Olga and I stood in the bus stop about two kilometers inside the Italian border. We weren’t the only odd looking passengers waiting for the dusty bus to show up. I was really relieved the see a small herd of about 20 waiting huddled in the early morning mist that threatened to turn into a meaningful sprinkling of rain. I would have paid a king’s ransom for a cup of hot coffee and I could felt Olga shivering under the protection of my sheltering trench-coat. I knew the trench-coat was a cliché but it served so many purposes in the field that I was a servant to its presence. My little .22 was hiding way down by my ankle and I was a bit afraid of being subject to some type of Italian police checkpoint directed at screening the immigrants from the south even further.
The shivering girl was beginning to awaken my dormant manhood into the prospect of easy pickings in close proximity and I was happy to see the bus approach from the mist-shrouded direction of the mountains. A little bustle of activity confirmed that all of the other silent passengers were getting their fare money out and securing their little parcels and backpacks of belongings. Olga and I were traveling extra light and our tiny backpacks held just some toilet articles and a change of clothing. I knew I had to either lose the little pistol before reaching the Air Force Base or turn it over to Olga waiting outside. I was not all that happy about that for several reasons including the fact I was not entirely secure in trusting the pretty girl was indeed an ally and not a potential threat.
We were safely onboard the bus and pulling out when I saw a Carabineri van pull up to the bus stop and watch us pull away. I wasn’t sure that was a good sign or something to be worried about. Olga and I sat in the back of the bus and I told her to speak in Russian so that we would not stand out so much talking in English on a bus where the language was mostly Italian and Turkish or Greek. The bus driver looked to be old enough to be my father and that made me smile because my father had worked a full eight hour day in his government job right up to the day he died feeding the pigeons outside city hall at 88 years old. Right now, I didn’t think I would be able to emulate his staying power.
Olga’s Russian was pure and grammatically correct in every respect. I had gotten really sloppy over the years and I knew my Ukrainian accent and Serbian slang made me sound like a refugee Jew but maybe that was better in this current situation.
Nobody took notice of us and we discussed our plans for the Aviano transfer. I told Olga that it was imperative that she stay out of sight in the immediate area of the base because it would be hard for me to explain why I had a Russian national tagging along with me as I transited out of Croatia into Italy. There were so many new countries now in what used to constitute the old Eastern Bloc that I sometimes got them confused and insulted newly liberated regions. Of course, the glue that held old Yugoslavia together was the iron hand of Tito, the ultimate chessmaster, perched up high in Belgrade protecting his far-flung territories from both East and West.
When we arrived on the outskirts of Aviano, I took Olga to a sort of cafeteria style internet café that offered private on-line connections and a fairly decent menu. I told her the bathrooms there were quite clean and she would be able to do a wash-up with no interference. I did the same myself and even did a quick shave before heading to the main gate.
Just like all Air Force Bases all over the world, the security was pretty good, especially now with the terrorist threat from the Islamic Jihad. I was surprised that there was a mixture of both American and Italian security but I figured it was necessary because of the large number of Italian speaking workers on the base. I knew the base pretty well; it had not changed much for the last few decades with the exception that there were more buildings and the runways were extended.
I slipped Olga the gun under the table and gave her the extra magazines hidden in the palm of my hand. They all disappeared under her clothing so quickly that I wondered if she had been a magician in her younger days. I counted out half of my available cash and told her if I didn’t come back before noontime she was to continue by herself to the address of a “safe” house in Venice. I assured her that regardless of what transpired on the base, I would be joining her there within 24 hours.
