Peter stayed very calm during the thirty-minute ride. He remembered the instructions from his boss. If caught, simply tell the Chinese authorities you were here to settle an old score. Most of the local Chinese authorities hated Sergei even more than the Russians. A small industrial city like Halingol didn't care much for politics or the intrigues of espionage. They cared about the harvest and whether or not the rains would be good to them this year. Having a dangerous foreigner in their midst only served to infuriate them. Even worse was having a foreigner whom they couldn't enforce their laws upon due to his powerful friends in Beijing. This would work out alright, Peter thought.

The truck came to a stop. Peter was violently thrown out face-first onto sharp, jagged, rocks. A voice began yelling at him in Mandarin. Peter knew this voice, not the person per se but the accent. This man wasn't Chinese. He was Russian!

"Take off my blindfold!" Peter demanded in Russian.

"All in good time," the voice replied. "Tell me, comrade, what are you doing here in this Godless wasteland? Do you know whose home you were standing in front of?" The voice paused, waiting for a response.

Peter contemplated his options. He could say that he was here to settle a personal score, but given this twist in circumstances, that response no longer seemed like a viable option. He could tell the truth, that he was here to do business with Sergei Kolzlov. No, until he knew who the man in front of him was, he felt that his best position would be to say nothing. He believed that his silence would force the man to reveal more about himself. Unfortunately, he was right.

Within a fraction of a second, a low humming sound grew to a loud humming sound, then a buzz. Peter winced with dread as he recognized the noise; electric prongs being charged. This was definitely not worth torture, he concluded, so with little time to consider the consequences, Peter reluctantly opted to tell the truth.

"I'm here to see Sergei Kozlov," he said, praying that the inevitable would be averted. A violent surge of electricity jolted through his body leaving his legs in convulsions as he shook on the ground.

"That works very well," a British voice remarked. "However, I remember you telling me that the charge would also cause extreme nausea. He's not vomiting at all, not even close."

"In an average person," replied the Russian in English. "This man lying before us has obviously had extensive military training. I would have to shock him a few more times to illicit that response."

Peter realized that the Russian voice belonged to none other than Sergei himself. "I'm here to see you," Peter attempted to say, realizing that the jolt of electricity was slurring his speech.

"Let's try this again," he heard the Russian say to the sound of charging electricity. "The demonstrations are free, but the weapons are not."

"Right O," replied the British man as the faint sound of a helicopter muffled in the distance.

Peter never felt the next charge. Instead they threw him back into the truck and drove away.

*   *   *   *   *

Svetlana set herself up fifty meters from the Sergei's front gate. Her sniper rifle was perched over a large flat rock. She carefully watched the scene unfold through her scope, her finger carefully placed on the trigger ready to come to Peter's aid if necessary. Although, for the time being, he seemed to be doing fine all on his own.

And then the unexpected happened, Peter just gave himself up. Why on earth would Peter surrender? she asked herself over and over again. He had them. Svetlana watched the truck speed away so now she had to quickly disassemble her scope and rifle, jump on her motorcycle and follow them. That was the plan anyways, but the truck was gone in the blink of an eye.

Svetlana checked the tracking device. It wasn't with Peter. It was in his bag on the back of the bike. Damn... she was hoping he had the bag with him. That's where the diamonds were. The diamonds...she should take them, she decided. Otherwise, they're likely to be stolen, possibly by accident. I'll give them back to him once he's safe, she concluded. Then she'll have a lot of explaining to do but it didn't matter. She doubted that the truth would shock him.

Svetlana walked quickly towards the bike, her sniper bag draped over her shoulder. She heard a noise, turned around but nothing was there. She exhaled in relief. The bag with the diamonds was fastened to the back of the bike with a lock so she removed a special lock-picking tool from her pocket. It looked like a large Swiss Army knife. You never knew when you'll need to get in somewhere so she took it with her wherever she went.

It already saved her life twice. The first time was in Mosul, Syria. She was sent to buy an ancient artifact for her boss when Islamic extremists decided they didn't appreciate a woman doing business in their city. As they approached her, she started to run. Thank God for her training as a sprinter. She represented Russia in the 400-meter sprint during the Sydney Olympics. She never met a man she couldn't outrun.

Svetlana ducked into an alley but it was a dead end. She quickly picked a lock on a side building which led to a storage house. Her pursuers assumed she found a way to jump the wall. They gave her too much credit, she thought, relieved.

The second time was in New York City. She was having a girl's night out at a club when her head started to spin. Her heart raced as she felt she was losing control of her faculties. She'd been drugged. Before she passed out she managed to pick a lock on a door in the club that opened to a broom closet. She locked herself in and passed out. Svetlana didn't wake up until the cleaning crew found her at eleven o'clock the next morning.
She never found out who drugged her. It's not as if she could go to the authorities. Russian spies weren't known for getting assistance from the NYPD.

Svetlana chose her key and reached for Peter's bag.

As she did, a tightly woven black cloth sack was thrown over her head and quickly tied at her neck. She started to throw punches in desperation as a large man grabbed her from behind and held her torso. Svetlana elbowed him in the groin but the man kept his grip so she threw her head swiftly backwards. She both heard and felt the crushing of his nose. This time he released her. She tried to untie the bag over her head as she gasped for air, her lungs struggling to breathe. Two more men grabbed her arms. She sensed a man approaching her from in front so she threw both of her legs forward and heard a loud crack as she felt her boot make perfect contact with someone's ribs. She still couldn't free her arms. She felt a sharp jab in the back of her neck. A few seconds later she passed out.