took the train, so Repin must be on his way to Moscow. By plane, he's already here and no one knows a thing! He will butcher all of us in the blink of an eye if he kept the Ovtcharki ¹ with him. Shit! It was too easy to begin with!'

“Look boy, there's not much I can do for you now. I have my own family to take care. I'll take you to a safe house. You can call whoever you want; Repin, Lintorff or Santa Claus. I'm leaving the city before the Ovtcharki come.”

“Which Ovtcharki?”

“Those are Repin's private guard of fanatics. After his death, they just vanished, but if you say he had people in the South, I assume they all returned to the Caucasus, where they come from. What was the name of the man who was in charge of the security?”

“Dimitri Nicolaievich. Don't know his last name. He wanted to be called Dima.”

“Dima Klatschko?” Ramazov asked dismayed. “Klatschko from Chechnya?”

“He told me his family lives in Grozny.”

“Get ready now. We don't have much time.” Ramazov got his mobile phone out of his pocket to frantically dial a number.

* * *

The cars halted in front of the small private area of the city's airport and Constantin and his six men jumped out of the cars.

“Mr. Kuragin, we were not expecting you at all!” One of the security guards said, rushing to their encounter. “Your pilots are not here,”

“I was hoping to catch an old friend... did they leave already?” Constantin asked feigning some desperation in his voice. “He offered me a lift to Moscow.”

“You're really late, sir. The Lukoil jet left some four hours ago.”

“No one else? He's tall and wears a dark olive coat.”

“We have no other flights scheduled for today and the commercial one left at 11 a.m. Gazprom people arrived two hours ago but they left for their offices. The mechanics are checking the aircraft now. If you want to fly now, you will have to wait some hours. You know we need a minimum of three hours before a flight plan is accepted, sir.”

“Never mind, Kyrill. Thank you,” answered Constantin, giving the man a note before he turned around and went back to his car.

Once inside the Land Rover, Dima looked at him expectantly. “Taking them by car is suicidal, so that leave us a single option; train station,” Constantin mused. “Let's find out which was the last long distance train. Get those lazy pilots here and set a route to...” Constatin looked for something in his iPhone. “Moscow. I want to be there before ten o'clock.”

“What about the other thing?”

“We change to plan B. Spread the word among the men. The diversions will slow down the police for a few days.”

* * *

Guntram looked at the large array of social buildings, almost impossible to distinguish in the black night, and gulped, pressing his baby's body more against his chest. Grimacing a bit after he laid the infant's weight on his left arm to open the car's door, he got out and watched how Ramazov gathered the big bag containing the baby supplies.

“Follow me and don't make friends here,” the man said, walking to the entrance to kick a young man sleeping slouched in the hall, who covered away at the sight of the well dressed man, looking like an officer. “Where are the police when you need them?” he growled. “Disgusting filths.”

Guntram watched in horror that the paint was almost crumbling in places and the corridors were filled with trash. “Where are we?” he asked.

“Nothing fancy, uh? Obviously we don't bring the tourists here. Come, the flat is on the fourth floor. I'll go first and kick the addicts,” Ramazov smirked and took the stairs up, lighting up a flashlight. “Don't use the elevator. Stairwell is better.”

Guntram took another look around and wrinkled his nose at the smell of urine. “What is this place?” he whispered.

“Trashcan. No one looks in here. These were social houses, but people moved out when they made some money. Nowadays, the government don't look after them and the ones who move in are very poor or in the drugs business. The homeless punks are harmless if they already had their daily fix. Don't be afraid to shoot them down. They will be less missed than your other two, Guntram.”

“I can't stay here with my child!” Guntram whispered furiously and grabbed the man by his sleeve. “This is dangerous!”

“It's only for a few days. Close the door and stay inside. It's a safe house and the people here knows it.”

“Safe house?”

“For Mafia boys in need of holidays,” Ramazov explained him, huffing at the youth's naïveté. “Don't mess around if you want to leave in one piece. None of your neighbours will knock on your door to ask for a cup of sugar.”

They continued to climb the stairs up to the fourth floor and Guntram was glad that Konrad was deeply asleep in his arms. He thought he had seen a girl huddled in a corner, but he didn't stop to take a second look, preferring to jump inside the small flat opened in front of him.

Ramazov closed the door behind them and locked it up, showing that it was a real reinforced door with six different interconnected bolts. “Windows are bullet-proof glass and the walls have an extra concrete and steel layer. The shutters are almost unbreakable.”

Guntram looked around the flat and realised that it was simply decorated with very expensive furniture. “It doesn't fit to the general ambiance,” he said with a dry smile.

“Well boy, all the other rooms were already taken,” Ramazov chuckled and set the room temperature to 21º C. “You have food for a week, things for the baby for a few days, internet and a phone. Call whoever you want, but don't stay long here. Maximum three or four days. Repin must be looking for you like crazy. Don't talk with the locals.”

“Will Repin not look for me here?”

“No, I don't think so, but drug addicts and small thieves are natural snitches. No one should see you. This house is in the market since a year or two, so he shouldn't know about it. Call your people. I'm leaving you the address written in this card. They should pick you up here. Under no circumstance walk alone in the streets. Is that clear?”

“Yes, but what should I do?”

“Get back to your people. They will know what to do.”

“What if Constantin gets to my children first?”

“I don't know. I have trouble of my own. Call Lintorff or Repin, but don't tell who I am. Do me that favour, boy.”

“Yes, I will. Thank you.”

“Good luck,” the man turned around, not waiting for an answer.

A wave of terror took over Guntram when he saw the door being closed. Without leaving his son, he locked the door and leaned against it, raggedly breathing, unable to control the tremors running through his body. For the first time in years, he was completely alone and free. No one was there to tell him what to do or where to go. He felt lost like a dog without his master.

'That's what I've become. A dog,' he thought and he felt the old but well known pain in the chest. Immediately, he felt better but very tired. With faltering steps he walked to the closed door and opened it to find the bedroom, only decorated with a double bed and a small desk and a laptop. He laid his son on the bed and removed his clothes, covering him with the blankets. As usual, Konrad didn't stirred when he was changed. Next to the small bedroom was a modern bathroom and Guntram began to remove his thick coat, shivering a bit a the change of the temperature.

He searched the kitchen and found a collection of canned foods, wines, juices and cookies. There were vodka and cigarettes cartons to entertain an army and Guntram smirked at the sight of the twenty-something different boxes. 'When we were children we always dreamed of a tree-house full of candies, but when you're old you get one full of vodka and Cuban cigars. Do mobsters have a trade union and deduct money from their profits to support this?'

'Or is this all included in the taxes? No one pays more money to the state than them,' he thought with an incredible desire to laugh.

He went back to the small living room and sat at the crystal-steel designer's table. The giggles were almost impossible to control and unable to truly understand why, he started to laugh like a madman, till the point his eyes started to cry and his sides hurt from the effort. As suddenly and unexpectedly as the laugh had begun, he began to sob and the sobs quickly gave way to a heartbroken crying, burying his head on his arms, till his body gave up and he fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Inside his jet, Constantin was looking through the files he had on Oblomov's most trusted men. 'Intelligence is always a good investment.'

“That one!” Dima shouted pointing at one man. “That's the one who took Fedia! Ramazov.”

“You have a target now,” Constantin said with a calm voice as he handled the folder to Dima.

“Moscow is big, boss.”

“Being the chicken my dear friend Ivan Ivanovich is, I would bet all my accounts in the Bahamas that he's trying to return my Fedia to Lintorff. However, his plan met with an unexpected problem: Conor. He can't get the baby out of the country (unless he puts him in a box), without papers and they should be well made as to pass the customs and police controls.”

“I know only two people in Moscow who are good enough or have the proper materials to do it with such short notice.”

“And only one answers to Oblomov. We know whom to visit first.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Ah, get this Ramazov's family too. They may come handy,” Constantin said leaning against his seat as the man rose from his chair and put as much distance as he could from his boss.

'My poor Fedia really looked terrified when they took him away,' he thought as he replayed the footage once more in his laptop. 'He certainly didn't want to go with that man. Maybe, all this mess still plays in my favour.'

1Caucasian sheepdog. Known for their very large size and ferocity.