The Devil's Handshake

3

Ashgabat, 1998

In 1998 Ashgabat the capital of Turkmenistan, unlike the semi-modern self-gloried city it is today, then could only be described as a typical city of the former Soviet Union with it rows upon rows of low-rise soviet style buildings and a population of approximately one million souls.

Led by Saparmurat Niyazov, an old style communist and his bunch of cronies, the country was a very necessary, if somewhat corrupt, supplier of natural gas to the world.

One such crony of the President was Oleg Mälikgulyýewiç Rejejow. Hailing from Gipchak, the hometown of the President, through his mother’s side and the son of a former Turkman General in the Soviet Union, he came from the privileged set that had ruled through the Communist Party of Turkmenistan since the twenties.

A bright child who graduated as expected from Moscow University in the mid-1980s in Foreign Affairs, Oleg had then joined the KGB. Rising to the rank of Major, before returning home to Turkmenistan in the early 1990s because of the failure of the KGB led coup in Moscow.

Ambitious and determined to secure a job in the new government, he joined the local KGB. Spotted by Niyazov, who having started his purge of Russians in the State Intelligence Services wanted Turkmen in the senior officer positions to cement his power, the President had quickly promoted Oleg to the rank of Munbashi with a unique responsibility for International Relations.

In reality, that title was merely a cover to allow Oleg to put his talents into the setting up of money laundering operations in Turkey and Germany for US$3 billion the President had skimmed from the financial exploitation of the natural resources of his country, while allowing him at the same time to set up his drug smuggling and prostitution rings. This was something he did with great effect by the use of violence amongst the tribes and through killing and torturing at will those who didn’t fall into line and his use of the President’s name to expand his empire. As a direct result, he was considered one of the most powerful members of the President’s entourage.

Possessing a stocky build and a rounded face with closed puffy eyes that made him look as if he were a nasty, aggressive temple dog guarding its territory—It was a look that only reinforced his legend.

Although debt collection was considered an Onbashi task, Oleg somewhat perversely rather enjoyed it and as such he took great delight performing this chore himself.

On the night he had entered Nara’s life, he was planning to torture her father, but when the bloodied, desperate man had offered up his daughter as security for his debt by showing and giving him a blood stained photograph of her, the brutal enforcer had changed his mind and instead accepted the beautiful angelic looking child instead.

From that moment on Nara’s, who was just thirteen at the time, remaining childhood turned into a hellish nightmare that often returned to haunt her at night in the following years.

To survive, she quickly developed street smarts: teaching herself English by watching movies from America, learning to mask her emotions and keeping herself in shape by staying off the drugs, while throughout constantly telling Oleg she loved him when pleasuring him to ensure she remained one of his favorite concubines.

In order to survive this continuing torment over years, the pretty teenager created a private place in her mind where she would escape to, that place was “an ocean of tranquility—blue clear water under a cloudless sky” and had been so ever since her parents took her to the Caspian Sea when she was a child.

Although Nara had never seen a real ocean, as Oleg would never allow his favorite concubine to leave Turkmenistan, it had remained her dream to reach it. Today she hoped that it would finally come true by the repayment of her father’s debt so allowing her to escape to Dubai!

When Nara had told her mother of her plan to repay him the twenty thousand U.S. dollars of her father’s debt, the total sum she had managed to squirrel away from the tips of the men and women who used her body, her mother had insisted as per their tribal law that she should go with her as the family representative. She had reasoned that there would be a need for a witness as her father had drunk himself to death on cheap “jet-fuel” vodka over the guilt of what he forced his daughter into. Despite arguing heavily with her and against her better judgment, Nara had allowed her mother to come with her.

Arriving at his office next door to the newly built Sheraton Grand Hotel, neither Nara nor her mother had any idea of how the next forty-five minutes would mold, change, and shape their family’s destiny forever.

Walking into the office they were met at the door by his best man and enforcer who was wearing a cheap green suit, shirt, and white tie made by a Pakistani tailor from Lahore, a pair of cheap black shoes, and his pistol showing under his jacket. He smelled of the strong perfume that men from the Middle East often wore to mask their body odor known as Yuri Karajaýewiç Gorbunow.

A typical looking Turkman with a Chinese look to his face, dark thick hair with obsidian dead eyes, stocky in build, around 5’8” and had a body of 210 pounds of rock hard muscle. A veteran of Afghanistan, where as a member with the 105th Guard’s airborne division, he had earned a fearsome reputation as a sadistic, brutal killer who took enjoyment in celebrating his kills by removing the ears of the Mujahideen with his hunting knife. He had always desired Nara ever since Oleg had once, as a reward for a particular job well done, given him access to her young body.

The beautiful teenager felt her entire body shiver, a reaction she always felt when he looked upon her with his leering smile. Today this terror was even worse, for Nara could have sworn she saw him lick his lips the second he set eyes on her mama.

“The Boss will see you in five minutes; he is just finishing with an important client,” he stated as he continued to leer at her and her mother. Forcing her troubled mind to acknowledge him, Nara did so with a polite “thank you,” followed by a forced smile, her only weapon in an attempt to disarm him.

An attractive looking forty year-old woman, Tania, possessed looks that would be best be described as similar to that of her daughter. Her face had the same high naturally puffed up cheeks, extremely thinly plucked eyebrows, deep brown eyes with one or two laughter lines surrounded by dark eyelashes and her natural pout smile and luscious lips framed with long jet black hair gave an observer a direct link to Nara. Yet because she was 5’4” in height and had a naturally bronzed, fuller, curvy figure, something that was reinforced by her ample breasts and larger rounded bottom compared to that of her daughter who was six inches taller than her, she was considered curvy rather than statuesque.

A full-time secretary who worked for a bank as did many women in her country who worked to support their ethnic Russian husbands who had lost their jobs. She was a proud woman who had absolutely hated her husband for what he had done to their daughter through his weakness and had lost no sleep when he died from a heart attack, sadly, so different to the young Engineer of the Oil Refinery under the days of the Soviets that had married her. It was why, despite her fears, she had accompanied her daughter today.

To look conservative, Tania had insisted that they dress in a more formal way by wearing red and green long one piece dresses. Unfortunately as Nara grimly reflected by the look of Yuri, it certainly hadn’t worked.

In contrast to him, as they sat down to wait their turn, Nara noticed the man standing opposite them was a truly different sort of individual.

A tall, striking man with short military style blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and a solid muscular frame he was dressed in an expensively tailored simple, but elegant, dark blue suit, light blue shirt, and dark blue tie by a designer Nara immediately assumed was Italian. With his pistol nestling discreetly underneath his jacket and his feet shod in an expensive pair of dark tanned English style shoes; he looked the polar opposite in class and style to Yuri.

The man known as Mikhail Olegovich Pshenicnikov she would later find out, she realized was assessing her but then without saying a word, he put Nara quickly at ease by smiling at her and then respectively offered a nod towards her mother.

Having spotted Mikhail’s respectful actions, Yuri decided to mark his territory almost as was a dog cocking his leg by retorting, “You can’t afford her Mikhail!” while laughing at his own joke.

It was spiteful comment that immediately sent a shiver down Nara’s spine. She hated it when men treated her as a piece of meat, evermore so as it was in front of her mama.

Seeing that her daughter was biting her lip and knowing that she was worried and nervous, Tania put her hand across hers gently and patted it, almost to imply it didn’t matter in an effort to comfort her. The young lady smiled in response towards her mother but didn’t say anything. She also caught sight of the polite man shooting Yuri a look, dismissing him for the prick he was. It warmed her as he turned again towards them and repeated his respectful nod again.

Feeling better, Nara offered a smile of her own as a way of a thank you, thinking to herself as she did so that he looked Jewish.

“Whatever he is he is a gentleman!” Nara thought. “At very least a bodyguard to very powerful Oligarch who was meeting with Oleg!” she quickly summarized as she continued to smile back.

Her instinct had served her well for she was right on both accounts being Jewish then secondly being a bodyguard to a powerful man.

Born in Soviet Russia in 1964 to Jewish parents that were later allowed to emigrate, to Israel, the young Mikhail had joined the Israeli Army at eighteen where his talents as an excellent soldier were honed in the Shakbat and then in its Protective Security Department.

He had served six years and rose to the rank of Chief Sergeant before leaving and going on the reserve list as all Israeli’s did until they reach sixty-five.

Having just managed to survive a bad operation in Bosnia that involved the extraction of ethnic Jews who had been caught up in the war between the Muslims and Christians in 1992, Mikhail, like many other Russian émigrés around the same time, headed back to home to Russia to find work as a personal bodyguard for the new Jewish Oligarchs who were making their fortunes and wanting individuals with ‘special skills.’

That was where he had met his current boss who was doing business with the principal he was working for around the same time.

Recognizing Mikhail’s professionalism the man had contacted him and invited him for a drink, something at the time that had surprised him, as most the principals he found himself working for didn’t give him the time of day. Finding he liked the man, it hadn’t taken much for him to readily accept his offer to come and work with him and watch his back.

However it was a night three years ago, when they were under fire during an attempt on the man’s life by a Moldovan Mafiosi who was trying to force him to sell an asset in Moscow, that their loyalty to each other was sealed in blood.

That night had been a bloodbath. Upon leaving the upscale restaurant, they were suddenly hit by a team intent on killing the man and anybody who got in their way. Yet instead of panicking, as one would expect when one of the guards from Mikhail’s handpicked team was killed next to him taking a bullet for him, the man had instead picked up the bodyguard’s Glock pistol and fought alongside them.

Moving forward in a technique known “Offensive Movement Action” to close the gap on the kill zone, they had then proceeded to take out the assassination team in a matter of moments.

After Mikhail had been hit, the man had led the way and while the other men secured the area, he had professionally finished the assassins off with double taps to their heads each in turn before finally pausing over the badly wounded leader, lying on the floor with blood pouring out of him.

Seeing all of this take place as he lay badly wounded, Mikhail watched the man say something in Russian to the remaining live Mafioso before shooting him in the head without any emotion or hesitation.

“B-o-s-s what d-i-d y-o-u s-a-y to him?” Mikhail had asked as he laid on the verge of passing out having seen his principal in action and now knowing he was a professional like him.

“There won’t be a next time! Now let’s be getting you to the clinic, Old Chap” the man had said looking at him steely eyed with a grim smile.

Remaining by his side for he knew full well that with Mikhail being an ex-Russian and worse an Israeli, it was likely that he would have been the “fall guy” when the FSB turned up. He had taken care of everything, ensuring the FSB and Moscow Police buried Mikhail’s wounded presence in the process. A gesture, Mikhail later learned, had cost the man a quarter of a million U.S. dollars in bribes.

As for the Israeli family of the young man who died protecting him, Mikhail had later learned that he taken care of them as well by placing them under his protection and ensuring that his widow received million U.S. dollars per year until his three children reached eighteen. These two gestures alone ensured that Mikhail had never faced a problem in recruitment in the following years. To him and the men who protected him, he had truly Chesed, a unique word in Hebrew as it was a word that couldn’t be translated into English, but nonetheless to the Jews meant ‘loving-kindness,’ ‘mercy,’ ‘steadfast love,’ and sometimes ‘loyalty.’

Every member of his security team was treated as if they were family and each shared in the spoils as he made his fortune in the development of the new Russia.

When they flew back to London five weeks later whilst Mikhail was still recuperating from his wound, the entire team shared a bottle of ‘Blue Label’ to toast their fallen comrade’s life. It was at that moment as the head of his security team Mikhail had asked him where he had honed his skills as it was the topic of gossip amongst the men and the wives.

“Hereford,” the man had replied referring to the famous home of the SAS base that lies on the border of Wales.

Nothing more needed to be said amongst the men who guarded him. They knew what meant.

“Hashem yikom damo (We will avenge his blood)” the man had whispered in Hebrew.

Mikhail looked at him for a bit, puzzled.

“That’s what I said to the Moldovan,” the man clarified in answer to Mikhail’s question when he had been lying on the floor wounded.

Silence descended on the cabin. Then over the plane’s engines he said, “To Avram.”

Soon after, the Moldovan who had ordered the hit was found hanging by piano wire in his Moscow apartment by the local police.

It was news at the time and had made The Times of London as just another gangland murder in the Yeltsin-led Russia. To the men who guarded the man, it was a debt of honor that had been repaid in full and helped forge him a legend in Russia as a man not to be crossed.

Of course, the beautiful young street-smart childlike young teenager knew none of this, just that her instincts told her correctly Mikhail was a man of principle and a professional.

The room was silent for a few minutes until the doors to Oleg’s office opened.

Immediately Yuri stood to attention and sensing that somebody of great importance and power was coming out, so did Tania and Nara as well.

As Thomas Litchfield walked out, Nara could see she was right with her assumption. Dressed elegantly as the man she had assumed was his bodyguard and wearing what she again assumed was a very expensive tailored grey and yellow pinstriped suit with a Cornish cream shirt, light pink tie, and black English shoes, Nara immediately felt his presence and power as he stopped and took her in. Their eyes meeting for the first time, her heart jumped. She smiled at him.

Unbeknownst to the beautiful young woman, Thomas was also feeling something he had never felt before in life as his eyes met hers, but sensing they were Muslim women he chose not give his hand as to do so in their culture would be an offence. Instead, noting the older woman’s presence in the room, he politely greeted what he assumed was this stunning creature’s mother with a respectful smile, then winked towards the girl earning another shy smile in return.

“My god, what a woman!” Thomas thought as he left the office with Mikhail behind him not hearing what was said in his wake.

“If you’re lucky tonight you’ll feel his cock in you!” offered the Turkmen in Russian with acid in his voice. “In you go, Gunara, he is waiting,” he followed up this time in Turkmen as both women watched Thomas and Mikhail leave the building.

Forcing herself not to tell him to “go to hell,” her mother took her hand as they entered. It was not lost on Nara that her mother’s hand was trembling. She squeezed it.

Once inside they found Oleg sitting behind a long desk with ivory tusks for legs. He didn’t get up. Manners were something he never bothered with even at the best of times. Instead, both women stood waiting for permission to sit down.

Unaware that Oleg had only agreed to this meeting as he wanted to see where his most productive Jelep’s looks had come from, and because he already knew from the other girls of his harem what they were there for, he wanted to it make it as uncomfortable as possible for them. He made them stand.

Enjoying his moment of power to the full, Oleg continued to lustfully stare at them both, feeling his erection grow by the second in anticipation.

“My little pet’s mother doesn’t disappoint!” he thought with an evil intent.

Giving his signal to begin with the motion of his hand, Nara’s mother started in Turkmen instead of the more common Russian that was often used by the residents of the capital.

“Munbashi Rejejow, we are here to ask for your release of Gunara from our family’s debt,” the proud woman asked using Oleg’s military rank as a sign of respect.

Looking at them, his erection now fully extended, he asked how they intended to do this.

Quickly, Tania motioned her daughter to give him the Chanel bag containing the twenty thousand U.S. dollars.

As Nara went to do so he slammed his hand on the desk, catching the both of them by surprise.

Standing up, fire in his eyes, his erection bulged beneath his suit trousers something that was immediately noticed by both women. He rushed from around his desk, forcibly grabbing hold of Tania by the arm whilst Yuri restrained Nara by her arms, pulling them behind her back all in one movement.

“YOU FUCKING JELEP…. YOUR FUCKING DEBT ENDS WHEN I SAY SO!” Oleg venomously spat towards Nara whilst dragging her absolutely terrified mother by the arm screaming, until her poor mother was forced to stand behind the desk in front of her shaking daughter with the evil looking Oleg behind her.

“NOOOOOOO!” cried Nara as he pushed her mother down on the desk, knowing what was about to happen.

The begging, fear, tears, and whimpering of the women in contrast to his and Yuri’s evil laughter echoed around the room as Oleg proceeded to savagely rape the both of them in turn from behind.

Once finished, Oleg zipped up his trousers. He looked at the stripped half-naked mother and daughter for a second. Power flowed through him as his eyes enjoyed the sight of them cowering in the corner of the office.

“Make sure this fucking Jelep is dressed for this evening,” he ordered Yuri, pointing at Nara.

“Sure, Boss,” answered Yuri before dragging them screaming out of the office, their honor in tatters from the sodomy Oleg had inflicted upon them.