Read The Life We Lead: Ascending Online
Authors: George Nagle
Tags: #thriller, #suspense, #action, #espionage, #series, #james bond, #spy, #sherlock holmes, #conspiaracy, #spy action thriller
The Life We Lead: Ascending
Ascending
George M. Nagle
Copyright 2014 by George M. Nagle
The Life We Lead series is copyrighted by
George M. Nagle.
Cover design by Kelly Pernell of pbj creative
studios
This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to
other people. If you would like to share this book with another
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purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedicated to
Marie Pauli Nagle
“Ready to go, man?” asked Daen. He frowned
slightly as he looked at his companion. “You look like you have a
headache.”
“Life is a headache, but yeah, let’s go.”
James answered in a deliberately playful tone. Aware that he was
showing his distraction more than he wanted to, he masked it as
best he could.
The pair walked out of the hotel room, and
James locked the door behind them.
Something was coming and James knew it. That
slightly fogging feeling, like missing sleep or jet lag, combined
with the tension in his stomach, was starting to build. Judging by
the degree of tension he felt, this was going to be something
big.
He hated the feeling.
Opening the door to the street a few moments
later, a hard cold burst of snowy wind hit them.
“Damn, man, this Russian weather is harsh.
Glad this place is close. Ain’t made for this weather, man. I just
ain’t. Feels like the air is freezing in my mouth. People shouldn’t
live like this.” Daen’s voice was muffled beneath the coat collar
he’d pulled up as far as it would go.
James silently agreed as they walked the
block and a half to the bar the hotel clerk, Natalia, had
recommended as having good food.
They had barely taken seats at the bar when
two shot glasses filled with vodka appeared.
His eyebrows high, a huge smile on his face,
Daen said, “Now that’s service!”
They picked up the shots and downed them.
James didn’t normally drink at all, but he also believed that “When
in Rome, do as the Romans do.”
The old man behind the bar smiled and said in
Russian slang, “Americans.”
He clearly spoke English.
“You are Ameri`cans, da?” A rather drunk, red
faced man in his late forties with bright, blue eyes and short,
sandy blond hair all but shouted to Daen and James in an
intoxicated slur.
“I know many Ameri`cans!” the drunk man told
them. “I … I … I … have even been to your country. I must buy you
drink!” The man turned to the barman and called for another
round.
“Thank you. That’s very friendly,” said
James.
“And welcome too, man. I need to warm up,”
said Daen, and everyone chuckled.
As the barman brought the drinks, James
excused himself.
“But, a moment, friend, your drink is here,”
protested the drunk man.
“Need to let some out before I take more in.”
James smiled as he walked away. Russian culture, like many others,
was very sensitive about drinking together.
As James made his way along the dusky bar, he
noticed how uneven the floor was. Only half the light sockets had
bulbs. The tables were mismatched and the walls were covered with
odd bumps that, in the poor lighting, made the wallpaper look like
it was moving.
A young lady of about twenty was tending to
the back area where twelve other patrons were scattered. She wore a
simple dress with an apron, flat shoes and had a rather plain face
with dark brown, shoulder-length hair.
As James passed her, he noticed a thin, gold
chain hanging around her neck with a small golden emblem. It was
partially covered, but it looked like a cross or maybe an “X”
shape.
“Could you tell me where the bathroom is?”
he asked.
The lady gave him a dazzling polite smile
and looked toward the man tending bar as if seeking assistance. She
clearly didn’t speak English.
“Ah, where is the toilet?” said James in
poor Russian.
The girl said something in her own language
and smiled again, turning her head in the right direction.
James did not understand what she had said,
but got the hint from her body language. As James turned in the
direction she had motioned him toward, he heard the front door open
and close, followed by a burst of cold air that swept the
place.
His eyes did as they were trained and
immediately finished scanning the area for cameras, exits, or fire
equipment, but all he could see was the entrance to the kitchen and
a locked door that probably led to a storeroom. Going to the
bathroom was just an excuse to get a feel for the bar, as he still
had that slightly nagging, distracted feeling.
Entering the bathroom, he found a small room
with very old, but clean, fixtures. A mirror had a small crack in
the lower corner over the sink, and the window was big enough to
slip through, though the building next door would make it a tight
exit.
Exiting the bathroom, James noticed a small
family that had come in to have what was probably a rare night out.
Reaching his seat, he noticed that his glass was empty. He looked
over at Daen, who leaned in and whispered, “Man, the guy next to
you must use the five second rule on drinks. If it’s there any
longer, he snatches it up like it’s open season. I don’t know how
he’s sitting there. He’s already had four shots since we came in.
What do you want to eat?” he asked in a louder voice, handing James
a menu.
James simply said, “Whatever you’re getting
is fine.”
Daen, who spoke Russian, placed the orders
with the young lady serving food and was about to say something
when the door opened again. “Damn, man, I’m not used to cold like
this.” He shuddered as the door shut and the new customers passed
by.
“This, this is not cold,” said the drunk man
next to James. “I have been in cold, and this is not cold. Moscow
does not get so very cold like Siberia. The cold there is so bad
that when you take shit, it starts to freeze before it hits ground.
That is cold. Or when can’t go outside for a few days because your
eyes might freeze if slightly touched with wind. I, Petior, I have
been in this cold. It is nice here,” said the drink-snatching man
who had bought them a round of vodka.
“Damn, man, seriously?” asked Daen with
astonishment.
“Of course, seriously. I have been all over
and never experience cold like this anywhere else,” Petior said,
laughing. “It is where hell would go to be frozen over.”
James and Daen introduced themselves, using
their customary false names.
“Stephen Lewis,” said James, shaking Petior’s
hand.
Daen nodded. “Bryan Douglas.”
James and Daen rarely used their real names
when they were together. Mainly because if they were together, odds
had it they were on a mission for the group. This spring break trip
to Russia was no different, though both wished the weather was more
like what most of their peers were no doubt experiencing.
While they waited for the food, James, Daen
and Petior were laughing and really enjoying getting to know each
other in one of those rare moments that you instantly become
friends with someone you just met.
Dinner arrived, consisting of steaming
potatoes, fresh fish with a light, tantalizing aroma, two different
sauces, and what appeared to be coleslaw.
James leaned over the counter to order
another round of drinks, discretely communicating with the
bartender to switch his out for water.
The bartender clearly found this odd, given
the face he made at James, but he played along. The bartender was
very skilled at covering up the fact that James wasn’t drinking
vodka like Petior and Daen.
During the meal, Petior gave them a highlight
of his best adventures in what seemed almost a biography.
“Very early in Russia, you must be strong or
weak. Not strong like Ameri`cans think. Their strong is like our
weak. I remember when I was a boy, just start at school. An older
boy was beating on each of my classmates. A new one each day. When
he got to me, he got much more than he could deal. I remember, he
pushed me and I was small and I hit very hard on the ground on my
nose. See?”
He pointed to one of the many low bumps on
his crooked nose. “That is the first time it broke. I was bleeding
and my friends were calling out. I lay there and he walked over me,
his feet on sides of my body. He turn me over to face him and I
kick very hard.”
Petior started laughing in a deep, booming
way, spilling half his drink on his sleeve. “Ugh, bad to waste
drink,” he said as he began to suck it out of the fabric.
“Well, what happened then?” asked Daen
impatiently.
“Oh yes, I kick him very hard in balls,” the
man finished.
Instinctively, James and Daen cringed,
subconsciously grabbing their own groins, but laughing.
“He collapse on top of me on his knees,”
Petior said. “So as he fell, I turned quickly and hit him in the
nose with my elbow. Blood all over, and he is lying there on the
floor bleeding, very still for a moment. Everyone cheers for me.
Then schoolmaster comes. He have to take other boy to infirmary,
but he takes me to office. He ask what happened and I tell. He says
I did what I had to, but he still have to beat me for the fight. He
gave me five lashes. I have a mark still from one.” Petior stood up
and grabbed for his belt as if he were going to show the mark.
“Hey, hey man, no man. We believe you. We
don’t need the visual,” said Daen quickly.
James laughed and shook his head.
The evening carried on this way for another
two hours or so, the three men joking and laughing and thoroughly
enjoying themselves. Daen was getting very drunk, while Petior did
not seem to be any worse than when they’d come in, though he kept
slipping in and out of Russian.
James decided it was time to go. He paid the
bill and covered Petior’s tab too, for which the Russian was very
grateful. James half-carried Daen as they said farewell, and Petior
insisted they have dinner again tomorrow, meeting up at the bar
first at 6 p.m.
Though James liked Petior, he was conscious
of the fact he and Daen had a mission. Spending another evening
with someone they’d randomly met didn’t sound like the best use of
their limited time, but Daen agreed before James could say
anything, so he went along with it. He knew Daen would be in rough
shape the next day and wouldn’t want to stay out too late the
following evening.
The cold walk back to the hotel didn’t seem
to bother Daen much, but James’s back was happy to drop Daen on his
bed ten minutes later. Walking a drunken man who is taller than you
home on ice is not an easy task.