Khasayev rubbed his hazy eyes and followed the waiter through the bathroom corridor and towards the dressing room on the side of the bathroom.
At this moment, he kept cursing in his heart and his resentment was soaring to the sky.
Wednesday and Saturday every week are his private time. This is a rare opportunity to relax and a happy hour for a man.
For so many years, Khasayev has been living a double life. He has four daughters and three sons. His two wives have given him a lot of live babies like sows giving birth to cubs. The youngest daughter is
When he was three years old, when he saw him, he would call him "Dada" (transliteration of папа, meaning daddy) in a non-standard Russian voice.
All of Khasayev's children have received orthodox Russian education, and even his eldest son is still studying at Moscow University. He knows that he cannot pass on those so-called hatreds to the next generation. History belongs to history, dust belongs to dust, and life must go on.
He dealt with people like Baskev, who were like devils in hell, and made a lot of money, but he couldn't even mention it to all his relatives.
This made Khasayev's temper a bit weird, and he often broke into unknown anger for no reason. His wife and daughter were extremely awe-inspiring and even a little cautious in front of him. But most of the time, he was a good father, loving and caring, and meticulous.
, is a good husband in everyone’s mouth.
This high-end Turkish bath is a favorite pastime for men in Itumkare. Every time Hasayev comes here, he will steam for an hour, then take a bath in the hot and cold pools, and then lie down on the stone slabs.
Let "Tanrak" apply aromatherapy oil all over his body, massage every inch of his skin, and finally fall asleep. The waiter will wake him up at five o'clock. The man who was released in the Turkish bath is like this
Then he slowly left and drove home.
But tonight this beauty was interrupted.
Of course, this wasn't the first time he was interrupted.
Khasayev came to this bathroom six years ago, and in the past six years, he was interrupted twice.
Due to Khasayev's special profession, there is almost no private time for himself in his life. Many times, Basiev is like a ghost hovering above his head, seeming to be watching and influencing his life all the time.
.
Therefore, no matter where he goes, he must bring the satellite phone that belongs to him and Basiev to communicate alone. Even in such a place where they are naked and "candid", he still tells the waiter that if he puts it in the cabinet
The phone rings many times, so be sure to wake yourself up.
"It must be Baskif!"
He cursed secretly in his heart. From the bottom of his heart, he didn't like Baskev. Although he didn't like Russians either, at least he didn't appreciate people like Baskev who went to extremes.
Basiev was also involved in the Beslan incident that year. He was one of the dangerous people who successfully escaped, and Khasayev was the key figure who escaped and left the country for him.
After seeing those bloody scenes on TV, especially the corpse of an innocent child being carried out of school by soldiers, Khasayev's temper became worse than a mad dog that day, gesticulating and talking about his wife and children who were watching the TV news.
They got so angry that they smashed a table of fruit, turned off the TV, and hurried their wife and children out of the room.
No one wanted to see this. From that day on, Khasayev began to feel guilty, especially when he saw his innocent children. He would occasionally have strange thoughts, thinking that those in Beslan
The children who died in the school should have had this kind of life enjoying sunshine and flowers, but he was the devil who participated in depriving them of their rights.
This thought oppressed Khasayev's nerves like a nightmare all the time, driving him crazy and suffocating. He went to the Turkish bath more often, first once, then twice a week.
Lying on the stone floor of the Turkish bath, "Tanrak"'s strong hands squeezed the fatigue out of his pores bit by bit. Khasayev felt that his soul was about to leave his body, as if floating to the ceiling, quietly
Looking down at myself.
who I am?
Am I doing everything right?
Am I a sinner? Or the devil?
At that moment, he often has this strange thought.
However, Basiev not only haunts him like an evil spirit who never leaves, but the remuneration he gets for doing things for him is also quite generous, which makes the greedy Hasayev feel like he can't stop, just like opium or poison, knowing that it is poisonous.
, but it makes people addicted.
Because of this strange and contradictory thought, Khasayev began to prepare a way out for himself.
The fake identity abroad is actually not fake, but it is just a fictitious identity. He and his wife and children have a virtual identity in neighboring Georgia. From birth to education, everything exists, as if they are a living person.
People who live in Georgia but never leave that country.
He spent a lot of money to get this from powerful local people.
If something goes wrong one day, Khasayev even uses his knowledge of the border to plan a route out of the country.
Everything was perfect. On the day when Khasayev planned all this, he poured wine in his office, secretly drank several glasses of wine, and celebrated himself for his cleverness.
The locker room was more than 200 square meters in size, and there were neat rows of wooden cabinets inside. Everyone had their own key to open their own locker, where their own clothes were placed.
Sure enough, the phone was ringing. I rolled my eyes and stood still in front of the cabinet, about to turn around.
He asked the waiter to leave, and then found a secluded place to talk to Baskev, where it was not convenient for any outsiders.
However, before he had time to turn around, a strong hand went around his neck from behind and tightly covered his mouth and nose with a towel, while the other hand wrapped around his neck like an iron hoop.
Khasayev was so frightened that he had no time to react to what had happened. He was not a trained professional soldier or spy. His mind was in chaos, as if the projector in a movie theater had suddenly burned through the film, and all that was projected was blank.
A strange smell penetrated into his nostrils. Khasayev was still alive and kicking. After that smell entered his respiratory tract, he suddenly felt that his whole body was in a strange state of excitement, and he felt an unconcealable sense of joy.
Feeling tired, extremely tired...
After a few seconds, Khasayev's whole body went as soft as noodles.
From the other end of the dressing room, an FSB agent dressed as a customer walked out with a big white towel around his waist. He looked at the waiter and nodded. The waiter turned around and walked to the locker nearby and took out a few large towels.
Taking the bath towel, the two of them neatly rolled up Khasayev like a spring roll, then resisted and walked to the window and opened the curtains.
This is the first floor, and outside is a side street in a back alley. The waiter pressed the agent headphones in his ears.
"When the goods are received, send someone to check them."
Soon, there was a knocking sound on the glass window.
Agents dressed as waiters and bathers opened the window from the inside, wrapped Khasayev and his satellite phone together, and threw them out like a dead fish.
puff--
The window sill is less than one and a half meters high from the ground. The people outside obviously caught the fruit seller who was not nearby, so their voices were very low.
The waiter closed the window neatly, then drew the curtains, returned to Khasayev's cabinet, closed the cabinet door with his key, and raised his wrist to check the time.
It is now 1:07 in the morning, and the entire arrest process did not take more than seven minutes. (To be continued)