"We're here, boss."
Yuri was already opening the door when the words escaped his mouth. No cigarettes this time, he wanted to keep light and noise down to a minimum. "Let's go."
He had decided upon local help on this dirty little errand, he always knew that too many wide-eyes got tongues wagging in these parts. It was a distance to the base, and there was no reason for military personnel to be here, thus their presence was negligible. This meant any foreigner was news and was noticed, and if there was anything that Yuri did not want, it was to be noticed. They had parked the car roughly two miles from the main entrance to the docks, in hopes that the security measures would be less stringent, and they were right. Just a long stretch of twelve-foot high chain link fence with barbed wire jutting outwards at the top. Not that that was ever an option anyways. Another benefit present only in the grimier sections of the world is rodent infestation. Now, to the American homeowner rodents are a pest and a nuisancw, though to those in the breaking and entering business, they are a resource. Namely, no one except PETA ever notices a dead rat, and since most burglary countermeasures can be acivated by a well placed rat, you can use them as a scout. However, these scouts are not handles with great care. It took Yuri all of thirty seconds to find a rat. They are a fairly docile creature if approached properly, and so he scooped it up withouth problem. In order to repay the rat for its generous service, the russian only gently tossed the rat at the fence. The rat hit it, then fell to the ground....proceeding to scurry back to find more nourishment. The driver grinned and handed Yuri the wirecutters. About ten quick snips was all it took to get a decent sized hole, you didnt want it to be too big or it would get noticed quickly.
They went through, Yuri taking extra care not to get caught on any stray parts of the fence. Though his DNA and fingerprints were deemed classified by the Kremlin, with technology these days they could pinpoint the ethnic group, and that was the last memo he wanted to see on his desk back in Moscow. Once inside they moved quickly, taking care every so often to leave a tranquilizer laced piece of ground beef for the dogs. You may not like carrying around three pounds of raw meat, but damn did it come in handy. Thankfully, they werent too far from the pier they were looking for. "Remember, container 104657 is what we are looking for, don't bother with anything else."
For the briefest of moments, Yuri thought he saw the Japanese driver grin, but as quickly as it was there, it was gone. Quickly, he tried to surmise what this could mean. The possibility of a double-cross was always present in this world, but sometimes you had to suspend your suspicions in order to get things done. In Okinawa, typically it was the Japanese way or no way. These days, he would have preferred Norway, good fish, good vodka, and good spies there. So the Russian continued about his work, staying leery of anything out of place. Yet, in a quiet shipyard in the middle of the night, nothing seemed in place. That's when it hit him, it was quiet. Even by now they should have run into at least one dog, or perhaps a wandering security dog. If either of those two beings had run into something suspicious, the alarm would not have been silent. That's when he saw the number on the crate in front of him, 104657. Shit. Paranoia was gonna have to wait. Yuri blamed nerves for his trepidation. Best to get the items and get the hell out of there. Then he could worry about possible double agents. A cyanide tablet in the coffee should do the trick nicely. He opened the door slowly, hoping that the hinges were still well-lubricated. He cracked it open about eight inches before going inside.
The smell backhanded his nose like it was a cheap prostitute. Dear god, were those once potatoes? If it wasn't for the military, Yuri would have begun retching on the spot. Well that will surely keep the customs inspectors from prying too close an eye to the seemingly bening crate. He began going through the mountain of rotting starches, looking for treasure aming the tubers. Then he found a small metal box. He pulled it out from underneath the spuds, rushing it a little and falling on his back with a clang. He quickly darted up to see if anyone had noticed the sound. Indeed, someone had, but this fact was lost on Yuri. He opened the box and found a single sheet of paper inside. Printed on the paper was a large yellow smiley face and the words "Have a Nice Day."
Yuri had only assumed that it was to his benefit that the container door made no noise. Yet, that too was a double edged sword. The first sound Yuri heard of his entrapment was the clanging of the iron bar locking the container. Turns out his instincts were right, this had been a trap. The odd thing was that Yuri knew the expediter of the package, and was suprised that he had played along, or allowed himself to be coerced into it. Though there was one thing that was certain, he may leave Yuri trapped, but not helpless. He turned and rifled further into the beyond-ripe produce. Ugh, that one was covered in maggots. This other one nearly exploded. And then, there it was in all its glory. The father and child of revolution, the AK-47. Well he was prolly gonna be here awhile, so time to do other things. First and foremost, he needed to clear his mind. The marche slave always seemed to do the trick. So he hummed some Tchaikovsky as he tried to get a better grip on where he was.
Sic Semper Tyrannosaurus
Dave
I was at : 4244 NW 76 Terrace, Gainesville, FL 32606,
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