Head Of The Snake. G. Rehder

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СКАЧАТЬ on their faces as they sipped vodka and ate smoked Ryapushka. The wingback chairs they sat in were old, but Mariya had them reupholstered with new leather.

      They sat, quietly waiting. The plan for the night had been rehearsed many times already. They both knew what had to be done, and they were ready.

      At 11:20 p.m., there was a buzzer heard on Mariya’s monitor for the front gate. Mariya walked to her study and brought her desk screen to life. She hit a few keys, and an image at the front gate came up. It was Klopov. She hit a button on a panel on the desk, and the gate began to open slowly.

      “It is time, Viktor. Get up quick. Come here.”

      Viktor rose slowly and moved with his glass and plate of Ryapushka into the study, making sure he left nothing behind to indicate the presence of anyone but Mariya.

      He then walked into a large closet. Its doors paneled to look like part of the wall. He closed the door behind him, then watched through a small peephole mounted in a way to keep it hidden. He had the garrote in his pocket, and he played with it nervously as he waited and watched.

      Minutes later, he heard the door chime sound. He knew he was only moments away from taking the life of another trusted friend. He tried hard not to think about it that way. He had been trying hard not to think about it all since he and Mariya had put the plot together.

      He saw Mariya move out of the study and listened to her heels clicking on the polished wooden floors. Then voices. Mariya and Klopov both talking fast as if they did not have time to get out what needed to be asked and said.

      Then he heard Mariya say, “We need a moment, catch our breaths, have a vodka.”

      Klopov said, “Da, I need a drink badly. I have had nothing for days.”

      “I have a bottle of Beluga gold line in my study,” Mariya said almost in a seductive way.

      They both walked into the study. Mariya looked small behind Matvej’s six-foot-two frame.

      “Sit, my friend,” Mariya told him as they entered. She pointed to a chair across her desk. The back of it was to the closet that Viktor occupied.

      The bottle and two glasses were already set out on the desktop.

      There was one glass that had been dosed around the rim and at the bottom with a strong narcotic cocktail Mariya had perfected and used many times in tranquilizing the trafficked females she had brought through Russia over the years.

      She made sure that the particular glass was closest to Klopov’s chair. She uncorked the bottle and poured both hers and Klopov’s glass to the rim.

      Mariya picked up her glass and said, “Za na-shoo droo-zhboo” (To our friendship).

      Klopov stood and repeated the same, “Za na-shoo droo-zhboo.”

      They both drank then slammed their glasses down on the desk, and Mariya poured another round. This time, they both tilted their glasses back and drained the liquid without a toast.

      “Let us sit and talk,” Mariya said, watching Matvej closely for signs of drowsiness.

      He sat, and as he did, he almost fell back into the chair. Big men fall hard, Mariya thought. She sat down, watching his head began to sway back and forth. He was trying to look at her as he knew something was not right, but his eyes would not focus, and he was soon asleep, barely able to stay in his seat.

      Mariya moved quickly and grabbed the zip ties she had in her top desk drawer. She zipped both of his arms to the chair twice on each side. Then she bent down to do his legs, and she realized Viktor was still in the closet.

      “Get out, you swine, and help me!” she yelled.

      Viktor walked out and snapped back, “You don’t need my help for what you are so good at, my sister.”

      She had his legs secure, and Viktor asked, “So now what?”

      “We wait. We wait for him to regain enough consciousness so Lehan will know he was alive when you strangled him, you fool. We talked about this. You don’t remember?” She looked at her brother. “Are you drunk? You don’t get drunk, Viktor.”

      “Nyet, just nervous. He is a strong man. What if he gets loose?”

      “Then I shoot him in the legs, and you finish the job. Don’t be such a worrier.”

      “I have my phone ready to record. Where is the garotte?” she asked.

      “I have it in my pocket.” Viktor reached in and brought out the garotte. He held it up with both hands, stretched it tight, and walked behind Matvej.

      They both stood there for what seemed like an hour, but only five minutes had gone by before Klopov started stirring. As he did, he shook his head as if to awaken his senses, he was able to see a little now, and he looked up at Mariya.

      “So this is what happened to Bogdan,” he said slowly, then continued, “and Viktor?”

      “Nyet, not Viktor,” she answered. “He is right behind you.”

      Matvej was barely able to turn slowly. He could make out Viktor’s silhouette, but not bring him into focus.

      He asked, “Why, Viktor? I have been a loyal soldier.”

      “Da, but you brought shame to me with Andre Sarnev. Now I am told to take revenge for him, to please Joseph Lehan.”

      When Viktor finished speaking, he quickly put the garotte around Klopov’s neck and began to pull back.

      Mariya yelled, “Wait! Wait for me to film.”

      He released a little as she grabbed her phone and began to scan over the image in front of her.

      Viktor put all his weight into the pull. The partially sedated Matvej Klopov put up little if no struggle at all.

      “It was over in several minutes.” Viktor, making sure there was no breath coming from the big man’s lungs, he put his ear to the man’s mouth then a hand on his chest. Two forefingers to the neck assured him Matvej was dead.

      Mariya had called Gorya Bykov earlier in the evening, ordering him to wait down the road from the dachas front gate until she contacted him. She dialed him up.

      “Come in now,” she ordered. “The gate will be open.”

      Several minutes passed and Bykov was at the front door. Mariya let him in, and he followed her to the study. The zip ties had been removed by Viktor, and Klopov’s body slumped forward, almost falling out of the chair.

      “Drag him to the kitchen, the side door, it is wide, and you can pull your vehicle close.”

      Bykov did as he was told and struggled to drag the big man the thirty feet to the kitchen. No one helped him.

      Viktor had moved back to the great room, along with the bottle of Beluga. He didn’t take a glass. He was drinking straight out of the bottle. Feeling the warmth of the vodka and the crackling fire, he closed his eyes, trying to forget the image and the last words of his friend as he took his life from him.

      Viktor СКАЧАТЬ