Consequences Unforeseen

Late July Moscow/Tokyo/Moscow then...

Late July Moscow/Tokyo/Moscow then...

The air was warm and moist in the city. The rain earlier in the day and unusual for that time of year, left a steaming misty haze rising into the now cloudless sky. The July sun made the most of drinking up the moisture and bringing the temperature up to an equally unusual 87 degrees Fahrenheit.

Bill Douglas was playing the tourist and eccentric professor again as he strolled along the familiar campus of the Moscow Institute of Technology seemingly without a care in the world.

Out of sight out of mind might have described his feelings about the real reasons he was here, but the reality was that absence made his heart grow fonder. Kris was gone. Back to the States and secure at home, with her parents to contend with. He could see her in his mind's eye jousting with her father over what channel they would watch as the 'deadline hour' of 7 pm. approached.

The magical 7 o'clock announcement of the winning lottery number for that day. He loved the occasional bet on his favorite numbers of 423 and the Devil in Kris always had her try to divert the TV away from the channel – just to annoy him.

He chuckled at the thought and was rewarded by the harsh voice of Big Bad John in his head. "Stop this bloody daydreamin' laddie. The clichés in yer heid are no fittin' fur this moment o' time. Git yer backside to the pub and huv a beer wi' Aleksandra. Find oot whit she's got on her mind."

Douglas nodded, murmuring to himself, "Yer right you old bastard. I'm jist puttin' it off. She asked tae see me and knowin' her, she's got her reasons. Its jist that I don't know if I want tae know whit they are!"

Truth be told his old Uncle had only read the uppermost thoughts in his mind. Deeper within, the Douglas was carrying a heavy weight in his heart.

He rose that morning with a sadness deep in his soul knowing that today – the 21st of July - was 19 years to the day since 'Bloody Monday' when the Provisional IRA detonated more than twenty concealed bombs in the City of Belfast, Northern Ireland.

In the eighty minutes it took for these explosions to conclude, nine people died and one -hundred – and - thirty were injured.

Of personal impact though, that sad day began a period in the Douglas' life that spanned the next twenty years, bringing out the best of his capabilities – but the worst effects on the death mongers on both sides of the conflict.

"Dinnae go there boy!" His Uncle piped up again. "Leave those days ahind ye. There's nothin' can change the outcome noo, an' yer on the road tae history makin' noo."

Douglas held his council deep, and gave no response. 'The old guy was right,' he thought. 'Onward and upward, that's the only way to go!'...

 (Tokyo) - He was the color of mahogany. The week since Kris left saw him tanning like a sun worshipper every single day, down at Yuigahama Beach near Kamakura. Fifty-five minutes away, it was a perfect place to turn him into the dark skinned, tanned all over person he needed to be for the Crimea.

Problem was that Japan was not big on nudity at public beaches. Spas, and massage resorts, no problem. But keep your private parts covered anywhere else you go. Ironically, Kris had found this special place and taken him there to escape the heat and oppressive Tokyo air. She'd also found a secluded spot where she could take advantage of him, as she liked to say.

The week he spent there alone on this occasion, made him realize that nothing in Japan stays a secret for long. On the final day, one of the local girls climbing over the dunes to take a pee in private, spotted him in his glory. Within minutes he had an audience of twenty or more giggling and screeching young ladies looking down on him.

"Ōkina penisu o kon'nichiwa! Zehi, watashi o shutoku!" (Hello big penis! Come and get me!). Was the shout from the loudest of the girls. Ironically, these chants had the opposite effect on him and he shriveled up as on the coldest of mornings. He made his escape like some schoolboy caught in an inappropriate moment...

(Moscow) 'The Shamrock' was busy for the late afternoon on this Thursday the 25th July 1991. That Moscow was in the throes of uncertainty and unrest did not seem to deter expats from almost every western country in having their afternoon session drinking Irish, Scottish and English Beers with abandon. Giving in earlier in the year, the bar had even set up Budweiser on draft to appease the U.S. contingent who for reasons known only to God actually seemed to enjoy the stuff – much to the disparagement of the more refined European folks.

Margaret, the land lady, was hustling around behind the bar and working up quite a sweat in the unconditioned air. The doors and windows were all thrown open but the still outside air and the high temperature meant that those drinking the cold beer were the lucky ones.

She didn't notice Bill coming in, but he fixed on her immediately allowing his mind to wander back to the first time he'd met her back in June some six weeks ago. "God," his Uncle John piped up, "How time flies when yer hain fun eh ma boy? She's a sight fur sair eyes eh?" He continued.

As usual, Douglas thought to himself, the old bastard hadn't failed to notice that Maggie was severely underdressed in a simple halter top and very short shorts.

Bill's eyes twinkled in agreement and it was then that she noticed him and the surprise dropped her jaw as her eyes widened in the recognition.

"Sergei!" She yelled out to one of the barmen. "Take over in here will you? I have an old friend to welcome," and that said she leapt the bar landing no more than a step away from Bill.

"My God Bill," she said taking him by the hand and leading him back and through the door marked 'PRIVATE – Maggie's Den,' "You're like a bloody Arab. I wouldn't have recognized you at all but for those damned eyes of yours."

Bill followed along without speaking, his mind travelling back to the last time he'd been in the large room with the fireplace and big four poster bed. He noticed that nothing had changed save for the absence of a fire, redundant as it was on such a day as this.

Maggie didn't seem to mind his silence and carried on with lilting but rapid speech. "She's not here, so she's not. Aleksandra I mean – she left you a note and told me to give it to you and get you out of here without even giving you a beer!"

Bill held his hands up in mock shock and said, "Jesus Maggie, no beer on such a day! I'll never survive a half hour more!"

"I know, so I do. It's just not fair so it isn't," and she yelled back through the door, "Sergei, will you not bring us two Carlsbergs right away will you not? I've got a dying man in here so I have – and only a beer will save him so it will!"

Big bad Uncle John piped up at this exchange saying "God boy, Ah love these Irish girls wi' their sing songy wee voices an way o' battin' their lashes at ye – awe innocent like. But this yin, she's aboot as innocent as a fox in a henhouse ye ken!"

Bill ignored the 'Old Yin' on this occasion as Maggie handed him a sealed envelope saying, "I'll leave you with this so I will, and go get the beers myself. A wee bit of privacy will do you good so it will."

She needn't have bothered. Bill ripped open the note to find but three words written. 'Come to Piter.'... Those words and a railway ticket...