FILE HB007/012: The Club

Russia.

Snow. Lots of snow.

And a chill I can feel right down to the very marrow in my bones. Oh, how I long for the days of Puerto Rico. Snakes and all.

But I'm here tonight on official business, not a holiday! Ok, I was there for official business too, but this time the stakes are much higher.

Did I mention colder, too?

So... frigging... cold!

Of course, it doesn't help that Im practically wearing a scarf for a skirt, underneath this fake mink coat-fake because of my strong animal rights views, you understand, not because Im a cheapskate-But if I'm to impress tonight, I'll really have to go all out. Besides, having such a visual distraction normally proves fairly useful.

First up, they'll be another set of doormen to negotiate, only this time they'll be no guest list in sight, just some 'secret phrase' that must be uttered at the door. A phrase that changes every single night, the nights of which are chosen purely at random, as is the location the club is happening in. All very clandestine for what should really be a simple night out.

The 'members', if you can call them that, each receive an SMS message two hours before 'showtime'. The owner, apparently some huge film buff, picks a memorable line from whatever movie he happens to be watching the night before. That line is communicated via the message along with the address. The members turn up, quote the line at the door and its on!

Today's slice of 'iconic utterance' happens to be a childhood favourite of mine. Not that that makes me feel particularly proud, considering the brief but rather stark picture Q painted of what actually transpires behind those walls. But then he could just have been exaggerating. It is Q, after all.

I make my way towards the venue, navigating a maze of identical dark and dingy back alleyways, verbally led by said tech-geek, once again proving the voice of my subconsciousness for the night.

"Okay Holly, take a left through a large whole in a nearby fence and you should be almost there!" he advises, rather gleefully.

"Sure you've got it right, this time? Im guessing these guys won't be the average door muscle, so getting the phrase wrong could in fact result in a bullet between my eyes. Less we forget last mission's technological faux pas!"

"Okay, A - that wasn't my fault! And B - yes, tonight's secret catchphrase is sound! Well its not actually the word sound, but having hacked into that lowlife's phone you were pretending to get friendly with back at the last bar, I can pretty much confirm it. Good job, by the way! Told you it would all be a piece of cake!"

"'Piece of cake'?" I snap back. "That guy was the 6th bloke, in the 6th bar, I practically threw myself at, in hope that somebody would be a member and invite me along. And the S.O.B was married! Already feel like I need a shower."

"Well, at least you didn't have to pose as his plus-one to get in, thanks to my geniusness, of course." he responds.

"You're 'geniusness'? Uh... Is that even a word?" I ask.

"Well, it will be once I've hacked into every major online dictionary on the web and added it!" he replies, in his annoyingly smug way.

"You're impossible, you know that, Q?" I reply.

"Finally, some recognition from the Ice Queen!" he responds. "Long overdue, I'd say."

"Okay, I'm approaching what looks to be the entrance, two guys ahead." I whisper. "Requesting radio silence. Also long overdue, in my mind."

"Fair play. Good luck, Holly. And... be careful. Q out."

Hmm... he almost sounded sincere, that time. Almost.

On appearance, the building itself looks to be a very old and very large abandoned warehouse, with blacked-out windows and zero sign of any action going on inside. Even the two men outside appear to be just a couple of regular guys enjoying a late night smoke.

Okay, make that a couple of heavily tattooed guys who, whilst not particularly big in size, carry a certain way about them that informs you quite clearly, to underestimate them, is to put your life in immediate peril.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" I greet them, in considerably note-perfect Russian.

They exchange a slow silent glance with one another, then return their gaze to me. So much for formalities.

"Asta la vista, baby?" I quote rather awkwardly, not quite sure how I'm supposed to say it. Do I use my normal voice? Do I imitate Arnold? Should I be wearing sunglasses?

At first it looks like the line's a dud, as the two heavies exchange a second glance with one another, shifting their relaxed positions to a more 'ready' stance. Then one of them finally responds with a barely-visible smile, before proceeding to bang on the heavy metal entrance door, three times.

The sound of large mechanical latches being opened on the inside greatly enhances the creeping sense of anticipation as the great door slowly creeps opens.

I enter.

Inside, another doormen awaits. This one's smartly dressed, sporting a smart tux and a lot more personality. He welcomes me in Russian, slipping me a small piece of rolled up paper in my hand, before motioning me to make my way along the narrow poorly-lit corridor that leads on to an old industrial goods lift. Lights flicker on and off sporadically, as I walk. I don't know if its for show or simply lack of paying the electricity bill, but either way the tensions nothing short of palpable.

Curiously, no attempt has yet been made to frisk me or better yet, scan me for metal objects, potential weapons. An oversight, perhaps? Or maybe he just doesn't attract that kind of crowd.

I reach the lift doors and they open to reveal a third, much older man awaiting inside. I enter, and as I turn around to peer back down the hall, I clock some rather conspicuous-looking metal tubing lining the outside of the main door's entrance. Im guessing its some sort of high tech x-ray scanning device. Definitely military spec. And clever. If somebody was packing heat, they wouldn't have a clue these guys were on to them, until it was too late.

The various dried blood splatters I see, decorating the inside of the lift doors as they close, confirms my suspicions. But Q's way ahead of all you clowns.

As my lift companion and I slowly journey upwards in silence, I decide to take a look at the 'surprise package' handed to me earlier and unroll the small piece of paper to find a phone number scrawled onto it. Could be anything from the guy's personal mobile, to the local helpline, but what was wrapped inside the piece of paper was what really got me thinking. Cocaine. Roughly, quarter of an ounce. Just enough to loosen one up for a long night, I guess.

Thats when I begin to hear it. Music. And the higher we get the louder it becomes. Until the lift itself begins to rattle helplessly from the violent vibrations emanating from the heavy baseline. Must be some serious soundproofing built into those windows.

The track's sheer old school techno. And to honest, pretty darn good. Definitely one to 'Shazam' if I get the chance. Which I'm pretty sure I wont.

Finally we reach the top floor and the lift doors open.

And as I look on at the 'party' in full flow, all I can think is... 'No... freaking... way!".

This might be a little trickier than I thought.

To be continued...