Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 6

Flamingo Podnyalsya Ch 6

CHAPTER 6

By Phillip Miller

Kaspersky stood behind the sorry figure that was inspector Moreau, staring intently at the back of his bloodied and bruised head. The half empty bottle of vodka in one hand, his other on his prisoner’s shoulder. Chris Flicka was carefully removing the lie detector leads. He was shaken and sweating profusely. Mika found pleasure in his fear. She was looking forward to this moment.  Time to clean up. She much preferred the old way’s, but orders were orders. Chris felt the change in the room when, after nearly two hours interrogation, he got the answer they wanted.

Mika liked to see men on their knees. She took great pride in her ability to administer pain, Just like her brother, Pepe. She was also a mistress of pleasure and knew how to get her man. Any man. Now it was time to have some fun. ‘The Colonel would be proud,’ she thought.

Chris packed his case while Mika walked over to the table and took a knotted wire with a hoop at each end and two glasses. She strolled over to Kaspersky and handed him the glasses which he promptly filled. Mika gave one to Chris, his hand shaking, who sank it immediately. The Russian Secret Service agents saluted. “Nazdorovie,” they said, before throwing the empty glasses at the wall.

Mika put her arm around Chris and kissed him aggressively, biting his lip before breaking away. “You belong to Russia now. Remember that. We have eyes and ears everywhere.”  

“Ok! Enough of this fucking shit!” slurred Kaspersky. “Get it done. I’m going outside for a cigarette. I’ll call that one-eyed freak from up there. Reception is crap in this hole. He can get Credi to bury the body.” Chris’s ears pricked up at the mere mention of that name.

Kaspersky staggered across and then tripped up the stairs, smashing his bottle on the concrete step. “Fuck!” he said, slinging the broken bottle to the floor. When he reached the top, he heard a beep on his phone and checked the message: “THE FLAMINGO IS DEAD!” He smiled to himself and forwarded the message to Colonel Yasseravitch.

Chris was starting to shake uncontrollably. He couldn’t believe what was happening. He knew he was in deep trouble the day he crossed Credi. He looked at Moreau, sat slumped and tied down. ‘How did this happen? Got to get out of here. I can’t let that psycho near me. If Mika tells him what I did to him, I’m dead. Got to get out now.

Sara sprang to mind and as Mika stood in front of the inspector, working out the best way to carve him up, Chris panicked, saw his chance and ran for the broken bottle. Mika turned slowly. Her favourite weapon hanging by her side.

“Now, now!  My little pet.” Striding menacingly. “You get good money for this dirty work. We can’t let you go Chris. We need your services for a few more assignments yet. You are ours. Put the weapon down.” 

Chris ran to the stairs but Mika was on him in a flash. He turned and shoved the jagged edge into her thigh. She screamed in anger and pain, but before he knew it, the wire was over his head. She pulled him to the floor and lay beneath him, with her legs wrapped around his waist. He clawed at the garrotte, frantically kicking away. His face turned purple as his life flashed before him

“Remember this move? Remember how you liked this one?  Pleasure and pain all at the same time,” she whispered as she pulled the wire tighter and tighter until her prey succumbed to the inevitable. She pushed him off her, bent down and kissed his forehead. “Shame,” she said. “I liked you.”

Kaspersky smiled to himself and headed over to the coal pile stacked under the corrugated roof of the barn opposite just as the heavens opened and unzipped his flies. No sooner had he relieved himself, he heard the sound of a car approaching over the gravel, it’s headlights on full beam. “They can’t be here already.” He lit up a cigarette, turned and put one hand up in front of his eyes. “Ok! Ok! Turn the fucking lights down.”  The engine revved up and then hurtled towards the outbuilding. The realization hit home, but it was too late. The impact knocked him onto the mound of coal. His old comrade turned off the lights and stepped out of the car, the full moon lighting up the terror on Kaspersky’s face as Peter Donyevsky straddled him.

“Go and see if Moreau is still alive.” He pointed Craig to the iron door.

“You bastard; traitor; you are dead; imperialist dream is dead. You are too late you shit.”

“I thought the bottle would kill you before anything else. Seems I was wrong. It’s gonna be me.”

He tossed a lump of coal in the air a few times before smashing it down hard into the mouth of Kaspersky, then another and another. He struggled for a moment but was far too inebriated to put up a defence. After delivering the final coup de grace, Donyevsky dragged him to the house and through the hallway, calling out for Craig to help, who hollered up from the basement, “Moreau is still alive. He’s still alive.” He cut through the plastic ties with a knife from the pouch he found on the table and jumped as a lifeless body tumbled down the stairs, followed by the steady plod of the Russian.

Craig left the inspector slumped over the old wooden bench then walked over to the garrotted body of Chris Flicka by the stairs, checking for vital signs before rifling through his clothing, looking for ID. 

“Come on. We don’t have much time,” said Peter, as he eased Moreau’s arm around his shoulder. “We have to get out of here.”

The inspector was a big man but between them they managed to get him up the stairs and out to Craig’s Toyota 4x4, laying him across the back seats.

Donyevsky opened the boot and took out a small jerry can as Craig was arranging the inspector into a more comfortable position.  After a lot of puffing and panting, Craig stood back from the large truck and tried to catch his breath. It didn’t take long to realise that he was alone. He didn’t hesitate; two seconds and he was in the driving seat, slamming into reverse and taking off.

Donyevsky emerged from the house just in time to catch the sight of the rear lights as the open backed vehicle wheel spun out of the old farm. He then took out a golden lighter with the initials MK inscribed on the lid, flicked it open and threw it inside the iron door, looked up and sighed, “It’s going to be a long night, I think.”

Forty minutes later Moreau was in an ICU. Craig was so tired he fell asleep in the waiting room. He woke up 3 hours later and sat staring at the floor. He hadn’t eaten for what seemed like days. His chest felt tight and he was feeling light-headed. Come on Moreau, what’s this all about?  Shit! There’s a bloody dead Russian in my bath. Got to get home.

Craig pulled up outside his flat and strode up the steps; the old security light flickering to life as he fumbled with the keys to his front door.  His mouth felt dry as he made his way up to the first floor. Something wasn’t right; the light in the bathroom was on. His heart was in his mouth as he slowly pushed open the door but was shocked to discover that Pepe Brown’s body was missing, and the room was spotless. A chill ran down his spine as he fell back into the hallway, his head spinning. Donyevsky! What if he comes back? Got to get out of here. Something caught his eye; a small silver object trapped between the gap between the skirting board and wooden floor. He took a pencil from a small stationary kit on the bookcase and flicked it out. It was a USB stick. But not his. He fired up his laptop and waited. Start-up seemed to take forever.  “That’s it. Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said as he slid the memory stick home and tapped the e-drive. The screen was immediately filled with what looked like some kind of badge or emblem.

“Coat of Arms,” he whispered to himself. Google provided the answer: Imperial coat of Arms of Russia. Craig was out of his depth and he knew it; no way he could get into this. It was time to call in a favour. Only one person for the job; Kayse Matrix.

He logged into his TOR account and punched in some numbers; best way to get hold of her; the only way:

“KC, I need your help. Need your decoding skills.”

The message box remained empty for what seemed a lifetime before he got a response.

“Hello handsome. What’s up?”

“Need your help. I Need you to come over, now.”

“What you got?!”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Dead bodies and Russian spies. Really need your help.”

“Sounds dirty. You know where I am.”

“Thanks. 50 mins.”

It took slightly longer than normal before he arrived at the Archway; a small railway arch unit supplying techno gadgets and computer repairs. This was KC’s manor. She was probably one of the best hackers in the business. She and Craig went back a long way; anything needed cracking or hacking then she was your women.

KC was busy on her latest project when a small cam link popped up on a small monitor. She tapped on one of the keyboards and the glass door to the small outlet slid open. Craig walked inside and then stepped into a cleansing pod. KC had extreme OCD. She hated anything virus related; man made or natural. A light mist filled the pod and then the back screen slid open. Craig walked out of the pod and on to a bright blue anti-static mat, took a pair of latex gloves from a small stand to his right and then walked over to a bank of screens, monitors and hard drives.

KC sat tapping away on dual keyboards while observing the four screens in front of her.

“Christ! You look like Jabba the Hutt!” said Craig. KC swung round in the oversized converted armchair.

“You are no oil painting, lover boy! Good to see you.” She smiled as she took a large bite out of a cold pasty followed by half a dozen spiced pickled onions. “Give it to me,” she said as she chewed away, offering a glimpse of a rather large bolus.

“Here you go. Anything you can do to help would be greatly appreciated KC.”

“Let’s have a look.” The techno architect loaded the USB into an external hard drive. “Hmm! Russian for sure. Have to run it through my Syphon programme. Give me ten minutes. Make a coffee if you like. You look like you need one, or beer’s over there,” pointing to a large bright red American double fridge freezer.

“I need to crash here a few days or till this is sorted. I don’t feel too good. You got any paracetamol? My head is splitting.”

“Over by the Pod, on the wall.”

Craig made a coffee, took the painkillers and sat down on a large beanbag and thought about laying down for 10 minutes, his head still pounding.

KC’s fingers were working overtime. Craig could hear her muttering to herself, cursing every now and then. He looked over at the large leather sofa and the quilts and blankets draped over it.

“Do you ever leave this place?”

“No. not if I can help it.”

“What about food?”

“Deliveroo old friend. Best thing ever. I haven’t cooked a meal since Steve left me.”

“What happened?”

“He was messing around so I sort of erm! Well! Er!.....wait, here we go, here we go!” she exclaimed excitedly. “I’m in.”

Craig was up and by KC’s side in a flash.

“It’s Russian alright. Never seen coding like it. This could take some time. Get some kip. I’ll shout if, no, I’ll re-phrase that, when I break it.”

Craig collapsed onto the copious Bedouin like sleeping arrangement of mandala and bohemian cushions and floor pads. KC opened a drawer of a small cabinet under her desk and took out a large box of cup-cakes, swallowing one immediately, then another. She finished all six in a matter of minutes, washed them down with a bottle of Crabbies ginger ale, then got to work. She was used to tunnelling deep into the multi layers of the dark web, and beyond.

Craig was woken by an animalistic deep throated warbling and foul smell. He rubbed his eyes and aching back and turned to see KC slouched and fast asleep on the old sofa, emitting sounds and smells from the orifices of each end of her anatomy. He had a look of disgust on his face. The headache had vanished, but his hunger and thirst remained. Another journey to the fridge. A cold drink this time. He opted for a Coke before walking over to KC’S command centre but felt as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike. He looked in a drawer beneath the desk and went for a dark bar of raisin and rum chocolate.

“Get your hands off that,” yawned KC.

Craig laughed. “just one square, Jesus! I’ll be doing you a favour.” Attempting to peel back the wrapper.

“One more move and you won’t leave here……ever,” said KC, as she struggled to sit upright.

“Bloody hell! Said Craig as he childishly threw the unopened bar back in the drawer.

“Did you find anything?”

“Not really. Nothing important.”

“Nothing important!” Craig looked expectantly over at KC who was reaching down for a pack of Wasabi flavoured crisps.

“Well, yeah! pretty damned important actually. White hot as a matter of fact,” she said as she crunched her way through a handful of the devilishly hot potato slices.

“Come on then, spit it out. Not literally of course,” said Craig, as he stepped back from the desk.

“First things first Craig can you sign that document my darling.” she pointed to a screen. “Just read it and sign the screen with your finger.”

“What is it?”

“If this crap hits the fan then I want to make sure that I’m safe.”

Craig read the document and signed it. KC was sitting upright now. “Throw me that keyboard.”

She punched away for a second and the printer sprang to life. Craig waited patiently for the printer to finish.

“I’ve got a copy filed away Craig. May need it in the future. If this stuff is for real then, well…….just read it my friend.”

The revitalised young officer took the file and immersed himself in it’s content. When he finished he just sat open-mouthed. KC threw him a bar of chocolate.

“You’re going to need all the energy you can muster.”  She took another large handful of crisps.

“My god! This goes all the way to the top. The Royal Family for Christ sake.

“I checked the military movements of the British Royal Navy. I even managed to hack into the Yanks OPRAH. This shit looks real. I also checked statistics of the worlds trading stocks over the last few months and the evidence is startling. It looks like the West is on the verge of attacking the East. All the pieces are in place. The first piece is Flamingo.” she looked over at Craig who sat with a look of utter despair.

“You are Flamingo Craig.”

Copyright Phillip Miller