Chapter 5 – Keeping Your Enemies Close
The next morning found Bond in his suite. Half dressed, he sat at the foot of the bed, conversing with Zorrovski via cell phone.
"That's right, I am very suspicious of the girl. I went to her room and a rather burly chap held me at gunpoint. Let's just say he went a little overboard," Bond informed.
"Well, where was the girl," Zorrovski replied from the other end of the line.
"I noticed her leaving from the back of the hotel. She entered a red car with a suitcase."
"Do you think she could be in league with our man?" Zorrovski suggested.
"It's a possibility. What did you find out from your man, Arkarovich?"
"He told me that the Russian Government isn't too trusting of our mission. Someone in my organization has contracted the Russian mafia to assassinate Armonov. It looks like we have competition James," Zorrovski said, sounding disgusted.
"We'll finish the job Yuri. I'm going to hit the casino again tonight because my gut tells me there are answers there. There were too many different people there last night. It can't be coincidence," Bond said, moving from the bed to look at himself in the bathroom mirror.
"I'll scour the local bars. We need to find the location of that weapons bazaar."
"Armonov has got many people under his employ. Someone's bound to know something."
"I'm on it 007. We'll be in touch."
"Right," Bond agreed, ending the call and tossing the phone on the bed.
They were close to finding Armonov. Hell, they knew how to find him. The trouble was that their cover was blown, and they still needed to find the weapons bazaar. Bond quickly buttoned an ivory-colored silk shirt and wrapped a lengthy tie around his neck, tying it. Strapping on his loaded shoulder holster, he completed the ensemble with a jacket and, looking himself over once more, left the hotel room.
As he moved towards the elevator he passed through a door leading to the stairwell, preferring to save time. Once down the stairs, he entered the reception hall and approached the receptionist that was on duty for the day. Mumbling something in Russian, Bond notified the man that he would be gone for most of the day, then exited the hotel en route to his Lotus parked out front.
Zorrovski moved down the cold St. Petersburg sidewalk, hurriedly but cautiously following a suspicious looking gentleman. It was two o'clock in the afternoon; he had been tracking the man all day. The mysterious man, cloaked in a long, black trench coat, had moved through nearly every pub in St. Petersburg. He was definitely a terrorist and, as near as Zorrovski could figure, was rallying his fellow terrorists for a meeting. Zorrovski hadn't figured out where they were meeting, or with who, but he had heard that a very impatient group of Pakistanis were waiting for a certain sale of some missiles. Moreover, it even seemed that the sale was going to take place somewhere in the Ural Mountains.
Zorrovski sat quietly across the street from his quarry, as he noticed the man finally enter yet another tavern. With that, Zorrovski loped across the street, casually entering the bar. As he entered the smoky establishment, the strong odor of liquor overtook him. The place was like every other bar he'd been to in his life, rowdy, deafening and violent. He struggled to look past the veil of nicotine and bodies, trying to find his target. He looked to the left, to the right, then finally saw the tall man in the unmistakable trench coat enter through a door in the back, adjacent to the entrance. He wandered to the back, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.
Moving past a group of brawny men at the rear of the bar, he came to the door. Entering the small, unknown room, he stumbled upon a meeting between six shady looking men. Noticing his trench coated quarry, he pulled his gun of personal choice, the Makarov PM pistol.
"Who the hell are you?" the trench coated man demanded. "This is a private meeting."
"I want some information," Zorrovski insisted, aiming his gun.
"Oh," the man in the trench coat mocked. "He wants information boys," he continued, laughing towards his colleagues. "We've got a tip for you man," he addressed Zorrovski.
Suddenly, the man in the trench coat clapped his hands. No sooner did the five supplementary terrorists pick up crowbars from a back table and move towards Zorrovski, backing him into a corner. He got off one shot, striking a man in the head, but before he could fire again, another terrorist lunged for him, butting the gun from his hands. As the gun soared from his hands, the trench coated man caught it, almost effortlessly.
Zorrovski looked on, wide eyed, as the four remaining thugs moved closer towards him with their armaments.
Unexpectedly the man in the trench coat halted them. "Stop. This intruder needs to be taught a lesson." Moving from behind his armed colleagues, he stood directly in front of Zorrovski, aiming the gun at him. "Who are you?"
"I'm with Russian Intelligence."
"Of course you are," the man in the trench coat affirmed. "And you want to stop the big bad terrorists," he teased with a laugh.
"If I don't report, it will be on your head. I have some powerful friends," Zorrovski spoke, trying to sound threatening.
"Oh I'm sure you do. Well, this will teach you to not put your nose where it doesn't belong. Goodbye Sir," the trench coated man declared, firing a shot at minimum range.
The bullet snapped as it entered Zorrovski's skull. As Zorrovski dropped lifelessly to the floor, his forehead oozed with blood. As the man in the trench coat threw down Zorrovski's pistol, he and the five other terrorists immediately left the room, turning out the light and closing the door behind them.
Hours later, the Lotus hummed quietly, entering the recognizable Taleon Hotel parking lot. As the car parked, Bond quickly exited, removing his tuxedo from the back seat. He had been out most of the day touring St. Petersburg, secretly spying on activities at the warehouse headquarters of The Iron Knights. So far it seemed that all was quiet. Frustrated at the lack of leads, Bond entered the hotel with formal wear in tow. Bypassing the receptionist desk and entering the bathroom at the corner of the reception hall, he went into one of the private stalls, quickly removing his day suit. After a few moments of changing attire, he replaced his neck tie with a jet black bow tie, giving himself a quick once over and finally leaving the restroom.
A minute later he entered the familiar casino. As usual there were many people crowding the tables, only they weren't betting tables. The entire hall had been transformed from a beautiful gambling hall into an equally lavish and festively decorated banquet hall. Bond checked his watch, then lit a cigarette. It was eight o'clock in the evening and time to start searching for answers. He moved to the bar at the left of the room that was still open to those who fancied a drink with the sumptuous meal that was prepared. A large crowd bustled in the center of the hall. After ordering a martini, Bond finished his cigarette and waited for his beverage. Once he received it, he sauntered over to see what all the commotion was. Tasting the drink, he blended seamlessly into the crowd. Everyone was paying attention to a man behind a podium at the back of the room. Bond recognized the man. It was Orrin Armonov, dressed in a flashy tuxedo and about to make a speech.
"My friends, I am very proud to announce the twenty-fifth anniversary of our beautiful hotel. As the owner, I have always strived to provide our guests with the finest of accommodations. My gratitude goes out to those who have supported the Taleon over the years. Please help yourself to the cocktails at the banquet tables," Armonov declared with a fake smile, suddenly leaving the podium to mingle with the crowd.
As the crowd responded with uproarious applause, Bond's eyes widened with surprise. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Orrin Armonov was the owner of the Taleon Imperial Hotel? It didn't make sense. How could he not have known this before? He quietly sipped his martini, trying to pinpoint Armonov in the crowd. Suddenly it seemed that Armonov was approaching Bond. As Armonov confronted him, Bond kept cool.
"Ah, Mr. Bond. And how long have you been staying with us?" Armonov questioned
with a twinkle in his eye that only accented his hideous scar.
"Oh I think you know. Haven't you been following me since my arrival in St.
Petersburg?" Bond uttered, using the direct approach.
"Come now Mr. Bond… Spying on the guests of my hotel? That wouldn't be proper."
"Right," Bond said with great sarcasm, ending the nonsensical conversation in favor of
more important dialogue. "It would seem you cleaned up pretty good in the hotel business. Twenty-five years is a lot of profiteering."
"Mr. Bond how dare you," Armonov uttered with a scowl. "I am no profiteer, only, well, a man has to make a living. And what is it that you do for a living?"
"I'm with Universal Exports. Actually, I'm here on business."
"I see. Maybe I could tear you away from your work. Allow me to invite you to my private ski lodge for the weekend. I would very much like the opportunity to take care of you personally," Armonov chuckled foully.
"I'm sure you would. Thank you Mr. Armonov, that would be lovely. It just so happens that I brought my ski's for recreation."
"Oh, that's fine Mr. Bond. All work and no play you know," Armonov smiled, sampling one of the cocktails from the banquet.
As the two men continued conversing, an ever suspicious man in a long, black trench coat came from out of the crowd. Strafing to approach Armonov, he rapidly whispered something in his ear. Bond grimaced at the man, studying him, trying to pick up on anything he could hear. He heard nothing, but Armonov suddenly looked very disturbed by whatever it was he had just been told.
"I apologize Mr. Bond, will you excuse me? I have some business matters to attend to. I'll see you at the ski lodge. Please, enjoy the refreshment," Armonov pronounced, before hurriedly making his way through the crowd and disappearing.
"I intend to," Bond said with a grim smile, snatching a cocktail from the banquet then leaving to return to his room for the night.