Ivan Petrov

Chapter 5

Ivan and Volkov are now sitting at the table, sipping on the very same kind of tea they would have back in the past.

Volkov starts asking him, "Tell me, Ivan. What are you really here for? I don't suppose it's for a business trip."

"Anastasia was killed," regretted Ivan. "Her mother was nearly killed, but I managed to save her life."

"Jesus, Ivan." said the former commander in a more casual tone. "So you came here because the murderer is here?"

"Tell me, commander." said Ivan. "Am I still doing the right thing?"

Volkov sighs, and despite his old age, it only made him more wise to give better moral answers. "Did you at least tell them that it was you sending the money to them every year?"

"I... I never." sighed Ivan.

"You should... after you have found the murderer." suggested Volkov. "Are you gonna kill him?"

"It's not him, it's them." replied Ivan.

Volkov took some time to process what Ivan said, before finally realising and gasps. "Fucking hell, Ivan... how did they even get involved in the bratva?"

"I wish I had answers for it, maybe that's why I am here." said Ivan. "I'm here to kill, and to find answers."

"At least, it seems to you now that everything is clear cut," nodded the old commander. "You know who are the bad guys, who are the good guys. Use it to your advantage, comrade Petrov."

"I wish I could ask you for further intel... but this is no longer the Soviet Union." remarked Ivan.

"I wish I could too..." laughed the old man. "I do have contacts that you might want to meet... very important contacts that you can use if you ever find yourself stuck in a situation."

Volkov stands up slowly and grabs a small piece of paper and pen, before jotting down some phone number. Ivan slowly escorts him back to the couch to watch TV, while Volkov passes him the phone number.

"Who's this? The number, I mean." asked Ivan.

Volkov chuckles for a bit. "You'll know him soon, good luck in your mission... I hope you will take down those bastards... and Ivan, stop calling me sir or commander. I'm retired."

"Thank you... Yevgeny." Ivan for the first time, says Volkov's given name.

Ivan leaves the apartment and enters back his car, where he inspects the piece of paper that Volkov has just given him. He keeps the number for future use and drives off, that's location no. 1 done for him.

He now drives to his next destination, a restaurant that goes by the name of "Cossacks", located somewhere in the Presnensky District of western Moscow. It was, after all, close to dinner time and one would guess Ivan simply wanted to have a meal.

He arrived at the restaurant's building, it was a grand restaurant building of 3 different levels, and it was considerably wide. It has an imperial Russian theme to it and many of its patrons are seemingly of high social standing.

They were wearing long suits with some wearing trench coats, as the season was approaching winter. Ivan would have looked out of place were he not to wear a similar trench coat and an ushanka to make himself look more well-dressed.

He approaches to the receptionist, well-dressed in a tuxedo. The receptionist had to ask him.

"Good evening, sir. Have you made a reservation." asked the kind, well-spoken receptionist.

Ivan clears his throat for a while and says. "Yes, with Oleg Tukhanovksy."

"But... sir, that's our head chef..." the receptionist looked confused.