[h1]Russia[/h1]
[h2]Outside of Moscow[/h2]

Belyakov was thrown to the ground as the two agents crawled up to a low wooden fence, dividing the suburban yard beyond it from the forest around it. In the distance sirens continued to blare and somewhere out of sight a helicopter was flying overhead. But it was far from the three now as they checked over the fence. Belyakov, still hooded and masked coughed and gasped for air as he lay crumpled in the dirt. He was as exhausted as he was dirty, with the work of thorns and prying sticks having torn is fine expensive suit in many places. Mud as well caked much of his body. In short, he looked less a man and more of a scarecrow than anything.

Over the low wall a squat house paneled in brightly-colored wood siding stood sleepily surrounded by an overgrown garden. A weathered wooden play structure found itself a home in a corner of the property and a forgotten tricycle had managed to find a home half-stuck in the weeds along the fence to the right. The two agents examined the scene with calculating eyes.

“What is of thinkings?” Vasiliy asked in a low voice, he had control of himself enough to try speaking in his shaky Chinese.

Ullanhu was hesitant as he looked over everything again, “Probably a small family.” he said, “Young kids, probably several. I don't imagine anything over six years of age.”

“I is of agreeing to that.” Vasiliy nodded, “And garden is messy. Has to be of one parent.”

“Mother perhaps, no time between kids and work to tend to a garden.” Ullanhu agreed, adding to their profile, “What are you thinking?”

“We need car still, one they is of not looking for. We take their car.”

Ullanhu nodded, he felt a tinge of guilt in his stomach. He nibbled at him at tugged at the strings of his conscious. Were they going to steal from a family? One having a hard-time even?

“I don't see sign of dog.” Vasiliy pointed out.

“I don't either.” concurred Ullanhu, “How are we going to get Belyakov over?”

Vasiliy looked down at the president curled into a ball at the bottom of the fence. He was gasping for breath through a rapidly inflating and deflating bag. “We throw him over fence.” he affirmed, “Drag him the rest of the way.”

“Are you sure? I don't want us to kill him before we can get to Makulov.”

“Is of alrights.” Vasilisy comforted, “He is of man who can take much abuse, he has dished out much already. Is of no change from the norm. Know what to do when we get to the house?”

Vasiliy looked back to the squat single-story home with its shallow roof with wooden shingles. “We can control the mother if we control the kids, threaten them.” he said. The worm in his stomach bit down harder and he felt almost sick he was recommending it, “We don't need to kill them, but pretend we will. She'll give us what we want if we want to get their car.”

“Is good plan, but I think we should destroy phones too. Take them of prisoners as well, at least until we get clear of Moscow. Then they can't tell anyone we is leaving.”

“If you insist, I'm up to anything.” Ullanhu agreed.

“Good, good.” Vasiliy smiled, “Now help me with old bear.”

Reaching down they picked up the president. His heavy body was rolled over the fence to where he landed with a muffled thump on the other-side. Vasiliy and Ullanhu jumped over after him, and taking him by the collar of his once rich suit pulled him up to his feet and across the lawn.

Vasiliy threw his weight into the door, and it swung open as if held by match-sticks. With a crash he and Ullanhu had broken in with the exhausted president in close tow. Immediately they were greeted by a child seated at a high table, picking through a simple sandwich. The kid look up at them with a look of surprise frozen in his face, his sharp blue eyes looking out from under dirty-brown hair. That look of innocent wonder soon exploded into that of young terror as his mother walked into the kitchen and saw as Vasiliy tore the gun out on her son.

She opened her mouth to scream, but Vasiliy cut in with a silencing order, “No sounds or I put your son down!” he screamed threateningly. The child began to whimper and cry. Ullanhu hung back awkward and unarmed. He searched the kitchen frantically looking for something, and found the block of kitchen knives at the corner of the counter. He pulled one from the wood, and threw the rest aside into the sink.

“W-w-what do you want!?” the woman whimpered looking from Vasiliy to Ullanhu, and the bagged president in Vasiliy's arms, “I-is this...”

“Just stop talking!” Vasiliy shouted, shaking the handgun at her child. In his terror the young boy began to sob and cry. The weight of the situation finally dawning on him, “You're going to do what we want!”

The woman looked at Belyakov, trying to figure out where he added in. Or who he was. “Hands up first.” Vasiliy ordered.

The woman obliged, cautiously raising her hands to her head.

“M-mama!” the young boy cried.

“It's alright Ivan, just be good.” his mother counciled. She starred Vasiliy down with a frozen look on her face. If she was going to die she was going to make sure Vasiliy watched her life leave her eyes.

“Do you have a car?” Vasiliy demanded. The situation was falling out of its initial madness and into some semblance of control. But there was still a frantic nature to it. It was still tense. And it still made Ullanhu absolutely ill.

“Y-yes.” the woman nodded, “I-in the garage.” she nodded off to the far-side of the kitchen to the far door.

“Where are the keys?” Vasiliy demanded.

She looked between he and Ullanhu. “Hanging on the icebox.” she responded, looking over at the faded ivory-white metal box perched up on a low shelf, “Right-hand side.” her voice was low and shaky. She was nervous, and afraid. But complacent at least. If things went on as they did, neither of them would have to kill anyone.

Vasiliy gestured to Ullanhu to fetch the key. He worked his way to the side towards it, and reached over to the set of keys hanging on small metal hooks attached to the side.

“Alright, you two are going to come with us.” Vasiliy demanded, waving the gun, “Out of your chair!”

Sobbing, the boy jumped from the chair and ran over to his mother. She wrapped her arms around him and looked up at Vasiliy with cold hazy eyes. Tears were beginning to well in the corners. But Vasiliy wasn't going to have it, not yet.

“To the garage!” he ordered.

Complacently, she obliged. Dragging her son with them. “We're going for a ride.” Vasiliy sneered, “Ullanhu, you're driving. I'll look after these three.”

[h2]Volgograd[/h2]
[h3]Old Sarepta[/h3]

There was an almost unbearable heat that beat down from the clear open skies. A clear summery heat that was oppressive in how unshaded it was. Clear outside the center of Volgograd and heading south, Jun strolled along the edge of an eerily rural highway, itself spookily empty save for the odd truck or car that idled its way down the long empty stretch of road-way.

By some strange, perhaps frivolous urban design long open fields stretched on along one side of the road, disappearing below the bases of distant high-rises. While on the other-side the distinct blues and azure cyans of Russian country housing dotted the opposite side with low darkened wood and wire fencing. Solemn street lights stood in meditative prayer as they leaned over the road. The metal posts sprouting out from and curling over banks of short leafy saplings.

Now mid-way along the road, the long path to Old Sarepta was becoming long. Even though the pain that would be in his legs did not gnaw at him like it would have a normal man, he felt the dawning torture of absolute boredom lay its sheet across his head. It was a time where as he walked down the long straight world he wondered why he was here, or why he was doing this. Would simply walking into the Volga delta have been more effective at finding that distant, rumored Chinese community?

But it was hardly time to think about it. Alongside of him a battered and scarred green van pulled up slow alongside of him. Looking aside to the van Jun and the driver's eyes met. With a loud purr the van's engines kicked into a higher gear and slowly accelerated away. Jun stopped, watching with an apprehensive look as the van pulled to the side. He became tense as his hand wandered to his gun as the gravel of the road-side popped under his tire. His cold heavy hands were wrapping around the handle of the revolver tucked close to his breast as the driver door swung open and a man jumped out into the grass.

If he was going to get caught in a shootout, now would be a good time for it to happen. Under the Russian summer sun the two men starred each other down in a setting more fitting for American film. An uncomfortable tense air blew between the two as each stood measuring the other up.

“I'm unarmed, comrade.” the other man declared, holding up his hands. He was a tall figure, with a body built like an ancient oak. Short curly hair whipped down against his brow as he walked over to Jun, hands raised. His eyes hidden behind a pair of glossy, mirror-reflective aviators.

Jun still wasn't sure. His sudden appearance only added to his already tense unease from wandering the lawless southern reaches of Russia. He still kept his fingers hanging on the wooden handle of the nickle-plated gun in his pocket. An urgent feeling warmed his hands to simply dive for the gun and pull it on this man. The other wanted to dash for a sword that wasn't there, only reminding him to how naked he felt in the wild open.

Still, the man kept walking to him. “Jun, am I right?” he asked suddenly. Hearing his name spoken by a Russian sent a paralyzing spear through his spine and Jun froze.

“I'm an agent of Makulov. I received a report months ago to keep an eye out for someone fitting your description. We were supposed to help?”

Jun could vaguely remember the general's offer to back him up. But so far he had not taken him up on it. Nor had he had the opportunity. But still a creeping disdain and repressive paranoia about the man kept Jun's fingers hovering over his gun.

The Russian man looked Jun up and down, studying the torn jacket and his tense posture. But behind those wide glasses the man could have been a camera. He was lifeless in his calculating. “You look like a man whose been through a lot. Did someone shoot you through the lung?” he wondered, looking down at the patched hole hovering over Jun's left breast.

He looked down at it, “This isn't my coat.” he said back, breaking that heavy anticipating silence. The other man nodded.

“Well get your hand off your gun and let me take you for a drive. Where to?”

“Sarepta.” replied Jun. The Russian nodded, lowering his hands.

“Come on, before we're seen.” he beckoned, walking to his battered pale-green van. Jumping into the driver's seat, the Russian threw open the passenger-side door letting in Jun. The agent threw his pack of supplies down between the seats as he slid in.

As he seated Makulov's agent reignited the engine. With a gasping groan it choked itself to life. A muffled metallic ringing pounded from the engine block as it turned back onto the road and was again puttering along.

“When I hadn't had any confirmation on you in a month I was sure you were dead, I didn't expect to see a Chinaman wandering around Tsaritsyn until you showed up.” he began casually, “But I suppose if you're alive still Makulov's offer still stands. What do you need?”

Jun was hesitant to answer, “I could use my sword back.” he lamented, he had been without his Miao Dao for a long time.

“I'm afraid that's not on my inventory list.” the Russian confirmed with a distraught sigh, “I can get grenades, guns. Need a rifle? I got plenty! Polish manufactured too, nothing better except for Spanish guns.”

“I don't need any of those.” Jun responded.

“Right, well it was worth a shot.” the Russian sighed. “What are you going to do in Old Sarepta?” he inquired.

“I'm acting on a lead.” Jun answered flatly. He wasn't in a mood nor did he believe he was in a position to be honest and flat. And though he was not lying he wasn't going to divulge the entire truth.

“You need any back up on this?” Makulov pressed, “Sure, I imagine getting through all these miles to get to this little gem on the Volga doesn't mean your a pussy piece of shit. But come on, what are you doing solo?” he demanded. His tone was somewhere between being belittling and casual in its matter-of-fact teasing. Whatever the case of the banter, it wasn't particularly inviting to the agent.

“That's all, really. I'm acting on a lead.” he insisted.

“Mhm, I see.” nodded the driver, “So what are you going to do after? Go kidnap the president?”

Jun scoffed, “Where ever this goes next.” he answered.

The agent laughed. It was a deep earthly laugh. “Do you want to know what Makulov is up to?” he asked.

Jun considered. “What is he doing?” he asked.

“Word through the grapevines is that he's moved the army to Yekaterinburg and his holding the city to siege. Already they downed an airplane that was supposedly carrying some ten members of the Republican congress and their aids. They've been boasting about that over the radio for days!” he boasted, “Why are you here though and not there? Wouldn't Beijing want somewhere there next to Makulov? For, you know: coordination?”

Jun thought. Makulov's sudden change in priority was a sure surprise. And the dawning realization of what was going on suddenly put his current mission in a new light. What was his purpose out here if not to impress Makulov enough to assist the Chinese directly? “My partner is still with him.” he said, or hoped.

“Ah, I see!” the agent exclaimed, “So the Chairman and Makulov are within each other's light. I suppose that's a good thing.”

Jun didn't see the need to respond. He held a silence as he felt himself lose the entire point in all of this. What was he doing trying to kill Mafiya heads? Why now go after the Horse Lord? He had watched Gabriel kill him. But, The Wraith had assumed command, he guessed.

“Where you going in Old Sarepta?” the agent asked.

“Do you know The Italian?”

“I do, I was just going to visit him. You're not going to kill my contact, are you?”

“Not if I don't have to.” responded Jun.

The Russian shrugged indifferent, “Probably wouldn't matter to me. There are plenty of Gopniks I can extort for intelligence. But The Italian has had much broader contacts. Would be a shame to lose that fat fuck.”

“I'll try not to spoil your merchandise then.”

“Fair enough.”

[h1]China[/h1]
[h2]Nanjing[/h2]

Through glistening windows of the train Chu Sun watched as the city of Nanking came into view as they rounded the bend. Obscured by concrete walls and grassy berms separating the farmland from the tracks what had moments ago been a suggestion drawn by blurred pencil-drawn lines of smoke became a strong fact in the afternoon sunlight.

Nanjing, nestled between two stony mountains peeled into view across farmland and fields of wild flowers and alfalfa. Groves of trees in the distance covered the low cityscape only to break apart and show it again where development had demanded. Even miles away where only the stalks of textile factories, refineries, and the region's manufacturing were thin twigs jutting from the ground there seemed to glow a gentle blue light under the clear sky above.

Trembling into the city's edge the farmland began to dissipate as the train entered into town, guided by high walls as it coasted through its shallow trench. With a whistle blaring, it pulled into the central station.

Picking himself off up the seat Chu Sun grabbed his bags under his arms. He tipped his cap onto his head and nodding his fair wells to the conductor exited into Nanjing. Shuffling down from the train he bounded down onto the platform.

All around him people walked crisscross along the open-air pavilion of Nanjing's northern train-station. In the warm sun of summer it was all but comfortable. A hot oppressive humid heat lay across the platform, compounded only more by the smell of the acrid smoke from the trains and the hot sweat and bodies of passengers disembarking their trains, or shuffling to meet theirs.

Strategically placed across the platform large fans buzzed over the crowd, desperately trying to turn the air into a comfortable breeze but did little more than help suppress the smell of exhaust and people against the packed platform. The only natural comfort that swept the train terminal was that of a summery breeze that swept over their heads.

Chu Sun held onto the brim of his hat as he looked to the sky. It wasn't set to rain, though the ground under his feet glistened with the drying remnants of a storm that had just passed through. Birds gathered over-head on the lethargic half-arch that swung over most of the platform. They clustered together along steel beams and watched the flocks of humans wander below. Pulling the visor of his cap down low, Sun marched on.

The terminal structure itself was a much more comfortable affair than outside. Here the fans did not push the stifling air down and the people much more thinned. Marked halls and offices kept the flow in an organized manner as overhead music from speakers played. Some soft classical orchestra swung the old languid strings of folk compositions inter-spaced by morsels of news through a choked tin-can. The tinny wavering of the reader's voice hummed above the chatter and background noise of the terminal building as he squeezed through the checkpoint to the city outside.

Standing at the top of a bank of steps Sun faced the sun again, this time glistening off the rolling green of the Yangtze river. From the far side of a paved plaza decorated with trees and shrubs around a towering statue of a rifle-armed revolutionary the mighty Yangtze shimmered in the sunlight with sliver ferocity. Boats both modern and ancient skirted across the waves as the life of the city moved and turned between its banks. And below him the traffic of the road moved with as much intensity.

At the bottom of the stairs buses waiting, departing, or arriving gathered at the side-walk farming from or delivering to the station the masses only to tremble off into the flow of the traffic spewing a thin cloud of smokey-blue exhaust. Sun Chu stood at the top of those steps, looking down to the side-walk below searching for the man who was to pick him up. Scanning the road-side he adjusted the lapel pins on his slate-gray uniform.

The road was awash with motor traffic and the unhurried pace of the remnants of an older China. Horse or bike drawn carts galloped or rolled down the far-side of the street. These wagons laden with produce or raw-materials moved the commerce of the smaller unregulated markets of China. The artisan's world, an industry too meager to approach or too hobbyist to bother. Or if not for them, it was from the out-skirting farms and destined to market.

Through the course of the traffic he saw cutting a course through the cars, trucks, and buses what he assumed to be his ride. A police car, white with sharp-corners and a single button flasher perched atop its hood swerved across the lanes, and parked itself in a recently vacated spot. He used the vacancy greedily, using it to its highest advantage as the officer within pulled over to the side. The man inside looked around and looked up at the station, Sun Chu rose a hand to hail him as he looked up towards him.

The Nanjing officer's face lit up as he saw him and he swung open the door and stepped out onto the side-walk. “Comrade!” he shouted over the roar of engines as the loud rumble of cars and the chatter of people.

Sun Chu rose a hand to him and walked down the steps, holding his briefcase close to his side as he came down from the station.

“Jeingguan Sun Chu, brother.” Chu bowed, introducing himself.

“Hua Rui.” the other officer introduced himself as, returning the favor, “Is it just you?” he asked, looking behind him expecting more.

“For right now.” Chu answered, “I came alone, I gave the others extra time to prepare so I could come ahead of time and do some preliminary work.” he explained, “They should be in town later today.”

“Oh, right right.” Rui acknowledged uncomfortably, “I was expecting I would be driving a few more is all.” he added, smiling stiffly. Walking around the police car he added as he opened the passenger door: “Please, take a seat. I'll explain what's happening on the way in.”

“Thank you.” Chu sighed, moving to claim his seat. As he sat down Rui slammed the door closed and ran to take the wheel. As the car started with a strained groan they were off into Nanjing's streets.

As Rui pulled through the traffic, he began his briefing, “Things are going to moving fast for Dong Wu's body.” he began, “So I think the first thing you'll need to ask to do is get morgue access and follow up on the examiner's autopsy of the body. But the Dong family is demanding we send it to them for his cremation and funeral so you can't have it long.”

“You're running out of time on him then?” inquired Chu.

“We're reaching that threshold. He's not an unknown corpse so we can't keep him indefinite.” Rui quipped sarcastically, “They've been loud petitioning the department for us to hand his body over so they can perform the last rights and put his ashes to rest.”

“This has to be hard on them.”

Hua Rui shook his head and laughed, “Fuck if it hasn't been on us. Mrs. Dong has been storming into the department wailing for us to surrender the body and we're holding off for as long as we can for you and your staff to arrive.”

“My condolences on you.” Chu quipped without particular remorse.

“Yea well, whatever.” sighed Rui, “Beyond that the original crime-scene has been cleaned up now. You're not going to find any uncontaminated forensic evidence but we got a long list of witnesses we need to have followed up on. None of us in the department has the time to go through them head for head and keep up on the city's own drama. Our detectives are working several cases of their own, we're understandably stressed.”

“Mayor reacted?”

“He has, but said nothing that sounds at all original. A lot of promises to clamp down but we don't know how much he or the city commune can or will do to involve themselves. It might stink of political favoritism to them.

“Or is this why you're here?”

“I try not to ask.” answered Chu, “Scene aside, do you have anything else? A remains of a bomb?”

“Plenty of that. We're trying to put it together but maybe when the rest of you get here you'll get it done faster.”

“I plan to.” Sun Chu asserted.

[/h2]Taklamakan desert, South of Korla, Xianjing[/h2]

A pair of riders crested the rolling sand dunes of the Taklamakan atop chestnut horses. They rode atop their mounts high and majestic as they trotted through the gently shifting desert sands. The soft muffled beat of hooves in the winding wind-trails on the desert floor the only sound that broke the gently puffing air. From the south a lethargic sigh of cold dry air rolled down from the Himalayas into the desert basin. The riders rode right into it.

“Your back is still rigid, you grip the reigns too tight!” Han Hue called as he came over the hill, just behind the youthful rider who took the lead. Ma Gang looked back awkwardly at his uncle as he shifted in his saddle.

“When I was a youth your age I knew damn well how to ride a horse!” Hue continued to berate as he trotted alongside his nephew, “Though the times are changing tradition should not.” he reminded the boy as he came to match his nephew's pace down the hill. Han Hue's voice was solid and scolding, it held a promise of a whip behind it. Even though he was long retired, that long general that had decades ago shepherded men across the field still commanded his soul and spirit. It possessed him when he needed it, keeping him genial when it needed to be.

But staring down at his nephew as he looked up at him that past had come forward. He was a critical teacher.

Ma Gang could not argue with his uncle's certainty, and adjusted to his expectations. Softly as if he was riding on clouds Hue commanded his horses to circle to the other-side of his nephew as they reached the low valley of the dunes.

“You may know how to ride a motorbike, but what happens when it fails you and all you have is a horse? Its comfort relies on you being just as comfortable. Are you comfortable?” inquired Hua.

“I-I am now.” Gang responded nervously. He snapped his head forward as he leaned his weight back off of the incline the two had been on.

“The people of these lands and our family have been riding and raising horses for generations beyond memory.” Hua He preached, “It is in our blood. Unless my sister lost that blood when she married that man from Wuhan.

“But feel the beast between your legs. Know the way its muscles turn and flex as it walks. Know its weight and what it wants. Know it like a friend so you can command it to go where you need it to. Its and your wills should be one.”

“Can I ask a question?” Gang approached carefully as they came to trot through the bottom of a sandy trough.

“Ask and receive.” He bid openly.

“China has aeroplanes and tanks. Why bother with something as antiquated as horses?”

Hua He scoffed. “On some fundamental level all society need some beast of burden.” he answered, “Even China, we still need our horses and our oxen and the mules. Not all peoples in the great nation can have mechanical tractors and crop dusters. They may not be capable of running such machines. Or the opportunity may not be afforded on them. And should the opportunity or capability be out of your reach to use a truck or a motor-bike: would you take the horse as your vehicle or your feet?

“And even to a small extent our army must use horses. And I have heard of Russian militaries in the west who in their desperation turn again to the horse as their sacred vehicle. It is preparation and readiness for a certain possibility that you must learn. Should you find yourself in the mounted patrol units or by some cruelty you are incapable of driving: learning how to ride will pay in spades.

“And even more Gang,” He continued, pausing, “it is part of my legacy.” he added.

“I was the premier cavalry commander in the west loyal to the old communist party. I commanded the Hui-People's Lancer Corp. Many of those men have died or faded away, and I'm not waiting for that legacy to pass. It falls upon each man to teach the next generation the same skills bestowed upon him by his father and father's father, and his own brothers and comrades. Each successive generation is owed by the previous to be bestowed upon with the wisdom of the collective experience of their father's and mother's. It may take a child-hood, or it will take a life-time. But you will learn from me: and the holy Quran.”

The desert continued shifting endlessly as the pair continued their ride under the clear never-ending skies above them. As the afternoon sun began to wane and arc low into the sky the two stopped in the shade of a sand-dune. Hua He tossed onto the ground a light pouch. He produced from it several loaves of flat naan bread. Handing over a dish-pan size wheel of flat-bread to his nephew he took a seat in the dry sand and the two ate.

“It was too far from Korla that I was sitting with my men having a meal much like this.” Hua He said, breaking a gentle silence that had hung between the two. A glossy look of reflection shone in his eyes. Ma Gang looked at his uncle with an enraptured stare. He liked the war stories, “We were half a day from the city after the party officials requested we put down a perspective attempt at Uyghur separatism. It was hardly much. Small, almost irrelevant. Distant from the virtuous energy that was the first East Turkestan Republic. But we were tasked at quelling them.

“They broke from the city as soon as me and my men arrived and surrendered themselves to the desert and disappeared. Our simple presence was enough to remind them of the hostilities their people faced if they acted reactionary to The Party. But soon after we caught wind of a Russian column that was maneuvering further west. We suspected they were some part of a Russian mission to bolster separatists and maybe build a Russian satellite in China; we had heard rumors like that, they were looking for a new Mongolia in China.

“So not several hours after arriving in Korla I ordered the men to remount and ride west. We stopped for an hour during an evening like this: still, quiet. You could hear the horses breath as the sun lay down to rest. We ate simply, looking west to where our target rested. We expected an actual fight, we were looking for one.”

“What happened?” Ma Gang asked.

“We got there and the Russians were tired and wounded, they had fled into China from Turkestan having been chased out but Kazakhs angry at them. They were hoping to go home but we rode half of them down, injured and captured nearly a hundred. The rest scattered and ran north. Back home I think, I hope.”

Hua He's voice fell silent as he looked to the dark northern sky. His face gaunt as he drifted through the memory. “Home was  their peace and now Russia is on fire. Sometimes when I think about it I wonder if those men are proud now. I wonder even if they decided to pursue asylum in Siberia, or if they're in Outer Manchuria. It's unlikely, I know.”

“If China were to be like Russia, would you flee?” Gang asked.

Hua He stopped to consider the question. It came with its own complicated answer. For all his prison sentences and personal insecurity with the state he had to ponder it. “I would die here.” he answered.