Code Shield by Eric Alagan

– that Sukhoi deal must be worth at least three billion dollars. Suharto is gone but nothing else has changed in Jakarta – the usual ten per cent?”
    â€œWe have the MOU in place, fleshing out the details,” Plustarch murmured into her ears.

Chapter 12
    Singapore Airlines flew direct to Moscow. Michael spent the long flight napping and thumbing through the English-Russian phrase book he had picked up. He also read and re-read the sheets for first time visitors to Moscow, which Yvonne had downloaded from the Internet.
    Michael felt a small chill travel down his body. He had never travelled so far from home and certainly not to a country where people spoke very little English and almost no Chinese. Maybe Venkat was right, I should have left it to the Russian private eye .
    But the thought of his daughter and what she could be going through hardened his wavering resolve. He swallowed hard, playing in his mind the challenges he might have to surmount.
    He had twelve thousand dollars from the car, another three from pawning his watch, guitar and the single gold chain, a gift from his grandmother. He also had the supplementary card from Yvonne. He estimated that he had enough money to last him about three weeks.
    Some of Michael’s trepidation exited when he gazed up at the high roofed passenger terminal building in Domodedovo International Airport. It was modern and well sign boarded in English. He went through Passport and Customs Control without any hassle, exited via the green channel, and negotiated through the great throng of people who were all hurrying purposefully.
    Following the signboards, he walked the length of the right pier that extended from the terminal building and presented himself to the Aeroexpress ticketing counter.
    Within half an hour, he was on the northbound train and the forty-minute journey from Domodedovo to Paveletsky Station in central Moscow. He could have taken the cheaper commuter train but that would have meant a longer travel time and he was intent on reaching his motel before nightfall.
    When the train hissed and squealed to a stop, he followed the crowd, scanned the barcode on his paper ticket and went through the exit. Once outside the gate, he immediately felt alone.
    Then the touts surrounded him. Michael, harried and afraid, simply shook his head and walked briskly into a toilet. After catching his breath and relieving himself, he stepped out and was grateful that no touts pounced on him this time. Heaving his luggage, he hurried down the corridor, turned right and plodded up a flight of stairs. Though his bags were made of light PVC and all his heavy attire – the overcoat and shoes were on him – he knew that he could not walk far with his luggage.
    For a few moments, he stood outside the two-storey train station and again felt terribly lonely. Taking a deep breath, he approached one of the yellow marshrutka taxis. He knew that his motel, Basilica, was about twenty minutes’ walk away. But it was five in the afternoon, already dark and there was a light snowfall.
    He had never experienced snow and always harboured romantic and even childish notions about frolicking in the white fluff. Now, the snow meant only alienation, biting cold and dread.
    The unshaven taxi driver, who had a torso like a barrel, stuck out four fingers.
    â€œFour hundred roubles?” exclaimed Michael. He had just paid only three hundred roubles for a forty-minute train ride in a clean and warm compartment. He pointed out the address of the motel and again rubbed finger and thumb in the universal language for money.
    Again, the driver stuck out four stubby fingers. Other drivers, all heavy men, started to gather around them.
    Michael succumbed quickly and the driver opened the door and climbed behind his steering wheel. Michael understood this to mean that he had to load his own luggage into the back.
    The mini bus-like taxi was cold. Apparently, the heater did not work. Michael