Chapter 4

Pustovalov looked over their heads, at the checkpoint door, then his gaze shifted to the dark window. Once more, looking around the top of the gate, he bit his lip and stared at the Mercedes parked against the concrete wall.

The strange arrangement of cars, the shadow behind the container and the behavior of the Yasinsk sixes began to take shape.

They entered the compact, uncomfortable hall. The only guard pointed in the direction of the elevator and ordered to go to the fourth floor.

- Wow. Basurov said quietly while they were waiting for the elevator.

Pustovalov said nothing, quickly looking around the surrounding space and thinking about what to do next.

He knew that there was one person at the checkpoint. Another one was behind the container. The other two sat in the back seat of the Mercedes. The front seats were empty, and the rear seats are not visible due to the tinting.

The hall was as cold as a swimming pool. The walls are painted purple. On the floor - dirty beaten tiles like in the old factory canteen. From the elevator channel, a wide corridor led into the darkness at a strange angle, to the right of which a black flight of stairs loomed. The old building has been converted into a warehouse. The metal door opposite the stairs was closed with a heavy deadbolt.

Pustovalov had already guessed that the light had been switched off here for a reason, and he was almost sure that there was a guard standing on the stairs.

“They have problems with electricity everywhere here,” Basurov said, entering the dimly lit elevator.

Unbuttoning his down jacket, he pulled back the collar of his sweater. A sharp smell of sweat was added to the aroma of woody cologne.

On the fourth floor, a security guard met them and led them down an equally dark corridor to a leafy metal door, then let them through.

They entered and immediately saw a man on a snow-white sofa. Pustovalov, who was well versed in clothing brands, realized that none of the clothes he wore had been bought in Russia. The man didn't even look in their direction - he was busy giving instructions to a short man who was sitting on a special stool at the man's feet and rubbing one of his shoes with velvet for shoes. At the same time, the long leg of the man was located on a special pillow right on his knees. Pustovalov had never seen such shining shoes. They shone not just like a mirror, but literally dazzled like a real Milanese chandelier.

“Hello, Yasin,” said Pustovalov.

Basurov echoed the greeting, but the man did not react to it.

“The right side is darker,” he said slowly, phlegmatically shaking the servant with his sausage finger hanging in the air.

Pustovalov was not at all embarrassed by such a reaction. He looked around the room, which was a former workshop converted into a "room" of about a hundred square meters in the "art deco" style. Heavy polished cabinets made of expensive woods lined the walls, leather furniture predominantly in creamy beige and snow white, sculptural and crystal lamps, and velvet drapery of large ribbon windows. The leather cushions in incredible quantities scattered on armchairs and sofas shone as if oiled. There was even a working fireplace in the room.

Among the abundance of furniture, Pustovalov noticed another man. He sat in an armchair by the fireplace, leaning forward. The man was large and broad-shouldered, like a basketball player, with a face of an intellectual, rather unusual for such dimensions, framed by a professor's gray beard, and staring blankly into nowhere.

Considering the situation, especially handmade carpets and parquet inlaid with marble, Pustovalov came to the conclusion that nothing threatened them here.

Meanwhile, Yasin drew attention to them - cast an indifferent glance at Basurov, and delayed him a little longer at Pustovalov. Then he slowly got up, put on his thin glasses, which hung on a gold chain, and went close to Pustovalov.

Pustovalov saw a large well-groomed face, a lazy half-open mouth, and the same lazy look in bright eyes.

Having done the same ritual with Basurov, without saying a word, Yasin went behind a massive table, sat down in an armchair and began to look at the wall with a frustrated look.

Basurov looked inquiringly at Pustovalov. Pustovalov waited, hands clasped on his stomach. Finally, Yasin barely noticeably moved his finger and a short servant appeared near the guests. Judging by the gestures, he suggested that they take off their outer clothing. While Pustovalov and Basurov took off their jackets and gave them to the servant, Yasin looked at them with an expressionless look.

"Sit down," he finally said, referring to the white chairs in front of the table.

Basurov, tired of uncertainty, took this as a signal. Sitting down in a chair, he, apparently remembering Pustovalov's advice, started a dull monologue about his impressive contacts in committees and bodies, not forgetting to hang labels on "careless" bosses, whom he supposedly knew from the position of a senior comrade.

Yasin, who had been silent all this time, again made a barely noticeable sign and the servant poured a glass of water from a small bottle to the owner, after which he jumped up to Basurov and began to gesture, in a theatrical way, quite convincingly, offering him something to eat or drink. Basurov looked contemptuously and frightened at the antics of the servant and shook his head.

“So you got a guard, Colonel?” Yasin asked, nodding at Pustovalov.

- This is my assistant.

- Sportsman? Yasin looked at Pustovalov's developed shoulders and smiled.

- Former, - answered Pustovalov.

- Boxer?

- Gymnast.

Yasin continued to examine Pustovalov with interest, sipping water from a glass.

- So, about our mutual friend ... - Basurov began, but Yasin suddenly abruptly crushed the plastic bottle and Basurov immediately fell silent.

“Koni Nakazari,” Yasin suddenly said, stretching out the sounds, “a bottle of water costs four hundred dollars,” Yasin shook the crumpled bottle, “it is mined near the island of Tokelau, from a source at a depth of two thousand meters. The resulting water goes through the desalination process and is packaged in emerald-colored bottles. They say that it relieves excess weight and enhances brain function.

Basurov began to overcome restless leg syndrome.

- I'm wondering, - Yasin looked at Basurov attentively, - has anyone thought to check this? Hire experts and conduct a chemical analysis?

Basurov smiled tightly.

“I love professionals,” continued Yasin, “this water is no different from the deshmani that is sold in Ashan. But those who sell it are professionals. I pay four hundred dollars for a beautiful story. Because the sellers of this water are professionals. But when I order an eXn thousand...

Basurov turned pale.

“…I don't need stories.

- Yakov ... Yasin, listen, we too ...

- What did you agree with my assistant?

“We have everything according to plan, everything is in force ...

Yasin lazily shook his brush - shut up, they say. And Basurov shut up.

- What did you agree on?