Jess puts up a smile that looks equally amused and devious, then responds.
"Let's just say I prefer to use a less gung-ho approach in solving problems. I think it's easy to understand - first you play within the system, then you bend the rules, and only then can you break them after you've made sure you'll not be caught. Unfortunately, my comrades here are about as subtle as Austin Powers is sexy."
Comrade General Alexander Koskov is a Red Army officer. He started his "illustrious" career being a Gold Medalist in the Olympics. Soon after, "Alexi" was modeled by the Party leaders as the quintessential Communist. Through no small part of the Party, he quickly advanced through the ranks of the Red Army. His military exploits include some of the few successful operations in Afghanistan (1980's) and oversaw the campaign into Chechnya. He's known in most of Russia as "Alexander the Great", but if you've seen him in action he's pretty much known as a megalomaniacal butcher. I believe his current assignment as a military "analyst" for the former Russian satellite is less than reputable and dubious if you ask me.
"Yeah, yeah, so I pushed the guy too far. Whatddya expect me to do, just stand there? The guy's a psycho. Look, I can smell 'evil bastard' and that guy reeked."
"That doesn't make you the supreme arbiter of good character. If you'd spent some training time listening in on the courses for representatvive agents, you'd have learned that bullies like him take every offense personal and lash out violently if they feel that someone's trying to get the better of them. Even if I thought I'd stand a chance in a brawl with him, I'd never have engaged that guy. Which is exactly why I talk to people - I know such stuff. You don't. Save your one-liners for the next movie set."
"Yeah. Well, I didn't see you sticking up for the poor guy who just happened to be our contact. Think of it this way - when the assassins come after us on this trip, we'll know who sent them for once. Now leave me alone with my ice pack, will ya?"
*Bitch. Doesn't she think I know I fucked up? Don't need her verbally spanking me too...*
As train speeds down the railway at an almost blinding clip there is good news and bad news. The good news is that the train is on schedule. The bad news is that one slight imperfection in the rails will no doubt cause a train wreck of Fugitive-scale proportions.
The clicking of the tracks gets almost harmonious as the team attempts to catch some long overdue shut-eye. Two hours pass by as the door of the team's cabin is knocked upon.
"Greetings. I just wanted to let you know that overheard a coversation the General having on his cel phone. It appears that he will be having some guests joing him at the next stop. This is highly unusual as he normally travels alone."
"Er...yes, no wonder. I suppose I need to brush up on my colloquial English. Your donation will be more than enough to get you on the good side of the General. Shall I attach a note saying something to the effect of, Sorry, no hard feelings?.
"He's not one for visitors, I'd recommend that I deliver it to him. At the very least, the General will probably not consider caving in your friend's head the next time they bump into eachother..."
As Gregor finishes the delivery arrangements with the team, there is a knock on the cabin door. A voice on the other side mutters something in an unintelligible dialect...Central Asian...Mongolian perhaps?
Gregor pauses mid-sentence and thinks for a second, then addresses the team.
"That was Khulan, the real eyes and ears of this railway. He's a Mongolian waiter with a penchant for spying and a seemingly bottomless pit of information. He just told me that there's been a slight change in the General's itinerary. The General's business associates will be ferrying in via helicopter. I suppose I should have told you that the General's car has a small heliport behind it. Anyway, his associates should be here by nightfall."
The train steams into the Samara station as the platform becomes alive with people getting on/off the train. Gregor knocks on the team's cabin door.
"Hello again. The train has a 30 minute layover. I suggest you go out, get some reasonably fresh air and stretch your legs. The next stop isn't for another 7 hours and the Kazakhstani border guards in Orsk aren't too keen on the idea of westerners milling about their station. In the meantime, I will be going to meet my friend who just may have what you're looking for. Remember, whether you're on the train or not...it leaves in 30, er...make that 28 minutes."
Gatac
