Reprisal by Colin T. Nelson

arches shone bright white. He entered under the largest arch.
    He boarded the Turkistan-Siberian train to take him south, ultimately to the Caspian Sea where he’d handoff the case. Unlike the airport with its strict security, the train station offered an easy way to get out of town. No one stopped him as he found an empty seat and put the briefcase directly beside him. It would never leave his sight. Sitting, he grunted from the added weight around his waist. All the bad, cheap food they’d been eating, he thought. With the new money, they’d eat better.
    The train pulled out on time and crossed the new bridge over the Ob River. Vladimir looked out the window at the expanse of the west Siberian plain. He rested his hand on the smooth, polished frame that surrounded the window. With the spring sun pouring into the window, the wood felt warm under his fingers. The plain stretched over forests, fields, and factories. The city still ranked as the largest industrial center in Siberia.
    He arrived in Turkmenbashi, on the eastern shore of the Caspian Sea, late in the afternoon. As he left the train, he cradled the suitcase with both arms. He reviewed the instructions once again. He was to meet the Arab at the New Independence Monument right at sunset. Vladimir pulled his sleeve back to look at his watch. An hour to go.
    He’d have just enough time to make the transfer and get back on the train to return home—good, as he felt uneasy. Not only was he anxious to get rid of the case as soon as possible, but the entire city made him feel he was watched all the time.
    The first president after independence from the Soviet Union, Saparmurad Niyasov, had relied upon a personality cult to rule with absolute authority. Huge photos of his face covered billboards, buildings, and posters everywhere. Many streets carried his name. And the crazy monuments he’d built! There was the low, square, dun-colored block building topped by a giant bull. Balanced on the bull’s horns, floated an immense globe. It boasted the name, “Turkmenbashi on Top of the World.”
    Vladimir wandered toward the port. The sun had already dropped over the sea to the west, leaving the water colored in blues and grays. A milky light shone around him, illuminating buildings in an eerie glow. He smelled the moist, salty air from the quiet water. A lonely bell clanged.
    When he arrived at the Independence Monument, shadows reached out like fingers toward him from low buildings. The monument consisted of an egg-shaped mound on the ground, covered in gold ornamentation, and topped by an immense spire. He would meet the Arab in front of the tall statue in front.
    Vladimir reached the point and looked up at the statue. Carved from dark stone, it looked like a fierce Tartar. Full hat, full beard down his chest, he dressed in a long coat that dropped to the statue’s feet. Around the coat, a black cape billowed out as if the wind were blowing it. In his hands, he held a curved, gold scimitar.
    Vladimir watched as three crows landed on the scimitar. They cawed their annoyance at his presence.
    When he turned around, the Arab stood before him.
    Without smiling, the man greeted Vladimir and reached for the briefcase. For a moment, he hung on. “The money?” he asked.
    “Of course. I will do it now.” The Arab reached into his coat for a cell phone. A few taps on the keyboard, and he looked back at Vladimir. “Done. Transferred to your account, as before.”
    Vladimir waited a few minutes, then keyed in his own cell phone to check the bank account. He didn’t trust these Arabs and despised everything about them. If it weren’t for the money, he wished they’d rot in hell with their terrorists. Satisfied the money had moved, Vladimir handed the case to the Arab.
    He accepted it. “Thank you, Mr. Zagorsk. You have done a great thing for Allah. This will help destroy His enemies.”
    The feeling of guilt returned to Vladimir.
    He peered into Vladimir’s eyes. “You