Page 10 of Sinful Promise

The landing is smooth. When the door opens, we exit the plane and find Alex’s contact waiting to pick us up. Pavel is a Belarusian we’ve used in the past.

We open the cargo door and retrieve our duffel bags, Alex’s stash of long-range weapons, and a gear bag. We load everything into a vehicle waiting for us on the tarmac. I shake hands with Pavel, a tall man in a long-sleeved dress shirt, black dress pants, and worn dress shoes. His dark hair is thinning prematurely. But I don’t need him to have hair. I need him to do his job and do it well.

I need him not to double-cross us.

“How are you?” He’s happy to see us. I wonder if he’d still be smiling if he knew what we wanted. The people here tend to turn away when things don’t look right. They don’t like trouble, and that’s my middle name.

I take the back seat, letting Alex have the front. Pavel pulls onto a main road and heads into the city. The scenery reminds me of Russia, as it should, since this was once part of the motherland. Most of the states that fell away from the Kremlin remain close to Russia, and the borders are easy to cross. It’s only in times of political turmoil that people may quietly dissent among themselves. For practical purposes, Belarusians and Russians are the same, with different leaders and slightly different cultures.

“So, Pavel, we haven’t seen you in some time.” I start a conversation while looking out the window. I want to be on the Mediterranean instead of in this landlocked country.

“No, you have not.”

“How is business?”

“Slow. Very slow.”

It’s what I expected to hear. The economy is weak, and their homes are unimpressive. Many crops are grown here and traded to Russia for affordable energy.

“We’re looking for Ratmim Kozlov. Do you know where we might find him?”

Is it my imagination, or does Pavel stiffen at the mention of his name?

Alex takes over telling him that we mean the man no harm. We have business with Ratmim and don’t intend for Pavel to get caught in the middle.

“I don’t know.” Pavel hedges and grips the steering wheel harder.

“Pavel, it’s more money. I will make it worth your while. We’ll need your help to find him. No one will catch on if you don’t spend all the money quickly. Be smart, and you’ll be fine.” As I coax him, his knuckles fade from pink to death-grip pale.

“I know you mean well, but he’s not a man I want to cross. He makes raids inside Russia. His men are all over,” Pavel says.

“Who is he aligned with for protection?”

“I’m not sure. There are so many lower-level officials. It’s a maze. We are the mice in the fields. They are the cats.”

His fear is real. Men like Ratmim don’t like being bothered by anyone outside their network. If you passed him on the street and said, “Hello,” he’d look at you with his ugly mug as if you were nothing to him. They freely switch their allegiances to whoever pays them the most. Greed is commonplace, especially when there is only enough money to meet people’s basic needs. If you want anything extra, you’d better be willing to steal it or die for it.

Pavel pulls up in front of a local motel with four floors. Alex runs in and pays for a room while I continue to work on Pavel. I hand him hundreds of Belarusian rubles. “There’s more where this came from.”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” he murmurs, stuffing the money in his pocket. His knuckles return to normal as his hands relax on the steering wheel.

“Great. Alex will call you later,” I inform him. Pavel nods.

Alex returns to the car and tells Pavel to drive around the back. We pull up to our room on the first floor and smuggle the bags inside. I’m not sure we’ll need Alex’s toys. On the other hand, it never hurts to have firepower. I just don’t want to end up in prison here.

When Pavel leaves, I turn to Alex and say, “I think he’ll help us. After we hide this shit, let’s hit Pub 1999. Maybe we’ll see or hear something that will help us locate Ratmim.”

“Good idea,” he says, kneeling on a threadbare carpet scarred with cigarette burns. Not exactly five-star accommodations, but we’ve stayed in worse.

I hand Alex one shotgun in a case and watch as he slides it under the bed. I repeat this again and again until all the weapons are stowed. Then Alex grabs his gear bag and shoves it under the bed. I plop our duffel bags on our beds.

“We’re looking for a ghost,” I say to Alex as we turn to leave our room and blend in with the locals.

The sun is going down, and it’s quickly getting dark as we walk into town. Pub 1999 is in a small square in Minsk, where Ratmim was last seen six months ago. We suspect it might be his local hangout. We know the players in our backyard, but as we expand, it’s imperative that we have intel on the crime families in neighboring countries. Belarus gets a pass from the officials in Russia because the men who run both countries have the same agenda: make money off the backs of people and let us be the bad guys and the clearing house for illegal gains.

It’s not long before we see the sign for Pub 1999 hanging over a big wooden door covered in peeling red paint. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves as I enter the dimly lit establishment. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to my surroundings.

The people here are down to earth, but it feels like I’ve stepped back in time. Several men sit at the bar. They barely look up from their beer mugs to acknowledge our presence. Waitresses scurry about and definitely ignore us, which is a typical Eastern European attitude.

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