"What brings you to China?" the border guard asked Svetlana while checking her papers.

"I'm doing consulting for the Huolinhe Mining Company in Holingol," she replied in perfect Mandarin.

"Your papers say you are from Omsk, Russia." The border guard looked at Svetlana with distrust, as he had been trained. "Why are you entering from Mongolia?"

"I just finished a job for a Mongolian company. I'll be coming back to China in a month but I'll be crossing from Vladivostok. Mining companies are always in the absolute worst locations."

"And how long do you intend to stay in China?"

"Hopefully my business will be finished in a day or two," she replied.

The border guard looked again at her papers, then back at Svetlana and after a moment finally handed them back to her. "You may proceed."

Svetlana rolled up the car window and drove off into China.  After a few kilometres, she pulled over to the side of the road, grabbed a small silver electronic device from her clutch and checked the signal. Perfect, she told herself. Peter's signal is still coming in strong.

The micro tracker she had placed in his bag on the train was working perfectly, and best of all, he was only seven kilometres south of her location. Still, she needed to catch up to him quickly or risk missing the exchange.

Peter had finally reached his destination, the mining city of Holingol, just south of Mongolia. This part of China was referred to as Inner Mongolia.

He drove the bike through the rocky, barren outskirts of the city. A few minutes later he came across a dense wooden forest located in a place where no forest should exist. He pulled out a paper map from his jacket pocket, checked it carefully then turned left.  More forest.

This was very strange he thought as he carefully continued along the poorly maintained dirt road. After a few hairpin turns he settled in front of the massive twenty-foot-high wooden gate beyond which stood Sergei Koslov's mansion.

Rumour had it Sergei was the foremost arms smuggler selling Soviet Era weaponry to gangs in South-East Asia. He was also known to be a nasty excuse of a human being, the likes of which Peter wished he hadn't been warned about.

Peter's boss told him that when he was younger Sergei would punish his enemies by putting hundreds of spiders down their pants while they were tied up. It didn't matter if they were women, men or even children if necessary, the fear was all the same.

Fear had a remarkable way of making people spill their darkest secrets. Because of this, his enemies nicknamed him Spider-Man. How original, he thought, sarcastically.

Peter looked for a way inside. The twenty-foot high gate was attached to a stone wall of equal height. They completely encircled the mansion. It took Peter five minutes to walk around the perimeter of the property. He tried to find an intercom, a video surveillance camera, anything electronic that would allow him to notify Sergei of his arrival. It was clear he wasn't going to find anything that would help.

So much for careful planning, he thought as he took off the nap-sack he had taken with him from Russia. Peter pulled out a cell phone to call his boss and ask for instructions. No signal. Of course not, he realized as he looked around at the empty vastness surrounding him.

Strange crackling sounds from the woods startled Peter. He pulled out his Glock 17 and spun around in the direction of the noise. The crackling continued but he couldn't make out anything suspicious. The ten years Peter had spent in the Russian military taught him to be prepared for anything, but this situation spooked him.

Another crackle, and then another, until finally, to Peter's relief, he saw a chipmunk staring at him. Peter turned back towards the gate only this time there were four Chinese military facing him.

Where'd they come from? Peter asked himself. They began yelling instructions at him in Mandarin. Peter didn't understand a word. They were speaking far too quickly and with an unfamiliar accent.

Peter's military instincts took over. He figured his odds of surviving the confrontation would be at worst fifty-fifty. He'll take those odds, he decided.

With four guns aimed at his head Peter began to slowly walk over to them faking nervousness. Being overtly nervous should get the Chinese soldiers to not consider him a threat.

If guns weren't involved Peter would have approached them very confidently in a manner that said, you don't know who you're messing with.

The closer Peter got, the more the soldiers yelled and waved their guns around. Peter got within three feet of one of the soldiers' gun, raised his hands in the air as he shook nervously. With lightning quickness, he grabbed the gun from the soldier. Before he had a chance to react. Peter wrapped his left arm around the soldier's neck. With his right hand, he held the gun to his temple.

The other three other soldiers continued to yell, this time even louder. Peter started yelling in Russian "Drop your guns!" Nothing. So he switched to English...still nothing. He even tried in broken Mandarin, nothing. The captured soldier said something to the other three. They dropped their guns on the ground.

Oddly enough, Peter noticed a black cloth hanging out of one of the soldiers' pockets. He knew exactly what they wanted. Peter threw away his gun, dropped to his knees, put his hands behind his back then lowered his head slightly so they could blindfold him. Then they led him into a truck and drove away.