(часть 1) THE DEAD SOUL - The Lost Paratrooper series
http://scarybarry.blogspot.com/2014/03/the-dead-soul-lost-paratrooper-series.html
From a secret hiding place in his modest two bedroom house , he withdrew a silenced Browning automatic pistol with extended magazines , a spring loaded knife that could kill at twenty yards and a half dozen smoke grenades . When the time came for his fishing trip , Sergei loaded the motorcycle and the weapons into the RV under the cover of darkness. In the morning he made a show of loading his fishing gear and food supplies into the RV in plain view of his neighbors. They just assumed it was that good old Stan was going on another of his many fishing expeditions. Nothing unusual about that . The old blue ball cap he wore was decorated with ornamental fishing lures . The outfit was completed by L.L. Bean outdoor coveralls and dirty boots.
Sergei , or should I say Stan , booked a spot in the Lincoln Gulch campsite , located off of hwy 82 , eleven miles away from Aspen . Wearing the same life like disguise mask he had used to enter the United States many years ago , he went about fishing at the nearby Roaring Fork river during the day. The time was well spent to reinforce his cover as a man just out to hook a big fish and soak up the sun. The night would bring the real action.
Meanwhile , the Russian tycoon Danovich Petruch was toasting the President of the Volt high tech communications corporation in the Astor Ballroom , part of the swank St. Regis Hotel , located on 315 East Dean street in Aspen. It was quite a place ever since its 40 million dollar renovation. The facade resembled an ornate Victorian palace and the interior was resplendent with Aspen stone and Hickory wall panels. Petruch was putting down copious amounts of wine , while being carefully watched over by his security detail.
Sergei waited for the night to come with the studied patience of an experience reconnaissance soldier he once had been. He then changed into a black one piece motorcycle suit , black helmet with a tinted visor and black riding gloves. His silenced Browning automatic rested in a custom holster inside his one piece suit. He had put Arizona plates on his RV and motorcycle, prior to entering the campsite and used false identification and a false credit card to book his overnight stay. His trail was covered.
It was a cold breezy night as Sergei drove the short distance to the St. Regis hotel. Once on site he waited and watched for the dark black armor plated Cadillac Escalade to arrive at hotel's Porte Cochere area in front of the main entrance. The security transport detail included a lead car and a trail car. It was just after 11:00 pm when Danovich Petruch and his security detail , arrayed in the classic diamond formation exited through the lobby and the main entrance , as his vehicle convoy pulled up in front of the hotel.
Sergei gunned the engine of the Honda 250 , heading straight for the hotel's main entrance , over the curb and directly at the lead protection man at the front of the diamond formation. As expected the other members of the detail quickly moved Petruch to the rear. Sergei tossed a smoke grenade over their heads and ran over the two back members of the detail who were shielding their client. At extreme close range he extended his arm and shot Petruch twice in each eye.
Without hesitation Sergei left the chaotic scene that had been created. Before he could gain escape speed two of the surviving members of the security detail manage to wrestle him off his motorcycle briefly. Using the wave movements of Systema he easily reduced them to a bloody pile on the pavement. As he rode into the night back to the campsite he cherished the look of absolute terror that he had seen on the face of Danovich Petruch just before his demise.
Just before he made it to the entrance of the Lincoln Gulch campsite , he cut off his motorcycle engine and turned off its headlights. He made sure that there was no one up and about before rolling the motorcycle back to his RV and stowing it inside. He felt calm and content. His comrades had been avenged. Tomorrow morning , he would leave before first light.
He left in the darkness of the early morning with a light heart and troubled mind. A short distance down hwy 82 , he stopped , changed back the RV's plates to Colorado state ones and continued on. Later in the week he would dispose of the motorcycle , the helmet and the one piece riding suit.
Back at home the next day , he placed his disguise mask and his Browning automatic back in the secret compartment behind his bedroom wall that he used as a hiding place. He had covered his tracks even to the point of having a cover over his gun to catch the spent shell casings. The face that everyone had seen was that of a disguise mask, the face of a fifty year old Latin man very unlike his pale , blond haired , blue eyed , Caucasian appearance.
His pleasure was only temporary because he felt like the serfs in Russian author Nikolai Gogol's novel " Dead Souls" and the Kremlin leaders were playing the role of Chichikov , who bought landed estates which included a specific number of serfs as part of the sale. It didn't matter if they were dead or alive. He would then sell off these estates , with the same number of serfs listed as part of the sale , dead or alive. It didn't matter. He and his paratroopers were " dead souls " to those in power. Nothing could ever change these feelings Sergei had , even revenge.
Once back at work , he lied to Chet , telling him that he parked at the side of a road somewhere in the Roaring Fork Valley, caught some sack time and fished. He had never stayed at the Lincoln Gulch campsite and he had never gone into the City of Aspen. Chet and his other co-workers bought his story , hook , line and sinker. Fortunately for Sergei , Americans were still innocent to the brutal realities that the rest of the world experienced. He seamlessly went back to his role as Stanly Volker, just an average , hardworking American. His nightmares remained.
http://scarybarry.blogspot.com/2014/03/the-dead-soul-lost-paratrooper-series.html
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| L.L. Bean Fishing |
From a secret hiding place in his modest two bedroom house , he withdrew a silenced Browning automatic pistol with extended magazines , a spring loaded knife that could kill at twenty yards and a half dozen smoke grenades . When the time came for his fishing trip , Sergei loaded the motorcycle and the weapons into the RV under the cover of darkness. In the morning he made a show of loading his fishing gear and food supplies into the RV in plain view of his neighbors. They just assumed it was that good old Stan was going on another of his many fishing expeditions. Nothing unusual about that . The old blue ball cap he wore was decorated with ornamental fishing lures . The outfit was completed by L.L. Bean outdoor coveralls and dirty boots.
Sergei , or should I say Stan , booked a spot in the Lincoln Gulch campsite , located off of hwy 82 , eleven miles away from Aspen . Wearing the same life like disguise mask he had used to enter the United States many years ago , he went about fishing at the nearby Roaring Fork river during the day. The time was well spent to reinforce his cover as a man just out to hook a big fish and soak up the sun. The night would bring the real action.
Meanwhile , the Russian tycoon Danovich Petruch was toasting the President of the Volt high tech communications corporation in the Astor Ballroom , part of the swank St. Regis Hotel , located on 315 East Dean street in Aspen. It was quite a place ever since its 40 million dollar renovation. The facade resembled an ornate Victorian palace and the interior was resplendent with Aspen stone and Hickory wall panels. Petruch was putting down copious amounts of wine , while being carefully watched over by his security detail.
Sergei waited for the night to come with the studied patience of an experience reconnaissance soldier he once had been. He then changed into a black one piece motorcycle suit , black helmet with a tinted visor and black riding gloves. His silenced Browning automatic rested in a custom holster inside his one piece suit. He had put Arizona plates on his RV and motorcycle, prior to entering the campsite and used false identification and a false credit card to book his overnight stay. His trail was covered.
It was a cold breezy night as Sergei drove the short distance to the St. Regis hotel. Once on site he waited and watched for the dark black armor plated Cadillac Escalade to arrive at hotel's Porte Cochere area in front of the main entrance. The security transport detail included a lead car and a trail car. It was just after 11:00 pm when Danovich Petruch and his security detail , arrayed in the classic diamond formation exited through the lobby and the main entrance , as his vehicle convoy pulled up in front of the hotel.
Sergei gunned the engine of the Honda 250 , heading straight for the hotel's main entrance , over the curb and directly at the lead protection man at the front of the diamond formation. As expected the other members of the detail quickly moved Petruch to the rear. Sergei tossed a smoke grenade over their heads and ran over the two back members of the detail who were shielding their client. At extreme close range he extended his arm and shot Petruch twice in each eye.
Without hesitation Sergei left the chaotic scene that had been created. Before he could gain escape speed two of the surviving members of the security detail manage to wrestle him off his motorcycle briefly. Using the wave movements of Systema he easily reduced them to a bloody pile on the pavement. As he rode into the night back to the campsite he cherished the look of absolute terror that he had seen on the face of Danovich Petruch just before his demise.
Just before he made it to the entrance of the Lincoln Gulch campsite , he cut off his motorcycle engine and turned off its headlights. He made sure that there was no one up and about before rolling the motorcycle back to his RV and stowing it inside. He felt calm and content. His comrades had been avenged. Tomorrow morning , he would leave before first light.
He left in the darkness of the early morning with a light heart and troubled mind. A short distance down hwy 82 , he stopped , changed back the RV's plates to Colorado state ones and continued on. Later in the week he would dispose of the motorcycle , the helmet and the one piece riding suit.
Back at home the next day , he placed his disguise mask and his Browning automatic back in the secret compartment behind his bedroom wall that he used as a hiding place. He had covered his tracks even to the point of having a cover over his gun to catch the spent shell casings. The face that everyone had seen was that of a disguise mask, the face of a fifty year old Latin man very unlike his pale , blond haired , blue eyed , Caucasian appearance.
His pleasure was only temporary because he felt like the serfs in Russian author Nikolai Gogol's novel " Dead Souls" and the Kremlin leaders were playing the role of Chichikov , who bought landed estates which included a specific number of serfs as part of the sale. It didn't matter if they were dead or alive. He would then sell off these estates , with the same number of serfs listed as part of the sale , dead or alive. It didn't matter. He and his paratroopers were " dead souls " to those in power. Nothing could ever change these feelings Sergei had , even revenge.
Once back at work , he lied to Chet , telling him that he parked at the side of a road somewhere in the Roaring Fork Valley, caught some sack time and fished. He had never stayed at the Lincoln Gulch campsite and he had never gone into the City of Aspen. Chet and his other co-workers bought his story , hook , line and sinker. Fortunately for Sergei , Americans were still innocent to the brutal realities that the rest of the world experienced. He seamlessly went back to his role as Stanly Volker, just an average , hardworking American. His nightmares remained.
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