During the pitch-black night, one Russian man stood at the banks of the ocean. Tall, lean, and dark. The sunglasses he wore directed all the attention from his face.
The man stood next to a very small, Russian style, speedboat 3000. It had three benches in it to accommodate others. Three backpacks lay inside the speed trap large and yet suitable. Tons of pockets covered them.
The Russian could wait in the cold for no more. He loaded two automatics in his black coat and as he turned around, his company had suddenly arrived. Same as him. Tall, dark, and two automatics loaded in their black long coats. Dark sunglasses covered both their faces as well, hiding all detail, as well.
"Bout' time…" The Russians accent was thick, hard to understand. The two men just walked by.
"Had to get past the security. Hey you got more bullets?" This man's accent was thick as well, but not Russian.
All three throw themselves in the Speed 3000. One man ripped the old-fashion extension cord and it started. The boat flew across the gleaming dark water as the shadows disappeared.
Hours had pasted until they reached their first destination. "Here we are. Flores." Flores was a small island in the middle of nowhere, quite literately. Flores jutted out of the Atlantic Ocean, a small island.
The boat stopped at the bank, skidding through the dirt and sand that filled the shallow waters. They came out, everything in hand, and walked across the dark trail.
The island seemed to be empty.
The three Russians went on the dark trail, no flashlights. They knew the trail by heart. They knew were they had to go.
The path was filled with rocks and stabbing-out roots from tall willows over head, making the journey even harder. Nonetheless, they went on.
They were walking the curves until a large light caught their eyes. Flashes of lights and sounds filled the air, as they got closer. They no longer paid attention to the trail, but to the light.
"That's it. That's the place."
"Is this guy dangerous? What is he is ready for what we throw at him with a gun?"
The gleaming light got closer.
"Don't worry. If he tries anything I will personally kill him."
The light got stronger and stronger until it completely covered them. Blinding them even through the sunshades.
The light suddenly depleted as they saw what was ahead of them.
A jet with a gleaming paint job stood before them. Written on it was, "Concord F500." The wings had jutting out fins connected to it. It was black with flames scattered upon it.
A jeep was parked under the wing. A short stubby man stood in front of it. Baggy dark jeans, a pull over shirt, a long coat, and sunglasses.
The stairs to the concord had been left open, and as the three Russians walked over they throw all bags in, except for one.
"Okay. We have the money. Now hand over the keys to this beautiful jet." This man's accent was not so thick.
"C'mon…"he spoke again.
The short one took out the keys from his back pocket.
"Geepf me der money." The man's accent was outrageously thick. You could barely understand him.
One of the three Russians opened the backpack and dumped the money in a briefcase supplied by the trader. He zipped back the bag and threw in the concord.
"Here dien goes."
One man caught the keys and went inside. The first two went up then the third trailed far behind. When the first two reached the top the winked at the third.
That was the signal. When the third Russian reached the top he took out one of his guns and looked down on the man about to leave in his jeep.
"Government scum…"
He fired the gun and the short body fell of the green jeep with a red hole implanted in his chest.
"Dead." A live thrown away. He put the gun away.
"Lets go." One commanded.
One of the others was already in the pilots seat, the other in copilot.
The key was stabbed, broken, into the keyhole, on purpose. The plane turned 180 degrees then 90 degrees.
A narrow path lay ahead of them. The path clear of any roots or of any large objects. Only a pro could possibly get even close to the middle of the path. Nonetheless they were ready.
The pilot started, not even a sweat broke free. He did not need to be careful; he knew what he was doing.
The plane started to rip through the path like nothing was ever there.
He pulled back on the gear, pressing the slew peddle down have way, then gradually increased.
The concord slewed to one side then to another dodging whatever was in the path. The rotation of the wheels increased more and more.
As the plane increased not only in speed but in altitude as well. As that happened the wheels retracted in the plane.
"From Flores to Russian."
The ride was long and frustrating as they contemplated what awaited them in Russia. The things they will have to do.
Finally, after hours of frustrating, the plane landed. It was the break of the morning. No sleep filled these Russians. The airport was almost completely empty. Only the people stupid enough to book a flight for 2:00 in the morning were there.
The three men slipped their guns in the packs and added a couple of dark, small, computer type chips in. As they walked through the sensors the throw their bag roughly on the conveyer belt to scan. Nothing went off on the men, but what about the bags? The guns?
As the packs went by in the sensors, the officers only noticed shirts, pants, and other household objects found inside.
Russia was different; they did not open the bags they received.
The men got their backpacks and went on. They went through all security, no prob. Using distraction chips of course.
Three private cars were waiting outside on the dirty parking lot for them. They each got in one. They each drove to different parts of Russia stopping to take jets and other cars.
One went to Tomsk. Another went to Serov. And the last went to Aldan.
In Tomsk:The Russian man pulled out both guns, loaded, and climbed to the third floor of a ten-story building. He shot the window open and went in.
The room was pitch-black. Nothingness filled the air around him. The room felt so congested.
He saw light. He went toward it and opened the door found in front of him.
The hall was filled with light. Such a change.
The floor had a dark blue carpet and marble walls surrounded him. Small golden lights filled the roof.
"Such an amazing setting for such an evil area."
He turned left down the hall and then made a right. The scheme was all planed out. He knew where to go.
The hall suddenly had a complete halt to it. The last door. This was it. He aimed up and shot all the cameras watching. Then he shot the alarm above the door, and went in.
He flickered on the lights.
Inside was nothing other than white containers. Cocaine. Alcohol. All the good stuff.
He dumped as much as possible in the backpack, blew the window, and left, on his way back to America.
In Serov:The Russian did the same as the first only he had a little more to go through. More security, but he killed all who got in the way.
Heading through the 20th floor and having to blow up two elevators, making them fall to the basement to destroy the almost unbreakable doors. Then he made his way to his destination.
Many more people died. Blood filled the air.
After, he made his lonesome journey back to America.
In Aldan:The final Russian did the same only he had the least trouble with security, leaving less dead.
He loaded as much as possible as well, buy had trouble making to Moscow to leave from there to America. More security arrived.
The bullets were fired as he dodged all and killed all in his way.
In Moscow Were Everyone is suppose to Meet to Leave for America:Moscow was the hardest to get through. They had to hide their identity to kill everyone.
They didn't bother about who got killed or security. They just went.
They were held for a long time but eventually made it to their concord.
Time: 9:00amThe concord took them back to Flores where their speedboat 3000 awaited their arrival.
Time: 3:35pmThe boat took them back to America where they returned to their unknown destination.
