Anton Rudin sat on a stool, hunched over an old wooden farm table that had seen many family dinners throughout the decades. Children would have gathered at the table, eager to see what their mother had prepared. Never in their wildest dreams would past occupants of the house have imagined the table holding the items it now held.
Rudin pushed the bridge of his gold round eyeglasses further up his long, pointed ski-slope-shaped nose. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. His black hair was cut short and parted on the side. He was a small man, barely five-and-a-half-feet tall, and had a thin build. Fortunately, his skills did not require him to use his brawn. No, he made his living with his mind.
Rudin finished wiring the remote detonator to the last of four bombs. His cell phone on the table vibrated. He leaned over and sighed. It was his current employer. The man had hired him to make the four bombs. The man had also hired him to make, place and detonate the bombs that had exploded in Moscow over the last six months. Rudin did not see himself as a terrorist. In his mind, he was a businessperson, a supplier. It was a simple issue of supply and demand. There was a need for what he made and he filled that need. The man he was about to talk to, however, had wanted Rudin to be more than a supplier.
Rudin despised the client, but the man paid very well for the bomb maker’s services. Once these four devices were in place, Rudin would receive the final installment. The money would be enough to allow him to live comfortably for the rest of his life, which was going to be a long time, since he was only forty-five years old. He had made plans to use his newfound wealth to leave Russia. He hated the cold winters, and the older he got, the more his body protested. He had his eyes set on somewhere warm, somewhere tropical. A place with beautiful sunsets and miles and miles of coastline, speckled with pretty girls in skimpy bikinis. Rudin smiled, envisioning the scene.
Letting go of the pliers, he grabbed the mobile. “Da — Yes.”
“Gotovy li oni yeshche — Are they ready yet?” asked the man.
“YA tol'ko chto zakonchil — I just finished,” replied Rudin.
“Khorosho. Grafik byl peremeshchen vverkh. Vy dolzhny poluchit' ikh na meste v nastoyashcheye vremya. Moi lyudi vstretyat vas v tochke sblizheniya. K tomu vremeni, vy poluchayete k mestu, bezopasnost' budut udaleny, i u vas ne budet nikakikh poluchat' cherez vorota. — Good. The timetable has been moved up. You need to get them in place, now. My men will meet you at the rendezvous point. By the time you get to the location, security will be removed and you’ll have no trouble getting through the gate.”
“Chto mozhno skazat' o zhenshchine iz FSB? Ona stanovitsya vse blizhe i blizhe — What about the woman from the FSB? She is getting closer and closer.”
“Ne bespokoytes' o ney. Ya dogovorilsya. Ona budet zabotit'sya — Don’t worry about her. I’ve made arrangements. She will be taken care of.” The man paused and added, “Ne vint eto vverkh. Vy budete shchedro zaplatili, no tol'ko yesli vam eto udastsya. Otkaz ne budet dopuskat'sya — Don’t screw this up. You’ll be paid generously, but only if you succeed. Failure will not be tolerated.” As soon as the man had finished speaking, he hung up the phone, not giving Rudin a chance to respond.
Setting the cell on the table, Rudin began giving orders to the men. One of them, holding a spatula in his hand, tossed things into a plastic garbage bag, while another gathered large pieces of paper on a nearby table. Rudin screamed, “Ostav'te vse. My dolzhny idti! — Leave everything. We have to go now!”