A full-time secretary who worked for a bank as did many women in her country who worked to support their ethnic Russian husbands who had lost their jobs. She was a proud woman who had absolutely hated her husband for what he had done to their daughter through his weakness and had lost no sleep when he died from a heart attack, sadly, so different to the young Engineer of the Oil Refinery under the days of the Soviets that had married her. It was why, despite her fears, she had accompanied her daughter today.
To look conservative, Tania had insisted that they dress in a more formal way by wearing red and green long one piece dresses. Unfortunately as Nara grimly reflected by the look of Yuri, it certainly hadn’t worked.
In contrast to him, as they sat down to wait their turn, Nara noticed the man standing opposite them was a truly different sort of individual.
A tall, striking man with short military style blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and a solid muscular frame he was dressed in an expensively tailored simple, but elegant, dark blue suit, light blue shirt, and dark blue tie by a designer Nara immediately assumed was Italian. With his pistol nestling discreetly underneath his jacket and his feet shod in an expensive pair of dark tanned English style shoes; he looked the polar opposite in class and style to Yuri.
The man known as Mikhail Olegovich Pshenicnikov she would later find out, she realized was assessing her but then without saying a word, he put Nara quickly at ease by smiling at her and then respectively offered a nod towards her mother.
Having spotted Mikhail’s respectful actions, Yuri decided to mark his territory almost as was a dog cocking his leg by retorting, “You can’t afford her Mikhail!” while laughing at his own joke.
It was spiteful comment that immediately sent a shiver down Nara’s spine. She hated it when men treated her as a piece of meat, evermore so as it was in front of her mama.
Seeing that her daughter was biting her lip and knowing that she was worried and nervous, Tania put her hand across hers gently and patted it, almost to imply it didn’t matter in an effort to comfort her. The young lady smiled in response towards her mother but didn’t say anything. She also caught sight of the polite man shooting Yuri a look, dismissing him for the prick he was. It warmed her as he turned again towards them and repeated his respectful nod again.
Feeling better, Nara offered a smile of her own as a way of a thank you, thinking to herself as she did so that he looked Jewish.
“Whatever he is he is a gentleman!” Nara thought. “At very least a bodyguard to very powerful Oligarch who was meeting with Oleg!” she quickly summarized as she continued to smile back.
Her instinct had served her well for she was right on both accounts being Jewish then secondly being a bodyguard to a powerful man.
Born in Soviet Russia in 1964 to Jewish parents that were later allowed to emigrate, to Israel, the young Mikhail had joined the Israeli Army at eighteen where his talents as an excellent soldier were honed in the Shakbat and then in its Protective Security Department.
He had served six years and rose to the rank of Chief Sergeant before leaving and going on the reserve list as all Israeli’s did until they reach sixty-five.
Having just managed to survive a bad operation in Bosnia that involved the extraction of ethnic Jews who had been caught up in the war between the Muslims and Christians in 1992, Mikhail, like many other Russian émigrés around the same time, headed back to home to Russia to find work as a personal bodyguard for the new Jewish Oligarchs who were making their fortunes and wanting individuals with ‘special skills.’
That was where he had met his current boss who was doing business with the principal he was working for around the same time.
Recognizing Mikhail’s professionalism the man had contacted him and invited him for a drink, something at the time that had surprised him, as most the principals he found himself working for didn’t give him the time of day. Finding he liked the man, it hadn’t taken much for him to readily accept his offer to come and work with him and watch his back.
However it was a night three years ago, when they were under fire during an attempt on the man’s life by a Moldovan Mafiosi who was trying to force him to sell an asset in Moscow, that their loyalty to each other was sealed in blood.
That night had been a bloodbath. Upon leaving the upscale restaurant, they were suddenly hit by a team intent on killing the man and anybody who got in their way. Yet instead of panicking, as one would expect when one of the guards from Mikhail’s handpicked team was killed next to him taking a bullet for him, the man had instead picked up the bodyguard’s Glock pistol and fought alongside them.
Moving forward in a technique known “Offensive Movement Action” to close the gap on the kill zone, they had then proceeded to take out the assassination team in a matter of moments.
After Mikhail had been hit, the man had led the way and while the other men secured the area, he had professionally finished the assassins off with double taps to their heads each in turn before finally pausing over the badly wounded leader, lying on the floor with blood pouring out of him.
Seeing all of this take place as he lay badly wounded, Mikhail watched the man say something in Russian to the remaining live Mafioso before shooting him in the head without any emotion or hesitation.
“B-o-s-s what d-i-d y-o-u s-a-y to him?” Mikhail had asked as he laid on the verge of passing out having seen his principal in action and now knowing he was a professional like him.
“There won’t be a next time! Now let’s be getting you to the clinic, Old Chap” the man had said looking at him steely eyed with a grim smile.
Remaining by his side for he knew full well that with Mikhail being an ex-Russian and worse an Israeli, it was likely that he would have been the “fall guy” when the FSB turned up. He had taken care of everything, ensuring the FSB and Moscow Police buried Mikhail’s wounded presence in the process. A gesture, Mikhail later learned, had cost the man a quarter of a million U.S. dollars in bribes.
As for the Israeli family of the young man who died protecting him, Mikhail had later learned that he taken care of them as well by placing them under his protection and ensuring that his widow received million U.S. dollars per year until his three children reached eighteen. These two gestures alone ensured that Mikhail had never faced a problem in recruitment in the following years. To him and the men who protected him, he had truly Chesed, a unique word in Hebrew as it was a word that couldn’t be translated into English, but nonetheless to the Jews meant ‘loving-kindness,’ ‘mercy,’ ‘steadfast love,’ and sometimes ‘loyalty.’
Every member of his security team was treated as if they were family and each shared in the spoils as he made his fortune in the development of the new Russia.
When they flew back to London five weeks later whilst Mikhail was still recuperating from his wound, the entire team shared a bottle of ‘Blue Label’ to toast their fallen comrade’s life. It was at that moment as the head of his security team Mikhail had asked him where he had honed his skills as it was the topic of gossip amongst the men and the wives.
“Hereford,” the man had replied referring to the famous home of the SAS base that lies on the border of Wales.
Nothing more needed to be said amongst the men who guarded him. They knew what meant.
“Hashem yikom damo (We will avenge his blood)” the man had whispered in Hebrew.