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Approaching The Baha Bar June 17, 2008, 0825 hours What am I expecting? he asked himself yet again. A fanfare? Maybe with a full parade? That was worth a chuckle, accompanied by another after Polyakov had given him a quizzical look. He's really loving being stuck in a car with you, Nikolai thought. The grin stayed on his face while he looked out the blacked-out window at the scenery. It was always the same. Not the scenery, the windows. Always blacked- out so that no-one could even get a glimpse of the occupants. Like that would matter, he thought. Who in this place would recognise him? Ok, there were people from his past who would be able to identify him, but the chances of that happening were tiny, and besides, that could happen anywhere. Black vehicles with blacked-out windows just begged for attention; the number of people who would stop and take a long look at such vehicles had somehow not made the users think that it may not be as covert as they would have liked. Nonetheless it was what had been waiting for them when they had debarked from the plane, and it was where he found himself now. He checked the urge to ask if they were there yet, knowing that Polyakov would not have found it the slightest bit amusing. There was something about him that just made fun seem wrong. Maybe he just couldn't relate to everyone else's idea of fun. More precisely my idea of fun, he thought with another chuckle. The earlier depression had faded after a phone call to Yelena just before they got into the car. Just hearing her voice had relaxed him, and after a brief conversation he knew that things would be ok. Not ideal, but ok. All he had to do was get through these couple of days and everything would be fine. At least that is what she had told him once he had gotten to the hotel and found that all expenses were being paid for, and so a long phone call (after securing the phone) to Russia was both the first thing on his mind and the perfect remedy to his lonely status. They had talked all night long; it was a cordless phone and that allowed him to continue to talk to her even when he was making food or unpacking. She had told him that everything would be fine, and that she would be waiting for him when he returned. That was enough for him, and allowed him a peaceful sleep. After all, they had gotten used to having to live via a phone, usually when her father had been dragging him off around the world on various `jobs'. Again, it wasn't ideal but it was doable. The driver indicated to them that they were nearly there. Polyakov turned to him. "Remember, we are representing our agency. Everything we say and do could have a bearing on our relations with the American agency, and Commander Popov believes that these ties could be very important and beneficial to us, as does Comrade Georgiev." "Hey, I know this boss. Don't worry about me, I'm not about to do anything stupid," he replied. Polyakov raised an eyebrow. "Listen, although this could be technically classified as a mission that does not mean that I'm in mission-mode. I'll be on my best behaviour." "Comrade Plekhanov, please understand that I do not doubt your ability to behave correctly. I am still coming to terms with how young and inexperienced you are when compared to the others, and I have been instructed by Commander Popov to ensure that this meeting goes well." "First of all my name is Nikolai, ok. I'm just a shooter, so you don't have to be so...military in how you address me. After all, you should hear some of the things that Sergei calls me!" That received a smile, which was a start. "I understand that my age takes some getting used to, but just remember that if I'm good enough then I'm old enough, and I haven't done much wrong so far." Polyakov nodded at that. "Very true. Let us just hope that continues." "Oh it will," Nikolai promised as they felt the car slow to a stop outside what looked like some kind of bar. Peering out the window he read the name: The Baha Bar. It looked like more than just a bar though, the building rising up a long way into the New York skyline. What the hell, he reasoned, I could do with a drink before things get too serious. After all, there was going to be a meeting of sorts, and usually the only way he managed to endure meetings was if they concerned bad guys and the best way to kill or detain them. Everything else was just plain boring. As this will be. He was quite sure of that. Still, the thought of returning to Yelena after this was over was the one thing that would help him get through it. Just survive. He'd done that often enough. Now he had to survive the Americans� just like on the Magic Blue mission. That brought a whole set of new thoughts flooding into his mind, and for a brief moment he lost his cool, his hands gripping the edge of soft car seat. As soon as he realised he released his grip, his eyes darting across to make sure that Polyakov hadn't noticed. He had been looking out of the window on his side and hadn't noticed a thing. Good, Nikolai told himself. Now, why the fuck had that happened? Was he concerned about meeting some of the Americans who his team had `fought' against? Maybe, he allowed. After all, things hadn't exactly been great, not least with the `hostages'. His one had had a needle phobia much the same as he had, and had had a reaction to the drugs he had injected into her before going off to discuss the exchange. That had been an unpleasant for both himself and the young lady. Then there had been Kirill's capture, again something that had been� well, maybe not as bad an experience for him as it had been for� Isabella, he remembered. Yes, his ego had been brought crashing back down to Earth after finding out he wasn't invincible, but at the same time he'd had the chance to check out some rather attractive ladies, or so he'd said. Well, Trouble hadn't been bad at all, and neither had Isabella, and� why the fuck am I thinking this? he asked himself. Always going off on a tangent, his mind. Back to reality. Yes, he was apprehensive of meeting the American team members. Probably not Trouble, as they seemed to have a certain rapport already, but certainly the others. They had a team comprising of at least five members if he remembered correctly. Trouble, Isabella, the two who had kidnapped Kirill, and the sniper. Unless the sniper was one of the others? It was possible. Five just seemed like a good number. So, he was ok with Trouble, and the sniper plus two kidnappers he had never met and therefore had no real reason to be wary of� and that just left Isabella. She was the cause of his apprehension. Part of him wanted to see her, just for his own visual confirmation that she was indeed ok after what he had inadvertently subjected her to. Part of him wanted to apologise to her for it all. The final part of him hoped that he didn't see her at all, for it would force him to remember what had happened, and that was something he was not proud of no matter how little blame could be attributed to him. He was snapped out of his thoughts by a click, and he turned his head to see the door being opened by the driver. The sunlight streamed into his eyes briefly before his hand reached up to shield his eyes, then he stepped out. His legs were still a little stiff, something a good workout would have taken care of if he'd had the time. That was irrelevant now though. He had a task. It was showtime. 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