Kill Cupid: Internet dating just got dangerous (21 page)

              ‘Zhana get real… what am I going to do with a television and Playstation for goodness sake? Take them in my luggage to Australia? I don’t think so.’

              ‘I’m not taking them. Throw them away if that’s what you want, but I will not have them, or the money, or even her bloody perfume.’ This time Sasha shrugged but with even greater resignation. He pulled a cigarette from his jacket and left the room. The CO followed while Zhana stood in silence performing her very best cold war act. It was evident she’d put her foot down with no intention of compromise so Bronte left the room also. When he found the CO, he signalled Sasha to ditch his smoke and come inside. He asked the detective if he’d summon the two uniformed officers who'd assisted through the many idle hours in that stuffy room. With all four men in attendance, Bronte began.

              ‘Alexsei, please, take the television.’

              ‘Sasha, your son doesn’t have Playstation? Here, give him this.’

              ‘Scholesy… please, take these beautiful shoes to your wife. They are like new.’

              ‘Vladimir, please, your wife will love these, they are very expensive.’ Bronte handed the CO a bag of perfumes which had all been gifts from Alessiya’s many foreign admirers. Zhana stood unmoved by the sight of Boss, Gucci, Laurent, Bvlgari and even Britney Spears changing hands. Zhana didn’t like Britney anyway. When he came to one of the last shoeboxes, he laughed. It was the Bardot boots, yet unworn. He’d get to give them to his step daughter after all. All the officers were ecstatic.
What a good day on the job today darling!
More important, Bronte knew he’d made valuable friends who just might help out with a favour if needed. After learning of Zhana’s fear for her future in Krasnodar, who knows what help he may have to call on?

              That evening, Bronte and Zhana went out to eat. She knew a good place only about ten minutes away. In every regional Russian city everything is about ten minutes away - on foot or by taxi. They decided to walk. It was a two storey place and they went upstairs to a quiet table.

              ‘So Zhana, tell me about Willy. How is he, healthy and strong?’

              ‘Well I’m not sure how strong… but he’s healthy… why?’

              ‘Damn… I thought that on the off chance, he may have a terminal disease or something’ Bronte said with a chuckle.

              ‘What? Why do you ask that?’

              ‘Well I just thought… you know… sometimes you never know these things…’

‘You’re asking me is he going to die?’

              ‘Well I was figuring my luck has to change sooner or later…’

              ‘That’s a terrible thing to say Bronte… about Willy I mean…’

              ‘Zhana think about it for a minute. I arrive here to see you… but it’s not really you I meet. I go through a bunch of crap… but we still meet… on a path in a park! I mean, what were the chances of that happening? Don’t you think about that? You know… the hand of fate thing…’

              ‘I also think about how I met Willy…’

              ‘You met Willy in equally miraculous circumstances?’

              ‘I met Willy because you wouldn’t reply to my letters! Your hand of fate… the hand that couldn’t be bothered writing.’
Damn, why did she have to mention that?
Bronte felt himself blushing. He knew he was somewhere lost in revelry with Lena at the time he stopped writing.

              ‘Zhana look… I had some problems back then…’

              ‘Yea… problems with your hand of fate… up another skirt. You didn’t write for more than a month. The only reason you wouldn’t write is if you had someone else… or you were hospitalised. Maybe you have a terminal illness?’

              ‘Zhana that’s all behind us now… and it’s a mental illness so it’s not terminal’ he laughed.

              ‘Bronte, that might be behind us… but Willy’s still in front of me…’

              ‘Zhana, I’m in front of you now… won’t you at least consider putting Willy behind you? Don’t you believe we really should be together? Don’t you see Cupid brought us together?’

‘Didn’t we have this conversation yesterday? Please… you think my answer has changed in the past 24 hours? It’s all too difficult for me, really.’ Suddenly Zhana’s phone rang. He was almost glad the interruption got him out of a conversation that was leading to either Heartbreak Hill or Point Danger.

‘Da, da, da… okay’, Zhana hung up. ‘That was Sasha. He is coming here to see you… he wants you to go with him.’ Bronte’s heart missed a beat and Zhana looked suddenly subdued.

              ‘What for? Where to?’

              ‘To the mountains. He wants to get you out of town… show you the mountains.’

‘Are you coming?’ Bronte asked, more than a little hopeful.

‘Sorry, he said boys only event.’

They drove in Sasha’s own car, an A4 Audi Quattro. In a town brimming with born again Russian Fiats recycled from the 1960’s, this wasn’t bad for a low paid thirty two year old FSB agent. Bronte wondered how much he would already have collected for the Playstation. His son probably never knew of its existence, least of all how to help
Lara Croft
escape from
The Tomb Raider
. Bronte had also wondered what else he’d scored when they’d gone to collect from Alessiya’s apartment.

Sasha was tall and handsome with a cheeky smile and a confidence his badge and training instilled. He had a wife, child, a baby and a handful of girlfriends across town. He also ran a phone card business with a brother in law that seemed slightly under the table. And he liked to drink hard. It was midnight when they arrived at their destination somewhere deep in the Caucasus. They drove for three hours and at times, the road was icy and extremely treacherous as it wound its way higher and deeper into the ever more imposing night-time landscape. Bronte was glad to see the end of the trip. When Sasha finally stopped, it was because they couldn’t possibly drive any further. They’d literally come to the end of the road and as the car swung into a driveway, the door of the adjacent house opened and out walked a young colleague of Sasha’s.

Viktor was a well built clone of Matt Daemon. He couldn’t speak English as well as the American actor, but he was warm, back-slapping friendly and delighted Bronte had joined his comrade for the journey. Bronte wondered then what Viktor had already learned of him. They followed him in from the freezing air of the high country to meet his parents and neighbours. Sasha had been invited to visit on this, the weekend Viktor had gone home to see the family. He came from a remote and extremely poor mountain village so visits were rare for Viktor and even rarer for Sasha who was a long time friend.

Inside, half the entire village sat waiting for their arrival – a foreign visitor from distant Australia was a free night out at the freak show. Bronte’s visit was already local news. No one had ever met a real life Australian in these parts and all were eager to show him real Russian hospitality. The table stood completely buried under foods, salads, fruit, fish, meats, soft drinks, juices, beer and vodka; lots of vodka. Before the men had time to sit, Viktor was handing them shots. Everyone spoke at once, all passing dishes and dispensing drinks. Each took turns at offering Bronte some form of exotic Russian food and toasting the bonds between the two countries. The mass quantities of alcohol consumed accelerated construction of the bridge across the language barrier. Someone commented his Russian improved with each passing shot of vodka.

At 3.20 am, Bronte left the others who were still waiting for the tide to go out in the third or fourth bottle of vodka. He felt like he’d been hit by a bus and then dragged by an ensuing Kenworth. His world was spinning and he barely remembered staggering from the eating house to the sleeping house. Lying on his bed only made the helicopter ride more taxing. He was conscious of giant rotors whirring above his head. No wonder he was cold and shivering. So why was he sweating? He was seasick and airsick all at the same time and the room was revolving at an ever increasing velocity. It may have been space station Mir.
Ground control to Major Tom
.

Hanging onto the mattress was the only option to avoid being thrown onto the floor. With the sweats and shivers, he was willing himself to sober up and deal with the overpowering wish to vomit. He just managed to make it outside before he returned the vodka to the earth from whence it came, albeit minus the vegetable packaging. Hunched over and barking bile and saliva at the dirt, he resolved never to do that again. It was one thing to get beaten up unsuspectedly by strangers, but to inflict such punishment on oneself with rocket fuel was downright suicidal.

----------  * * --------------------- * * * ------------------------ * * -----------

Back in Krasnodar Zhana was miserable, sitting quietly at the table with a cup of tea, the apartment in a state of deathly silence. Willy was a million miles away and now her intriguing lost boyfriend from Australia had vanished into the mountains. Alone in that cold hole, she wondered why the hell she didn’t warm to his offer of time together. Willy wouldn’t know and now more than ever she needed his strong company. She was wrestling with compromised feelings she held for the two men. She had a heart attack when the door burst open.

‘Hi my dear… sorry to arrive so late.’ Tanya dumped groceries on the floor and was looking about the place like she was missing something.

‘God you frightened the daylights out of me. I didn’t know you’d be back so soon.’

‘I got a ride back into town with my sister’s husband…. where’s Bronte?’

‘Sasha arrived at “Luba Doroga” and brought us home. Bronte’s gone to the mountains with him.’

‘‘Huh? With Sasha? I was hoping he’d still be here…’ Tanya was hopeless when it came to hiding her feelings. ‘I brought him some home made cranberry.’

‘Never mind… its good he’s gone don’t you think? He’s had a terrible time here ‘til now. At least he’s out and about… he might have some fun for a change’ Zhana replied, watching Tanya put things in the fridge.

‘Yea… fun and mischief… I don’t like him and I don’t trust him.’

‘Who, Sasha?’

‘Of course, he’s FSB.’

‘You wanted Bronte to stay here, am I right? You like him Tanya. Tell me, you like him a lot, don’t you?’

‘I think he’s very nice... It’s a pity he goes home in three days.’ Zhana couldn’t comment. As miraculous as it was that Bronte just appeared out of the blue, she considered it was a flash in the pan. She believed that as quickly as he appeared, he would disappear and her life would return to what it was only days prior. Tanya broke the silence.

‘And what do you feel about our Mister Bronte? Where’s Willy now?’ Zhana sat fidgeting with her tea cup, revolving the thing in her hands. As if tilting it forward to consult the leaves she replied,

              ‘Ha… Good question. I’m not sure what to think of Bronte…’

‘Why not, what do you mean? He strikes me as genuine enough.’

‘Oh I have no doubt of that. I’m just not sure he’s the marrying type, if you can understand…’ Tanya got up and retrieved the tea pot from the stove and poured more tea.

‘Why not? He’s been married, I’m sure he’s house trained, puts the rubbish out and the toilet seat down, that sort of thing. He’s strong, sexy… And he cooks…’

‘Yes, but maybe better the devil I know. Although I said yes in Moscow, I’d just got comfortable with the idea of marriage with Willy – marriage Tanya for God’s sake – when Bronte appears out of thin air. Then, just minutes after I’m plunged into this living nightmare, I get a sms from Willy saying he had just bought the rings. Don’t you see Tanya, its fate. I am not meant to be with Bronte.’

‘You haven’t answered my question Zhana….’

‘Don’t get me wrong… God knows I think I could love him, and admire his strength and character. I have even wondered how Willy would have coped through all this. You know, what would Willy have been like if it’d been him detained and bashed? I shudder to think... But if it was meant to be, it would be and that’s it. Bronte would have arrived to me first, Alessiya and stupid Rita would not have been involved, and none of this shit would have happened. I really think Willy is my fate… my destiny.’

              ‘Destiny… Zhana, who’s talking about destiny? I’m talking about love and anyway, I thought you didn’t believe in God?’

              ‘I don’t and I’m not talking about God. Believing in God means you believe you can change fate or destiny by asking God. If you fail, you can say it was God’s will. Does that mean it’s God’s will that some fail, while others may get a successful outcome to their prayers? Or did the changeless God change his mind? It’s ridiculous. And don’t ask me about love Tanya, I’m too confused right now.’

              ‘Destiny is ridiculous. Life is merely a procession of choices. You still have the freedom of choice to attempt a relationship with him - if you want.’

              ‘What, and tell poor Willy see you later, thanks for coming? I can’t do that. That’d kill him… besides, I don’t have the nerve. And how would I explain everything to mum… and my boy?’

              ‘So you don’t mind if I try to get something going with Bronte?’ Zhana stopped dead in her tracks, wondering if Tanya’s abrupt sixty thousand dollar question reflected in her blank expression. She had no idea how to answer that one, but she knew she’d arrived at a crossroad. It was time to confront the map of romantic destiny and choose a direction once and for all. The tea leaves had definitely drawn a blank, now muddled in the fresh hot brew half filling her cup. After staring at them for a moment in silence she said,

‘No, I don’t mind. But try to understand if I do not wish to look at the two of you together.’ She tried to smile, noticing Tanya didn’t look so miserable now.

----------  * * --------------------- * * * ------------------------ * * -----------

The next day for Bronte was a horrible haze of blurred people, blurred landscapes, blurred roadways and blurry conversations. When they visited some underground caves, just keeping focus on the path in front had been an effort. Inside, the three men all wanted to throw up, without actually letting on to the other of their overwhelming desire. When Viktor suggested he’d seen enough and was going topside, Bronte was right behind him and he noticed Sasha didn’t waste time wondering if he should follow.

‘I wanted to spew my guts out in there,’ Viktor panted as they got to the car.

‘Me too… bad hangover’ was all Bronte could muster. Sasha was quiet but looked nonetheless green. They were about as high as they could possibly go into the mountains. Viktor’s car, an old white Gaz worked its lungs out trying to haul its load of hung over carcasses up the steep inclines. The poor car was overheating in sub zero temperatures. Twice Viktor had the radiator cap off, shoving snow into the filler. At least it was melting quickly, but slow work handfuls at a time.

Parking on the side of the road while the car took its periodic five minutes cooling off was an exercise in pain management. It was too cramped to remain in the back seat of the car and too cold to get out. The glare from a clear sky reflecting off the pure snow was hell for his throbbing head. It felt like shards of glass piercing the back of his eyes. Out of sympathy for the driver who was obviously also suffering similar torment, Bronte handed over his sunglasses to a most appreciative Viktor.

At a vague turn off somewhere along the river canyon, Viktor drove into a posted military area with
Restricted Zone, Keep Out and Trespassers will be Shot
signs hanging everywhere on the fences. The car stopped at a checkpoint and everyone fell out of the tired, wheezing auto. Looking rather suspicious in his new pair of mirrored wrap-around sunnies, Viktor simply waved to the guard on duty. He sat in a small post at the gate to a suspension bridge across the mostly frozen river. He apparently had no problem recognising Matt Daemon in dark glasses. This sentry who leant back in his chair and was supposed to shoot them on sight never lifted his boots from the table, let alone his gun. He managed a wave though as they passed onto the bridge.

Viktor had the troop follow him like drunken sailors deep into the forest. Amid abuse and complaints, they persevered, fell over, slipped and stumbled their way into the heavily wooded and often steep terrain to a spot he said very few knew - and he was probably right. In a most inconspicuous clearing surrounded by chain-link fence was an enormous pit filled with all manner of crusty and rusted strong boxes and countless tank and cannon shells.

‘These were unearthed not too long ago by some unsuspecting prospector… its abandoned Nazi ammunition from the Second World War.’ Viktor explained. ‘They went to some trouble to hide it up here…’

‘Looks to me like the Germans were in a real hurry to get out of here’ Bronte remarked. ‘Otherwise, why would they leave it?’

‘Probably the fact they were running short of vehicles to ferry the shit…’ added Viktor, ‘and hidden for retreating troops to unearth.’

‘Worth a penny on the black market… especially those boxes with the swastikas still intact…’ Bronte wasn’t too surprised Sasha had thought of loot. ‘Could still be rare Lugers inside ‘em… they’re worth heaps…’

‘Just one reason why they have the guard out there’ Viktor replied.

‘Let’s take a look’ the detective said, looking about him as if to be sure no one else was nearby. ‘Maybe we should come back here… at night…’ Sasha’s mind was ticking, already sizing up how to best scale the fence.

‘You didn’t see the guard’s automatic AK? Maybe we should go home and eat.’ Viktor was the only one making sense. ‘Come on, it’ll be getting dark soon.’ We turned and started back down the track, Sasha protesting he only needed a couple of minutes in the compound.

These mountains were alive with black bear, dear and antelope, wild cats, foxes and wolves and the acclaimed Russian eagle - just to mention some of the native fauna. The Caucasus landscape was breathtaking and the never ending stands of conifers, larch, birch and spruces were so vast and far reaching that it was incomprehensible how they ever settled the place and built roads so deep into the area. The occasional old stone or brick bunker cut into a mountain pass bore tragic testament to the local resistance against the Nazi invaders who once owned the abandoned ammunition. What it must have been like to see the hellish grey torrent of Nazi helmets and coats meandering with relentless devastation across this simple, peaceful landscape Bronte could barely imagine. He could almost hear ghosts in boots on hard dirt, the rumble of vehicles, the eerie squeaking of tank tracks as German troops laboured along these mountain roads. And the horrible cries of anguish from the vulnerable local peasants and resistance fighters. With the sun dropping like an orange fur ball over a giant green shag carpet, he felt a deep sadness for the people of this great and ancient land and what they had endured and suffered over the many years of political abuse and tribulation. By comparison, his life had been tucked safely into bed, kissed goodnight and with no fear of the bogeyman hauling him out and into the dark.