The room was dark and musty. Peter tried to regain his senses, the shock from the electric prongs still pulsating throughout his body. At least he wasn't blindfolded anymore, he thought, as he pried himself up from the floor.

A light went on overhead. Peter looked around. The room appeared to be a library of sorts with old books and dark furniture. As he focused, Peter could make out the silhouette of a heavy-set man veering above him, smoking a cigar. The man puffed away, blowing smoke in Peter's direction.

"Mr. Sergei," Peter said respectfully, "if you would be so kind as to bring me my knapsack I will explain why I'm here."

"There's no need for that. The contents left in the bag are of no importance to me."

No importance? Peter couldn't figure out what this man was trying to do. Did Sergei already take his bag? Was he preparing to double-cross his employer? This whole situation was beginning to make Peter feel very uneasy. I suppose that's the emotion Sergei was trying to provoke, he concluded. Well, he succeeded. In preparation, Peter started looking around the dark room to see if there was anything he could use in a fight if needed.

"You're here for the Sakorovsky Ruby," Sergei replied with a sneer. "did you not realize I was expecting you?" Sergei tossed the cigar ashes on the floor in front of Peter. "Unfortunately you arrived a day late! Had you been here yesterday, like I was promised, then our business would have been concluded long before my British comrade arrived. But all works out well in the end. The sight of you twisting on the ground made me far more money than I expected, even though you didn't throw up. Now let's get down to business."

Sergei reached down for Peter with his large strong hand and pulled him up. "Welcome to my home," he said.

"I love the hospitality. My boss will hear how well I've been treated here," Peter said sarcastically. He probably shouldn't have said that he thought, otherwise, he might become a victim of the spiders. This wouldn't be the first time Peter's quick tongue got him into trouble.

Where was this home? Peter wondered. He knew he was nowhere near the house at the wooden gate. The truck ride was too long for that. "This isn't where I was expecting to be," Peter finally said.

"It's called misdirection my little comrade." Sergei laughed. "There's nothing behind that massive wooden gate but forest. How do you think I've avoided my enemies all this time? It's an old Russian trick used by Grigory Potemkin in 1787 to have Catherine The Great believe a city existed where there was, in reality, nothing. History can teach us so many valuable lessons. The important part is knowing what to do with that knowledge."

"It's a well-known story," Peter replied. "It's taught to every child when they begin school."

"Nevertheless it still worked on you," Sergei said with pride. "Now about the Ruby, your boss must want it very badly if he is willing to pay my exorbitant asking price. I've already helped myself to the diamonds in your knapsack. I assumed they were for me, and if they weren't, they're mine now."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. He recalled Sergei's earlier words, the contents left in your bag are of no importance to me. Sergei was true to his reputation. The man loved playing mind games. However, his business with this madman should be concluded momentarily. "So if you would be so kind as to give me the ruby, I will be on my way."

"Very well then," Sergei opened a glass box on his desk. "This was the absolute favourite piece in my collection. You can tell your anonymous, mister unknown, that I received this ruby as payment for a shipment of arms to the rebels in Pakistan. How it landed up there is beyond me. It's quite beautiful, isn't it?"

"Indeed it is," replied Peter. "All I need now is a magnifying glass. I have one in my bag."

"Your bag is exactly where you left it, on the back of that relic you call a motorbike."

"That was awfully nice of you," Peter said with more shades of disrespect. "Your kindness knows no bounds."

Sergei chose to ignore him. "Of course, you will find the marking in the middle of the ruby." Sergei took a magnifying glass from his desk and handed it to Peter.

Peter searched with the magnifying glass until he saw a faint S hidden in the ruby. Sakorovsky always engraved the gems he cut with his initial. The letter S. It had a perfectly straight diagonal line in the middle with curves at opposite ends. Nearly five hundred years later the world still does not know how he did it with such limited technology at his disposal.

"You know," Sergei continued, "now that the ruby is in your hands you are a very wealthy man. If I were you I would forget about this boss of yours and sell it yourself. You're in the middle of nowhere. You would  never be found."

"There is such a thing as loyalty," Peter shot back.

"Not in my life," replied Sergei. "On second thought, I want to keep the ruby. I don't feel your boss deserves it."

"You can't do that," exclaimed Peter. "We had a deal!" Peter was mentally prepared to defend himself.

"You don't take a joke very well. Of course, we have a deal."

Sergei removed a brown cloth from another glass sitting next to him on his desk revealing what seemed to be hundreds of hairy spiders. They were crawling over a rat that appeared to have died only a few minutes ago. "My pets," Sergei told him. "I don't know why, but I constantly feel the need to show them off every chance I get."

"I can think of a few reasons," Peter replied.

"May I introduce you to the Sidney Funnel Web spider from Australia, possibly the most dangerous spider on the planet. These are all females so their venom won't kill you however their fangs are so powerful that they can pierce through toenails."

"I am very glad we're such close friends," Peter replied.

"Ah, so my reputation precedes me. My comrade, you have nothing to fear. Only once have I ever unleashed them on someone, and that was only because they refused to have a drink with me."

Sergei opened a bottle of vodka and poured two shot glasses.

"Nasdarovia, to your health," he said as he downed his drink.

Peter looked over the glass, wondering if it could possibly be poisoned. He had heard that Sergei was notorious for poisoning his enemies.

"I never drink before noon," Peter joked with Sergei, looking for a way out of this predicament. Never drink with Sergei, he recalled his boss telling him.

"A real Russian always has a shot in the morning. Then again it is almost eleven. You should be on your second drink already."

Peter just stared at the shot glass. This was like playing Russian roulette, he thought to himself, knowing that the bullet was in the chamber.

"Well?" Sergei said. "We drink or there is no deal."

Peter looked down at his shot glass and then back up at Sergei's eyes. As he looked up he noticed the curtain behind the library move slightly. That was odd since there was not the slightest breeze in the room. It must be his nerves, he thought as he looked back at his glass, then at the spiders and quickly drank the vodka.

Sergei let out a crooked smile as he wiped his brow from sweat, then his head fell forward onto the desk, breaking the empty shot glass with his forehead. The force of this heavy set man's head banging on the desk caused the glass box of spiders to fall on the ground. Some of them quickly began to scatter along the floor while others climbed up the legs of the desk and onto Sergei's head.

Peter quickly picked up the ruby, placed it in his pocket and ran out of the library into the main hallway of the massive home. He looked around for any guards or any human of any kind and found no one. Peter continued out the door and stopped when he saw one of the Chinese men who had attacked him earlier lying on the ground, dead.

There's someone else here, Peter assumed as he raced for a large wooded gate a few meters in front of him. It is the same place, Peter laughed. Sergei had lied. Figures, he thought as he looked at the backside of the gate. They must have driven me around just to make me lose my bearing, misdirection. Peter went through the gate then hopped on his dirt bike which was still next to the fence, exactly where he had left it.