Chapter 2

Warnings of an Englishman

Finally, after two weeks of hardcore training Gustav left the Vostok Institute, having being given a small amount of money to live on. Life was starting to get interesting. No way did Gustav want his life to get interesting.

In the local village he found a small second-hand car dealer. $50 was all he had to barter with, it was the first minute sliver from the family fortune he didn’t even know he had.

Bartering hard he finally managed to get a Russian Larda, a V4 engine with 76hp for $30. The rest would go towards things. Vostok had got him lodgings though at what cost, well, only they knew. $20 was still his to play with and play with it he would.

He was wondering how a Soviet-built car got this far away from its makers. It was very rare that you’d find a car that was built in one country then driven 6 countries west. He asked the dealer, who himself was British, how he had managed the feat. “Well, since you’ve bought the car I can feel pretty free to tell you about the history me and this enchanting hunk of junk have had together, unless you’re part of the authorities sent to track me down.”

“Why would I bother trying to send you down, I’ve only just met you, and besides am on a very different job.”

“Ah, I see.” He laughed, “Another person sent after the great Gregor Yugorovski. Like all the others you’ll probably fail, but you, like all the others want to know how I got this car from the USSR to Italy. I stole this car from Stalingrad. It was imperative for me to escape the Soviet Union at that time. I was a government agent sent to stop a certain ‘conference’ between the leaders of the Warsaw Pact. Anyway, I’d got caught by one of the Ukrainian men and was sent to an underground death camp.

"I was sentenced to a slow and painful death. Nightfall arrived and they placed me in a cramped cell. A guard was standing by the door, not a very smart one because I found that I could confuse the poor inbred in a few seconds. Anyway, besides my rather uncomfortable bunk was a sack of small vegetables. After a few minutes of muffled rustling and searching through the bag I found a small wire. Silently I moved to the door and as silent as a cat picked the lock.

“Moving back to my bunk I found a small knife. I asked the guard to turn around and as soon as he did I slit his throat. Quietly and quickly I slipped out of the cell. Taking some provisions from the dead guard I ran out and escaped.

“Finding the garage of the Ukrainian that put me in here I used the lock-pick again and started his car. Choking, after falling into disrepair, it re-awakened from its rigor-mortis and slowly gurgled back to life. Edging it out of the garage, careful not to wake the owner, I drove on to the street and left.

“Succeeding on my mission was imperative, and success was exactly what I had got. Part way through the ‘talk’ one of the guards came to them and told them that I’d escaped. Half an hour too late, I’d already escaped. Of course, that particular guard is no longer among the living. Don’t blame me, though, the Pole you are after had a lot to do with it, Gregor Yugorovski was an evil bastard before you were born. Checking the garage was a precaution by those idiots. That particular car you bought off me was his before I stole it off him, right under his nose.

“Procuring a Skoda, Gregor started off after me in hot pursuit. He chased me all the way from there to Slovenia. Sticking to Soviet territory he kept tabs on me and almost had me quite a few times. Doggedly determined to catch me, he came straight into Italy. On that day the Italian army was being trained up and he wasn’t allowed to pass through the checkpoint. Luck was with him, though, he somehow managed to escape."

“I’ve been sent, as you already seem to have guessed, to take out that Polish piece of filth. Money given will be proportional to how well I do my job, of course, but it promises to make me very rich. My employers are a bunch of corporates who want Yugorovski dead. I’ve been trained by Vostok, been through the assault course and have been sent to take him down."

“There are only five countries in the world who’d be brave enough to do that. The US isn’t, they’re stuck under his thumb, too many of their business projects depend on his illegitimate financing. If he stops supporting them then they get sucked in to another financial depression. Doesn’t mean they won’t deserve it, though. They’ve taken too many deals with him.

“The only other countries are Great Britain, my homeland, Germany, Russia, Ukraine and China. Japan is on the verge of openly going after him, but at the moment they’re content on sending assassins after him. The others currently have their own special-ops teams after him.

“Where are you from? You look German but I believe you’ve been in Russia for far too long. You smell too much of fermented plums and cheap Vodka.”

“I’ve been trained, like I already told you by the guys at Vostok.”

“Ah.” The Englishman suddenly looks grave, “Yugorovski’s first target. You’re going to have to warn them otherwise your employers will be dead.”

“What? Are you sure that’s his first target?”

“He has spies everywhere, even some of those spies have spies themselves. Run, those spies are on to you, you are the target, you and your friends at Vostok. Spies will spring the net and set the trap, unless you are careful you will be caught. I will help your escape, but after that you’re on your own. Contact me ASAP. I can still bring your escape, but it may cost me my life. Anything, though, to get at Gregor Yugorovski. I will do anything to make sure you take him to his grave.”
 

Checking in to a rather cheap and nasty hotel he phoned the Vostok people, “I have to get through to Luciano Boccielli and Spyro Salonen, I have to. They are the only ones I can talk to”

“Wait on line, brother. Processing may take some time. I suggest you get yourself a bottle of beer and a pack of nuts and wait for a while.”

“We don’t have a while, damnit!” spat Gustav down the phone.

“What do you mean, we? What you trying to pull, man. I ain’t playin’ with you, brother. Either put up or shut up.”

“Vostok is his main target, Gregor Yugorovski has spies and informants everywhere. He’s heard we’re targeting him and he’s going to pull the plug on Vostok, for good.”

“Holy cow! What you telling me for? The big brass has gotta hear about this. Hold on the line.” Then an almost inhuman scream came from his mouth "Luciano! Get here you Italian idiot"

“I ain't no idiot you little American shrimp!" Then his voice softened as he took the line, "Luciano's just joined the party."

“Yugorovski’s going to pull the plug on us, we have to move fast. Tell everybody to lie low. Damnit! Tell everybody to pick a good hiding place and stay there.”

“Be keeping my eye on you kid. I’m going to become the father you never had. I want to see you grow up. I want to be there for you. I’ll tell the rest to hide, but not I. I’ll be watching your back, every step of the way. Your protector and your guide, I’ll be there ‘til the morning dies and twilight comes upon us all.”

“Be wary, they’ll be gunning for everyone, not just me and not just you, everyone! Don’t call me here, if you do call me, call the cell-phone you loaned me. Yugorovski mustn’t find out where I am, or the world will be scarred for the rest of its small, insignificant life.”

"From who's mouth did you procure this info from anyway Gustav? For crying out loud, whoever it is could be a spy!"

“He’s a secret agent, which means he hasn’t got the imagination to create a decent lie. He also says that Gregor was the man who imprisoned him, chased him across the USSR and left him with almost no possessions except a small amount of money and his car. If that checks out then this Englishman could be Gregor’s biggest unknown enemy.”

“Find out this guy’s name, I’m gonna do some research on him, see whose side he’s really on.”

After a few random number selections he finally got the cell-phone number of the Englishman, noted it down and then phoned again. “It’s me, Gustav, I want to know a few things about you. I know that you have no technical reason to work for Gregor Yugorovski, but I don’t fully trust you yet.”

“Ow! That hurt, you malicious inbred. Oh wait, you’re a German, that race not particularly noted for intelligence, for fast cars, yes, for a huge fascination of financial statistics, yes, but not totally noted for intelligence, or bravado,” he said with hurtful intent. “My name is Johnny Cooper, currently a small time car salesman and a British agent stranded in this, urgh, God-forsaken place. You think I’d choose to work for slime like Gregor Yugorovski?!” shouted Johnny, his temper quickly getting the better of him. “Seriously, you think I’d spy for him?

“British people may not count for much, but they’re loyal like hell. Loyalty is like trust, hard to gain yet difficult to lose. Britain is one of your supporters, damnit, they’d do anything, like I would, to bring down Yugorovski, to bring him down and snuff him out. Remember, any enemy of the Great British Empire, or the Commonwealth as it’s now known, is an enemy of mine.

“Any enemy of worldwide welfare is a serious enemy of mine.”

“Listen Johnny, I wasn’t suggesting anything but that attack against my homeland was hurtful. I might look stupid but I’m not, the only stupid assassins are those stupid enough to get themselves killed. Anyway, you’re the person who told me about the spy so you could be trying to get me on your side, mislead me then betray me.”

Finally Johnny had had enough, totally tense and totally agitated he slowly gripped his phone, grunted and slowly squashed it until it was almost unrecognisable, yet somehow the microphone and the chip still functioned, and screamed downhis phone. “You think I’d tell you anything if I was going to betray you, think I’d be talking to you? Just heed my warning: When the eagle swoops down flee your homeland, it doesn’t matter where it’s coming from, fire is never friendly. Betrayal will hit you from an unexpected side. Be wary of anyone, and I mean anyone from Vostok. This is an inside job, my instincts tell me that much.

“Trust no-one Gustav, trust no-one.”

As soon as he finished with that hair-raising phone-call he called Luciano, his voice still shaking slightly, “Luciano, this is Gustav, please pick up, please pick up.”

“Still here, still alive and still suspicious of your English friend.”

“Well, he almost went psycho when he was on the phone. I could hear his phone slowly being crushed and a grunt in his voice. I don’t know about anything but he’s repulsed by the fact that we think he works for Yugorovski. Name of Johnny Cooper. He warns me not to trust anyone from Vostok. He thinks that this has all the markings of an inside job.”

“Inside Vostok?! Impossible! We have the tightest security in the entire world. If anyone was doing an inside job for Vostok we’d sniff them out in a New York minute. Unless this person is a true pro, a real master, we’d have caught him by now. Spyro did say something about a suspicious guy who came here three days ago. All he’s been doing is checking all the records, almost like he’s trying to locate our weakest point.

“Not much is known about him, his name is Johann, but apart from that we have no clue. He seems like a real pro, though. Apparently you and him look fairly similar, almost as if you were related.”

“I’m the last of my family, my father is dead and I’d know if I had a brother. He would try to find me, and as you can see, no-one’s been looking for me. Do one thing, find out about Johnny so we can find out if he’s legit.”

“Right on it.”

Back inside Luciano’s isolated room he turned on the PC. It was dark, almost pitch black, the computer was the only source of light, artificial or natural. As his only source of light no-one would be able to guess much of what he was doing on the PC. It was on the far end, and in between that and the door was a mine-field of junk and indiscriminate items.

The data shown on the computer was far more important, though, even though the computer itself could be an impressive gaming machine.

Back to the data though, on this computer was the data of everyone encountered, briefly, by a Vostok agent. About to be newly added by the computer-whiz was the data of Johnny Cooper. Slowly but surely every useful piece of information was found, including one or two pieces cleverly hidden by the sites he visited.

Skipping the more useless details they found out he was actually a British agent, presumed missing or dead. The car that Gustav bought off him did actually belong to Gregor Yugorovski and that Yugorovski himself was willing to pay a hefty ransom sum to anyone who bought it back, with Johnny dead of course. “Hang on.” He looked closer at when the ransom was sent, “Five years ago, yet how come we only heard about it now? Looks like Yugorovski’s been plotting against us for five years or over. Question is: Who’s the spy?”

Other small bits of info on Johnny was that he was born in Czechoslovakia, his father was British and his mother was Slovak. He was 43 years old and was married before he was sent on the mission. His wife, Mariana Jameson has been looking for him ever since, refusing to believe he’s dead. “She won’t last long, though, sooner or later she’ll give up and go for someone else. Sooner, rather then later.”

He was a model British civilian, before having his civilian rights revoked, on account that he hasn’t been seen by the government for eight years, being chased by Yugorovski for three. He’s got a small, successful Italian car trading business and won’t go back to Britain until he has the sufficient funds to be protected from those sent after him.

No one, except the locals have any idea on where he is, and he wants to keep it that way until it’s too late for the chasers to catch him.

His wife was a dancing girl who was besotted by his looks and his charm. On one night in November 1977 they got more then a bit intimate. Three months later they married and seven months after that she gave birth to a late baby. She’s also a target but she’s wanted alive. Unluckily for her, they want her baby to suffer a premature death. We all know what that means.

“One more thing, Gustav, we need to give you a codename which we can talk to you by. It’ll be your choice, obviously but it must be easy to remember and no more then three syllables long.”

“OK, Luciano, I pick Static, quite a decieving name really, means they'll think I'm still and stupid, until I strike.”

“Ok Static, you know what to do. Any problems then get out of there with haste,"
 

Gambling became Gustav's number one hobby and after an amazing stretch of luck had made $1000 by the end of the week. He still had to be wary, though, he never knew when the ‘spawn of Satan’ would send a spy after him. If the spy found him before he found Gregor Yugorovski, all would be over, one lucky shot and the dream could quickly turn into a nightmare.

Spending his nights in a backwater hotel in Milan he heard all of the rumours and all of the variations of those rumours. Rumours that included; Gregor Yugorovski was the devil’s right hand man; he was the devil or was the Antichrist himself. But none of these things mattered to Gustav; he wanted to pick off his target and go.

Exploration of the ‘power plant’ was fairly easy, well; exploring the perimeter was, so long as he just stuck to his lie of being a ‘contemporary artist’ who wanted to capture the complex in a powerful way. Soon he got to know the place very well. He also got to know when the guards arrived and left and how long the breaks were in-between each changeover. Five minutes, so long as he got here at the right time he would have a window of five minutes to take out Gregor Yugorovski without getting the attention of the guards. Finding him would be no easy matter. Finding him and taking him by surprise; that would be the job of a century.

It was time for Gustav to infiltrate the building. He slowly walked past the gate, checking every few seconds that no-one was watching. He put his binoculars to his eyes and checked the complex. The guard was just leaving in a heavily supped-up Ford Cortina. Five minutes, starting from now, a new guard would be here. Gustav got into the main building.

 

The first thing Gustav saw was a surveillance camera; he cursed and edged himself as close as he could to the wall, making as small a profile as possible. Now that he had a slight bit longer to look at the building he slowly started to admire the architecture of the place. It was in the design of an Edwardian mansion in the shape of a power plant. Such a surprise that a thing of such beauty could hide such a deep evil.

He checked his watch, four minutes. He climbed up the heavily carpeted steps, each step creaking slightly underfoot. Directly in front of him were three doors, one slightly to the left, one slightly to the right and double-doors right in front. Time was slowly ticking away, three minutes. He checked the one to the left first. A twin turreted auto-cannon came from a hatch in the ceiling. it fired a quick burst of explosive bullets and retracted. Gustav ran back out, but really that was just a trick to make people believe that something was in there.

The right doorway was locked but Gustav only had one minute and thirty seconds remaining.

He opened the double doors, quite sure that any chance of getting in undetected were well and truly gone. Directly in front of him was a massive console, with surveillance screens and buttons. It looked more complicated then the cockpit of a 747. Obscuring it was a large, burly man, who we can only assume was Gregor Yugorovski. “Ah, so you are the cretin that Vostok sent to take me down. I laugh at their stupidity.” He chuckled, his back towards Gustav.

Taking out one of his throwing daggers, Gustav took aim at the small of his back and threw. Quite unexpectedly a faint blue light crackled around the place where the dagger was, leaving the faint ionised remains of one of his favourite weapons.

“Ha, you weren’t expecting that were you,” shouted Yugorovski. “A prototype force-field, as you can see it’s fairly effective.”
Switching it off, he walked slowly to Gustav and punched him squarely on the chin. Gustav was launched off his feet and crash-landed a few feet away, stunned, dazed and almost out cold.

“Wait. I beg of you, don’t hurt him. I’ve known this person all my life.” Through the doors ran a stocky Welshman, 5ft 9. He was wearing a cheap pair of jeans and a polo shirt of unknown origin. On his chin were the beginnings of a light, wispy goatee.

“Why not, eh? He was after all going to kill me.”

“This person is my friend and he saved me a few times, saved me from myself. I ask this one thing of you.”

“Since it means so much I will let him live, but you are out of a job.”

“How did you know I was here? No-one outside of Vostok knew.”

“Damn it, I’m a covert op working for Vostok. If you think I’m the spy who grassed you guys up, think again. I was going to be the one to keep tabs on Gregor, but as you can see, there is no legit way of doing that now.”

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