Chapter 2
Mr. Smith & Mrs. Wesley-Smith
Minsk, Belarus
1544 Local Time
Bond opened the door into the hotel room and stepped aside for Natalia to enter first. They were booked into a room together on the eighth floor of the Garni Hotel. The room was modest with the usual furnishings of a mid-level hotel room. There was a television, a couch, a table with two chairs, and the all too familiar generic paintings than hung on the dull gray walls. A window looked out over the city, a fresh snowfall blanketed the buildings in a light powdering and gave the entire city a still look even in the mid-afternoon.
The settings fit with their cover story here in Belarus. They were a married couple on holiday, Mr. John Smith and his wife Mrs. Carol Wesley-Smith. Anonymity was the plan here. There wasn't a need draw anyone's attention to their presence just yet, so the quieter they played it the better. They dressed for the part. Bond was wearing dark slacks, a white button up shirt with no tie, and a black sports jacket underneath his black pea coat. Natalia wore a black coat with a dark green blouse, denim jeans, and sensible heels. They both wore faux wedding bands on their left hands.
"I'll take the sofa, you can have the bed," Bond said as he laid his bag on the floor. He began to unpack, but stopped when he noticed the SHIELD agent watching him. "Something wrong?"
"You surprise me, Mister Bond. I had heard stories-"
"Stories?" he arched an eyebrow. "Oh, good god. You too? What do you people think I am, some sort of nymphomaniac?"
"All I am saying is that Dugan and I had a bet back when you were in the hospital in India. An over/under on your STD count."
"I hope you lost every damn cent you bet."
"I won, actually." She gave Bond a soft smile. "I picked the under."
"Look, we're here on a mission. You're a fellow agent. I don't mix business and pleasure-"
"Unless the woman is a high-ranking member of HYDRA?"
Bond's cheeks flushed in equal parts embarrassment and anger. "Now would be a good time to remind you I have a license to kill." He said through gritted teeth.
"Hard to kill someone when they've broken both your arms before you can blink."
Bond fumed while Natalia gave him a crooked smile. Shaking his head, he opened up his case and activated the false bottom. The lead-lined bottom contained electromagnetic emitters to throw off any x-ray or video scans the bag went through at the airport. Inside the bottom was his Walther, Romanova's 9MM Glock, suppressors and spare clips for each weapon, a small collection of knives, a few Q branch gadgets, and a pair of black gauntlets Natalia brought with her from America. Bond went about laying them on the bed.
"So, what's our first move?" He asked as he checked his Walther and loaded a clip in. He removed his pea coat and sport jacket, slipping on the leather shoulder holster where he kept his gun. His gun secured, he slipped his coats back on and adjusted them so the holster was no longer visible.
"This man who killed in Germany, Zus Shulman, he has contacts here in Minsk. We will check them out and find out if they have anything we can use."
Bond nodded and picked up a butterfly knife that he slipped into his pants pocket.
"Six doesn't have much intelligence on Minsk. Station R mostly keeps their eyes peeled towards Moscow. Does SHIELD have any information worth a damn?"
"No relevant data," she said as she walked towards the equipment Bond had laid out. "But I have some contacts I can use here in the city. It was five years ago the last time I came here."
"Question, how does a Russian of all people end up working as a SHIELD agent?"
"It's a long story." She picked the Glock from the bed and slid it into the holster in small of her back. "It involves the KGB, the Cold War, and a lot of secrets."
All ready to go, Bond watched as Natalia slipped the black gauntlets on her wrists. Once secured, she covered them with the sleeves of her blouse.
"Now, what are those?" He asked with a nod towards her wrist.
"My toys."
"What kind of toys," he asked with a playful smirk.
"There's the James Bond I've heard of... But, no these bracelets were designed by SHIELD. They perform a variety of features. Too many to get into at the moment."
"Play coy if you wish. Shall we?"
"Yes," she said. She picked a switch blade from the bed and placed it into her jacket. "Let's."
---
Natalia's contact was a fat, ruddy-faced man named Nikita. A commander in the Minsk police, he told them that he was named after the famed Soviet leader. Nikita had been born at the height of Khrushchev's popularity and the name, which had been a mark of pride as a boy, had steadily meant less and less as the years passed. Now, a name was all it was.
"So, my dear," Nikita said in Belarusian-accented English. The English, Bond presumed, was for his benefit. The three of them sat at a table in a small café. Nikita's usual table sat in the far corner facing the door. He sipped a café mocha while Bond and Natalia passed on any food or beverage. "You don't write or call, and now you show up out of the blue asking for a favor."
"Only because I need the help of a man who knows what he's doing."
Bond wasn't sure, but he could have sworn he saw Natalia bat her eyelashes at Nikita. The fat man laughed and winked at her before taking a long sip from his drink. He wiped the foam from his lips before he spoke. "So what is it I can do for you?"
"We're looking into a local criminal named Zus Shulman."
"Anyway you can tell me what this is in regards to, my dear?"
"You would be doing me a great service," she said, placing her hand on top of Nikita's. "What else do you need to know?"
He smiled softly to himself and looked down at her hand before looking up. "Tell me how you spell it and I will find out what I can."
Five minutes later, Bond and Natalia were walking towards the airport rental car. Bond pulled his coat close around his waist and quietly chuckled.
"What?" she asked with a curious look.
"You talk about me," he said, looking up at the sky and laughing again. "But you're something worse than loose."
"And what is that?"
"You're a tease."
"What makes you so sure?" she asked with a look that bordered on offended. "Who is to say Nikita and I aren't old lovers?"
"You would only be an old lover in the literal sense, but I don't think so. The way you flirted with him, the way he responded. I know the look of a man who's being strung along. After all those years he's still wrapped around your finger."
"Flirtation and charm is part of our business, Bond," she said coldly. "If anyone understands this, I would assume it would be you. What is that saying? If you have it, flaunt it."
And you do flaunt it well, thought Bond. Very well, indeed.
A half hour later they were back in the lobby of their hotel, heading up to the room to work on field reports for their respective agencies when Natalia's mobile rang.
"Hello?" she answered. Bond stopped and watched as her curious face melted into a playful smile and laugh. "Ах, вы. Где? Заводского? Спасибо, Никита. Я буду говорить с вами в ближайшее время. До свидания."
She closed her phone and slid it back into her pocket.
"Have a nice chat did we?" Bond asked with a smirk.
"Shulman runs a bar in Minsk's Zavodski neighborhood." Natalia ignored Bond's dig and began walking back towards the hotel's entrance. "Nikita says that the bar is a front for his criminal enterprises. They fence stolen goods, peddle drugs... and used to have a printing press in the back where they printed phony rubles."
"Wonderful," said Bond.
---
Bond and Natalia sat in the parked rental car down the block from the bar. They were watching the location for nearly two hours. Plenty unsavory types came and went in that time, none staying longer than ten or twenty minutes at a time. When they left, they each carried packets under their arms. Mules, Natalia had guessed. Bond agreed. They were either carrying drugs or phony money.
"We should go soon," he said. "We only have an hour of daylight left at the most."
"How do we approach it?" She pulled her pistol from the holster on the small of her back and checked it.
"You go in the front since you speak the language. I'll cover any back exits."
"What are the odds the stolen data is in there?"
"Almost nil." Bond pulled his PPS from the shoulder holster and laid it on his lap. "All the technology and skill they used on that raid, there's no way they would set up shop in some rundown bar."
"Let's go."
Without another word, they stepped out of the car and headed towards the bar. Both kept the guns low around their thighs to hide them from the prying eyes of any passing pedestrian or motorist. There was a side alley ten yards from the bar's entrance. Bond ducked down it and hurried around the back of the building. He found a metallic green door with rust stains on it. It had a sign in Belarusian, a crude sign in English underneath it that said the entrance was employee's only. Bond tested it and found it locked. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long, thin wire. He stuck it into the lock and wiggled it slowly. The wire, a Q Branch invention, was the world's fastest lockpick. Optic sensors in the wire read the shape of the pin tumblers inside, the sensors would relay the data to the wire and it would conform to the shape of the lock, becoming as rigid as steel. With his freshly made key, Bond popped the lock and tucked the wire back into his jacket as he stepped inside.
He stepped through a back office that was quite shabby in appearance. There was a desk made of cheap particle board disguised as oak, on top of which sat an old desktop computer. Through a door on the other side of the office Bond could hear voices. Loud voices shouting in Russian. He could hear Natalia yelling, followed by a second and third voice that belonged to men. Bond leaned against the door and listened in. He heard footsteps fast approaching and stepped back as the door slung open. A thin, rat-faced man with gray hair saw Bond and recoiled backwards in shock. Bond came forward and grabbed him by the shoulder with his left hand, keeping his gun hand trained on the man. Over his shoulder, Bond could see Natalia squaring off with three men. She was just a blur of motion to Bond's eyes. He saw her jump and kick one man hard against the bar with a roundhouse, blood flew from the man's mouth and spattered the surface of the bar. Ignoring the fight, Bond shoved the man against the wall and held him there while Natalia finished up her work inside the bar.
"Okay," she said as she walked towards them unarmed, her gun back in its holster. Bond stepped back and looked to where Natalia had just come from. Two men were on the ground clutching feebly at their body parts and moaning quietly. More disturbing, one man was flat on his face and not moving at all. It wasn't until Bond saw the shallow breathing that he was sure the man was alive.
He turned away from the hurt men and back to the one against the wall. He and Natalia had a rapid conversation in Russian. Bond couldn't follow, but he could read the universal language of the body. He was nervous, pleading with Natalia about something. She shook her head and gave him a fixed gaze. Bond caught a few words he recognized in their conversation: "Shulman", "Minsk", "Control," "Pain", "Gun", "Gambling." Satisfied, Natalia drove her palm into the man's face and knocked him down to the ground.
"Let's go," she said.
"What'd he say?"
They came out the back door of the bar and hurried through the alley that led back to the street out front. Bond slipped his Walther back into the shoulder holster as they approached the mouth of the alley.
"The last time any of them saw Shulman was a month ago. They all thought he was dead, because the last thing he talked to them about was having a big meeting with a man named Jan. He is apparently the man who runs the criminal rackets in Minsk. He operates out of a casino downtown. The Belaya Vezha casino."
They passed by a homeless man propped against a wall, Bond looked at him warily and didn't speak again until they were out of earshot.
"A casino would be a damn good front to pass off counterfeit money. And if they cater to people from the west, that means exchanging euros and dollars."
They came to the car. Bond slipped into the passenger's seat while Natalia got behind the wheel.
"The only question that remains," she said as she started the car. "Is how good of a gambler you actually are."
"I don't gamble. The word implies that there is a chance I may lose. I win, simple as that."
"We shall see."
The rental car pulled out on to the street and sped down the road.
Once Bond and the woman drove off, the homeless man stood and watched their car fade off into the distance. His midnight black hair touched with gray dye, the same with his goatee. Even though he refused to shave, Kraven was certain Bond hadn't noticed him. He crossed paths with the secret agent on a nearly daily basis since Bond's return to London. He used the camouflage of the city's working class as his cover. Each time he wore a different disguise, one day as a taxi driver, the next as a man at a magazine stand. Each day, Bond just passed by without a second glance. Today was the hardest Bond had looked at him since Kraven started the hunt.
With the car hurrying off, Kraven pulled a mobile from his shabby clothes and dialed the number he had been given.
"Speak," said Number 2.
"I am in Minsk. I have followed our friend here."
"Minsk? What the hell is he doing in Belarus?" Number 2 sounded surprised, possibly even shocked.
"I have not gotten close enough to figure out their mission. He is with a woman. Red-haired with a Russian accent."
There came from the other end of the line a long string of obscenities in Italian. Kraven waited patiently before continuing.
"Are my orders still the same?"
"No. Take out Bond and the woman immediately."
"Yes, sir."
Kraven disconnected and tucked the phone back into his coat. He could barely contain the smile on his face. Finally, after long months of watching, it was time. The waiting was over. Now it was time to move in for the kill.