MISFIT

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

The Swiss Alps

He walked towards his private plane like always, dressed in a heavy winter coat for the climate demanded it.

The winds howled and he could swear he heard the cries of wolves in the crisp dry breeze.

"Scotch, Brandy, Cognac, Whiskey,
these are all that matter to me,
women, violence and the enemies head, approach my pedigree,
the war is over for great Russia, there's blood in the winters snow,
oh heed my voice oh great soldier, for its all there is to know."

He sang with every step that sank into the deep snow with his walking stick telling him where it was safe to step.

His long black curly hair hidden in his woolen winter hat.

"The monks have been loaded sir" The tall built guard in uniform said.

"Good, the money?" He asked not turning to face him even as he stopped.

"It's been sent" The guard replied.

"Good" He began to walk towards his plane.

Han was a man whose coat of arms was that of a Saber tooth tiger. A dictator who was loved by his people, he gave them a security no other person could provide. His composure spoke of it. A man whose millions made him president, he was richer than three Soviet states put together.

He was the man calling for a more united Soviet, unity in ways that no one in the 21st century would ever imagine.

He had the experience in science and could not be cheated with any deal. He made weapons himself and sold them to the highest bidder but never to people he knew couldn’t be trusted, nor states. He had seen wars, he had seen double crosses, he had seen betrayal, he had seen it all.

He had the largest vineyards and cellars that helped to sustain the wine market in the economy.

He had just made a big deal but he knew well to not leave loose ends.

His plane took off and he continued to hum a tune he had learnt during the Cold War.

A pretty Armenian flight attendant walked up to him and poured him a drink.

He smiled at her.

Nicolai Leonte Da-Luga was a man you didn't see as a friend. He had no friends. Today, he sipped wine with you or had shots with you from the same bottle, the following day he was feeding you to the crocodiles he kept in his home.

The plane took off for Moldova, ending his so called diplomatic three day trip in the Switzerland. Only a camouflage to conceal his actual dealings and reasons for being in Switzerland.

He looked out the window as the plane lifted off the ground and took flight.

"Anything else sir?"

"Igor Stravinsky, put him on" Han said to the guard who understood right away what that meant.

He played Han's favorite Igor Stravinsky Opera and he tapped his foot to it, shut his eyes and relaxed in his seat. He lay still, almost as if he was asleep but he held on to his walking stick.

"Cristov the guard looked at the walking stick intensely. It was a strange walking stick he thought. The top was made of a rare looking wood covered in vines, the lower part of it was polished brown wood. It was like nothing he had ever seen.

Cristov stayed with his master while he rested, daring not to disturb him throughout the flight.

Chişinãu, Moldova