Ivan Klimenko had just turned off the sink faucet and reached out for the paper towel dispenser, when all of a sudden his mouth was gagged with a dusty rug, his body torn off the floor by two strangers, who then quickly manhandled him out of the public toilet on one of the streets if Kyiv and straight into a Toyota Hiace minibus, where another man, with a quick, sure movement of his hand, sent Ivan instantly into a deep chloroformed sleep.
On coming back to his senses, Ivan found himself lying on the floor of the vehicle, his hands bound tightly behind his back, his head aching terribly. All of his three captors were in the minibus - the driver and the two husky guys seated on both his sides. He neither knew who these men were, nor where they were taking him, or what the hell was going on. But he knew for sure that he had missed his Kiev - Lviv flight and that his wife, who was supposed to meet him at the airport, would be very alarmed to discover he wasn't aboard the plane.
He managed to take a glimpse at the watch on the wrist of one of his captors. It was about four hours since he had stepped over the threshold of that damned restroom. Perhaps if he hadn't done that, he would have been flying safely home now.
"Shit," he whispered and closed his eyes.
Soon he felt with all his body the vehicle turn off the highway onto a dirt road, and after twenty minutes of bouncing over potholes and bumps, the van stopped and the driver shut down the engine.
"Here we are. Wake up," one of the guys shook Ivan by the shoulder, "Come on, buddy, get up and out."
Ivan had no choice but to obey and get out of the vehicle. A heady fresh air, saturated with the brisk smell of water spray, burst through his nostrils and into his chest, replacing the musty air mixture, which his lungs were full of after the long journey on the car floor. He looked around to find himself standing on a dirt track bordered by a wood on one side and a river on the other. The sparkling, frothy waters of the river gurgled their way through rapids of smooth, grey boulders that stretched across the noisy stream up to the opposite bank, where a dense wall of forest stood.
"Don't be scared, you're safe here. Let's go to the house," the driver, now out of the car, interrupted his observation of the landscape and made him notice a mud hut, standing at the edge of the wood. Half a dozen goats were peacefully strolling around the house, exploring the ground that had not yet forgotten the numb cold of winter, and that April had not yet dyed verdant. A flock of noisy geese was enjoying the first warm rays of the spring sun, splashing around in a muddy puddle, which had obviously been a snowdrift only a few days ago.
Ivan, accompanied by his captors, walked over to the hut, then all the four entered the low door, passed through the small hallway and stepped into a faintly lit room, where five casually dressed men were sitting at a long table. On seeing Ivan, the tallest and handsomest of them stood up and with a benevolent smile headed towards the captive.
"Glad to see you, Ivan. Oh, brethren, haven't you yet released his hands from the bonds? Please do it immediately and let our guest join us at the table," there was no trace of threat in his soft, suave voice.
"We owe you an apology for the way we brought you here," continued the man as he enclosed Ivan's hands, now freed from the rope, in his big, warm palms. "But there was no other way to convey you here. You may check your pockets, we didn't touch your wallet, but had to confiscate your phone just for your own safety."
"Where am I?" asked Ivan.
The man let go of Ivan's hands and took a step back.
"In Ukraine, of course. We're in a forest in the Vinnitsa region. The river you've seen is the Southern Buh, or the Hypanis as Herodotus named it in his Histories. The land of the extinct Scythians, the very outskirts of the former Roman Empire, the Empire within the boundaries of which our Lord has sacrificed himself. Well, Ivan, pray take any seat you like."
