As Art comes close, Peter turns to him, talking somewhat quieter in English.

"The cop's partner is injured. See if you can patch him. And let me do the talking, I don't want to fuck this up."

The cop's attention is focused on the remaining passenger in the Mercedes.

"SHP. Come out with your hands up!"

Generating no response, the cop gets down low and approaches the open rear passenger door. Moments later, Peter sees the cop exiting the vehicle and holstering his pistol.

(looking Peter's way)

"Hey! You! Help me. This guy's unconscious and jammed into the front seat."

"Sure thing, officer."

Peter holsters his revolver, then strides over to help the cop.

The cop pulls out a pocketknife and re-enters the Mercedes. Peter can hear the sound of the car's airbag deflate as he approaches the backdoor. Ducking his head inside, he sees the policeman fumbling with the seat's controls.

"I drive a Lada. This car costs more than I'll ever make. Perhaps you know how to get the seat to fold back?"

Peter nods in sympathy.

"Don't worry. I do cars for a living."

Peter contorts his hands and deftly moves the seat.

"There."

The leather seat hums as it retracts back, affording a much easier extracation of the passenger. A brief glance tells Peter and the officer that the person is:

1) Male, approximately 25-30yrs of age.
2) Aside from the fact that he's unconscious, he appears to be unhurt in the crash.

"You pull his arms, I'll get his legs."

Artis opens the rear door of the squadcar, looking at the police officer who presently is bleeding out from multiple GSWs.

"HOW IS JOSEF DOING?", shouts the patrolman (unintelligably) to Artis as he and Peter pull the passenger out of the Mercedes.

Peter shakes his head.

"He's my half-brother from America. He doesn't speak Russian."

Peter turns around to look at Artis.

"How's the cop?"

Traincar, Trans-Siberian Railroad

The man standing before Jacque realizes the delicate nature of the situation, motioning towards his pocket saying something to the extent of "Don't shoot!", while slowly descending to his knees as he does so.

Moten expresses the first sign of being happy since he arrived in town. "Thank you very much, ma'am, you've been a big help to us," he says. "Could you tell me where the train station is?"

The nurse points Moten and Brian in the direction of the trainstation where they arrive about 20 minutes later. It is a bustling center of activity for the city with people coming to/fro with the urgency of any major Western metropolis.

Handwritten and updated by a two-man crew is a large chalkboard in the main hall. It lists arrival/departure times for trains entering/leaving the station. Moten scans the board for any train heading in the direction of Novosibirsk in the last four hours, yielding three possible choices.

-Two commuter trains that specifically make Krasnoyarsk-Novosibirsk route.
-One Trans-Siberian train that goes all the way to Moscow.

Moving slowly forward, Jacque orders the man to spread his arms out wide. He will continue to cover the man until things are resolved inside the cabin.

"He... um, yeah, he'll be fine!" Artis calls back, disregarding the medical kit and fishing his stimulant shot out of his own gear. "Forget bandages, there's a reason they give us foolproof syringes," he mutters under his breath as he hopes the shot will stabilize the wounded cop.

Peter nods to Art, then turns back to the cop.

"He'll make it. How's your wound?"

Artis shoots the cops up with the andrenaline/morphine cocktail, yielding what appears to be a positive result from the injection. The cop's eyes open wide, his lungs gasping for air. He still needs to get to a hospital ASAP, but he's stable for now.

"I'm alright, just a scratch."

The patrolman directs Peter to lay the unconscious Mercedes' passenger on the ground beside the squadcar. His back touching the bitterly cold surface, the passenger immediately wakes up from his stupor.

"Wh-where am I? Sasha?", mumbles the passenger.

His eyes open, revealing Peter and the patrolman standing over him. The patrolman has since pulled out his pistol and is aiming it at the man's face.

"Don't fucking move, asshole!"

"Oh shit! More fucking cops! Ok! Ok! Don't fucking shoot! I've already been shot once today by the police and that's enough for me!"

(holding his arms out as if to surrender)

His arms spread, Peter notices through the unzipped portion of his jacket a small patch of blood pooling on the man's shirt.

The patrolman continues his lack of sympathy for his suspects, stepping on the man's chest.

"Yeaaargh! Oh fuck! God that hurts!" screams the passenger in great pain.

(Lifting his boot off the guy)

"Yeah. He's been shot alright. No one cries like that unless you have."

(Edited by Dieter at 12:09 pm on Jan. 11, 2005)

Peter nods.

"Want me to search him?"

"Go ahead. I want to check on my partner."

The patrolman walks over to the backseat of his squadcar, calling in on his radio.

"Unit Two-Eight to Central. Officers down, Mile Mark Two-Two-Three. Request immediate medical assistance. Over."

His radio remains silent as the patrolman takes a look at his partner. Having some confidence that he'll make it, he shakes Artis' hand.

"Spasibo."

Control to Unit Two-Eight. Medical assistance currently unavailable. You'll have to bring them in yourself, Igor. Over?

Igor grumbles.

"Unit Two-Eight to Control. Understood. I will be escorting a civilian rig to the field barracks Nine-Seven. Prepare for casualties."

Igor unclips a set off cuff's off his partner's belt and exits the squadcar, approaching Peter who is currently searching the passenger.

(tossing Peter the cuffs)

"Put those on him. He's not getting away again."

A pat-down finds nothing of note on the passenger other than a phone, an empty 9mm, and said bleeding bandage. What -does- catch Peter's eye is the aforementioned assault rifle sitting beside the squadcar.

Peter handcuffs the bad guy, then walks over to the cop.

"Excuse me, officer, but we're in a bit of a hurry. The truck's full of movie props, and our production is already way behind the schedule...Gary there was supposed to be filming an action scene two hours ago."

Quote:

Quote: from Gatac on 2:01 pm on Jan. 11, 2005

"Excuse me, officer, but we're in a bit of a hurry. The truck's full of movie props, and our production is already way behind the schedule...Gary there was supposed to be filming an action scene two hours ago."

"Wrong. You and your friend are going to transport these two (glancing at the suspects) to my barracks while I follow you in my car with my partner. I didn't chase these bastards for the last 50km without something to show for the effort."

Peter sighs.

"Well, I suppose there's no harm in helping you transport two criminals."