Operation Leap of Faith

Chapter 2

Present day - USA, Minnesota

The idea that the pass of time was constant seemed like a scam in Glaz's opinion. The last two days certainly didn't feel like just two days, he was sure they lasted the equivalent of a couple of weeks minimum. In that time, Glaz fretted about the upcoming meeting, revised his cover story and made sure he had answers to any possible question. He also went running, because he needed a physical outlet, painted almost obsessively, and generally did his best to distract himself from that nagging anxiety that followed him everywhere.

He was nearly out of paint, and the living room looked like a tiny and cramped art gallery, but it was worth it. In order to not look like a paint smudged hobo, Glaz took a shower and chose an outfit that reminded him of what he thought in his early teens that a gangster would wear. If he was supposed to be a thug, he might as well look the part. The final result was not as terrible as one might have imagined. In fact, the thing that looked the weirdest to him was the beard. Glaz hadn't let his beard grown like that before, he usually was clean shaved or with just some stubble under his tactical gear. Although he had to admit he liked how the beard looked on him. Time to go out and see what a terrorist cell was like.

Glaz drove in complete silence, trees flanking both sides of the familiar road. He tried to find a radio station with decent music to fill the void around him, but the noise actually irritated him. The concealed pistol he carried dug sometimes into his arm, depending on how he moved. He might not be able to take his trademark rifle, but he wasn't going unarmed into that meeting. It would be folly to do so, not to mention out of character for a hitman like he was supposed to be.

This time he didn't leave the car by the main road, choosing to drive to the chalet's front entrance. It was odd going back to the same place he assaulted a few days ago. Once he arrived, he almost expected to see the door batting on the wind and the broken window like the last time he was here. However, it looked like nobody had broken into the house, the window repaired, the door in its place, not a single potted plant out of place or knocked down. Glaz would bet the interior looked pristine too, no trace of blood anywhere. Whoever owned this house was obviously in the know of what happened, and had thrown money to cover it up.

As soon as he stepped out of the car, his phone beeped, with a message from Shrike: "Main sitting room, you know where it is."

Acutely aware they were waiting for him, Glaz opened the door and stepped into the vipers' nest. The image that greeted him on the aforementioned living room was picturesque enough to make him stop at the entrance and take in the scene. A group of at least ten people sitting on the couches, all with delicate looking cups in their hands and sipping at their tea or coffee, talking between them like this was a book club meeting. Glaz wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't this.

His arrival merited a sudden hush in the conversations, and Glaz used the fact he had all of their attention on him to take a good look at them as well. Most of the people here were young, just two of them looked older than forty or forty-five. He didn't recognise anyone, which was to be expected. Nobody was wearing the trademark white masks. For some reason, that struck him as odd. One of the guys got up and approached him, and everyone else returned to whatever they had been doing before. Glaz silently stared at the approaching man, studying him. Slightly taller than him but beefy enough to almost rival Tachanka, brown hair and dark eyes, no striking features aside of how massive he was.

"You must be the surprise we were told to expect," he offered Glaz a handshake. "I'd offer you a cup, but the tea tastes like boiled water and the coffee like dirt. Name's Damien."

"Idrisov," Glaz took Damien's hand. He seemed eager to talk. That could be useful, he could be a good source of information.

"Ah, you're the one who brought our wayward friend to Layla!" So that was Shrike's real name, interesting. "I supervised the clean up of this place, and I have to admit I'm impressed Idri. Can I call you Idri? I noticed you only fired a few shots, a clean and quick job, it was-"