- Oct 3, 2018
- 3,031
Under the cold fluorescent lights of Bangkok International Airport, the ebb and flow of travelers created a ricocheting sound from the symphony of hurried footsteps and muffled conversations. Amid the throng, two figures emerged, travelers. Marka Sobchak, a man in his mid-thirties with a neatly trimmed beard, held Svetla Abakumova hand as they navigated through the terminal. She was a striking woma as her dark hair cascading over her shoulders.
To the casual observer, they were merely a young couple, excitedly discussing their plans to visit the temples that littered the capital. “Did you remember to pack the files?” Svetla asked, her voice light but her eyes scanning the bustling crowd. The question was innocent enough, it kept Marka on task, reminding him of their cover story while allowing her to gauge the reactions around them.
“Of course,” Marka replied, flashing a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And the camera. What’s a trip without memories, right?” He said shaking the Camera.
“Right,” Svelta replied, a flicker of amusement dancing in her gaze.
As they approached the immigration checkpoint, He slid his Polish passport across the counter, presenting himself as a simple banking man with a penchant for art. The immigration officer, a weary-looking middle-aged man, glanced at Marka photo and then at the man before him.
“Purpose of your visit?” the officer asked, his voice flat.
“Tourism,” Marka replied, injecting a hint of enthusiasm into his tone. “It’s our first anniversary. We want to see the temples and visit the islands off the coast line of course.”
“We really love the nature here,” Svelta answered, her eyes sparkling with a hint of genuine enthusiasm. “I’m an architect, and I’m excited to see the Mueang Boran. Oh my love show him the great photos your friends took last time.” Marka showed the unamused officer the photos on his phone.
“Enjoy,” the officer echoed, nodding as he stamped the passport, his eyes flicking to Svelta, who stood behind him. She offered a small, disarming smile.
Marka gaze drifted to the people around them. A family with children, a businessman on his phone, a pair of giggling teenagers.
With a nod and a thank you, they moved past the checkpoint, both exhaling simultaneously as they stepped into the main terminal. The vibrant energy of the airport washed over them. Meral leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with urgency. “We need to move quickly. The mule is waiting in the drop point.”
The two took their taxi to their accommodations. Paid for with cash by Marka at the reception. When they entered their room, the two would unpack and change their clothes. Svelta kept a watch on the window observing the streets while Marka swept the room.
“Right,” Mark replied, handing her a paper, that is the target” The two got up and headed to a local park for a casual stroll. As they walked through the park the trees rustled gently in the afternoon breeze and the sun filtered through the leaves, a sense of normalcy enveloped the small park. Joggers passed by while families gathered on benches, children laughing and playing in the grass.
Svelta and Marka took a seat by the Bench next to a crooked tree. Svelta would give Marka a light peck on the lips while her hands slipped under the bench’s cracks behind his body. They watched the people who jogged along the path while others rushed to their office.
Meanwhile in Bangkok
The routine sound of the alarm clock woke Afanasiy up from his much-needed sleep. He slithered to side of his bed where he pulled himself from the warm aura which shielded his bed from the pinching cold that engulfed the room. As parts of his body were gradually turning on, he rubbed his eyes, stretching his arms as he slipped his feet into his warm slippers. He leaned over his desk as he stood up, the young Russian stared down his schedule as he ruffled the curls of his hair. He picked up his rounded glasses, slipping them onto his face as he trodded over to the bathroom where he washed his face, brushing his teeth as he stared into his reflection through the mirror. Now awake, he cleaned the surface of his sink as he turned back to his room.
His desk was largely devoid of memorabilia. On the corner stood a frame, in it it could be made out of three mean and two women, most likely the man's family. On his desk was a mess of papers, normal for a student. The winter break seemed so far as it slowly trudged closer as he and his peers prepared for their semesterly exams. It was a weekend today, giving him the chance to explore more of Bangkok has he tried to refresh his mind. Ridden with blocks and knots which impaired his thinking, the young man packed some books into his back pack, along with his laptop.
He slipped into a pair of dark blue shorts and a loose white linen long-shirt as he ruffled his hair and looked around his room, tapping his pockets and making sure he had everything he opened his flat door, making sure to lock it as he went down the stairs. He wondered as he walked down the stairs if he had closed the lights, but, nonetheless he figured his mind was just trying to trick him. Walking down the lobby, he walked towards the mailboxes inside. Searching for his name and flat, he found it. 4B, Afanasiy Burdukovsky he opened it to find just a handful of flyers from the local political office and other news about the revolution in Thailand. Shuffling through them, he put them back inside as there was nothing of importance.
Fanya walked through the door, merging into the crowds that filled the thinned roads. The sun beat down onto him despite the winter respite that should have normally filled the air. His hands sweaty and eyes irritating from the heat, he walked briskly towards the bus station as he waited for the bus. He waited patiently at the station, observing the people as they came and went. Listening to an Russian songon his earphones, he could hear the murmuring in the background as the sound of the city was congealed from the rumbling of motor engines, the chatting of pedestrians, and whirling wind.
The sun always shined in Bangkok but even as it shined bright over the city, a cold shiver came down over him. Alas, Fanya managed to get onto his bus, the cool interior a refugee. It was times like these where he missed the winter embrace of his homeland, the coarse tundra snow a refugee from the city of marble and stones, the green lush palm trees which shielded the house in lieu of the grey industrial vibes of the city. How he yearned for the chance to return to his homeland. Such was the experience he had hoped gained while abroad. On the bus he opened his bag, pulling out a book, laced in a red and black cover as he opened to the page where he had last left.
His desk was largely devoid of memorabilia. On the corner stood a frame, in it it could be made out of three mean and two women, most likely the man's family. On his desk was a mess of papers, normal for a student. The winter break seemed so far as it slowly trudged closer as he and his peers prepared for their semesterly exams. It was a weekend today, giving him the chance to explore more of Bangkok has he tried to refresh his mind. Ridden with blocks and knots which impaired his thinking, the young man packed some books into his back pack, along with his laptop.
He slipped into a pair of dark blue shorts and a loose white linen long-shirt as he ruffled his hair and looked around his room, tapping his pockets and making sure he had everything he opened his flat door, making sure to lock it as he went down the stairs. He wondered as he walked down the stairs if he had closed the lights, but, nonetheless he figured his mind was just trying to trick him. Walking down the lobby, he walked towards the mailboxes inside. Searching for his name and flat, he found it. 4B, Afanasiy Burdukovsky he opened it to find just a handful of flyers from the local political office and other news about the revolution in Thailand. Shuffling through them, he put them back inside as there was nothing of importance.
Fanya walked through the door, merging into the crowds that filled the thinned roads. The sun beat down onto him despite the winter respite that should have normally filled the air. His hands sweaty and eyes irritating from the heat, he walked briskly towards the bus station as he waited for the bus. He waited patiently at the station, observing the people as they came and went. Listening to an Russian songon his earphones, he could hear the murmuring in the background as the sound of the city was congealed from the rumbling of motor engines, the chatting of pedestrians, and whirling wind.
The sun always shined in Bangkok but even as it shined bright over the city, a cold shiver came down over him. Alas, Fanya managed to get onto his bus, the cool interior a refugee. It was times like these where he missed the winter embrace of his homeland, the coarse tundra snow a refugee from the city of marble and stones, the green lush palm trees which shielded the house in lieu of the grey industrial vibes of the city. How he yearned for the chance to return to his homeland. Such was the experience he had hoped gained while abroad. On the bus he opened his bag, pulling out a book, laced in a red and black cover as he opened to the page where he had last left.
It was a book on the revolution and the social change inside of Thailand. Fanya, during his time as a student here, had become attuned to the global debate on socialism. Indeed, in his home country, he saw the vast economic inequality in society. How could people dine over fancy caviar and dishes made of gold while others went hungry. How could a few decide who leads the many. He didn't consider himself a socialist, just a humanist, and what he saw in Thailand shattered much of his worldview as a young Russian man in Thailand. A nation which had in recent months become a dangerous cancer to the Russian Government and the legacy of Sovietism. Fanya heard his stop, ringing the bus and stepping out to the bustling streets that joined the many people walking through the park.
Winter had settled in Thailand, blanketing the vibrant streets with a cool air that hinted at the simmering unease beneath the surface. Saveliy Chendev and Zinon Kirillovsky strolled through the open air courtyard of their communal home. The cool breeze, the scent of flowers and the chirping of birds add to the delightful ambiance. The walkway is lined with trees, and the garden is adorned with colorful flowers. It's a perfect place to take a peaceful stroll, relax, and enjoy the pleasant weather.
Yet one would not find peace in this garden as the two walked through the trail. in hushed voices, Saveliy wondered if it as truly possible that the ballot could produce change in Moscow. He and Zinon had watched what was happening here in Thailand. Perhaps the bullet was the only answer. Zinon's unease over Saveliy's radicalization whilst in Thailand was not unknown, but, he tried his best to mask his concern. It did not help ease his inner quarrels as Saveliy had gotten in touch with different local politicans apart of the Thai revolution here. It was without a doubt if Saveliy returned to Moscow the FSB would whisk him away if they knew the extent of his contacts with the Thai political class.
One by one a number of civilian officials from the Ministry and other public bureaus were were removed. In a quiet dismantling of various appointees and civil servants, it had seemed like the FSB was investigating pro-Communist officials for alleged ties to Thailand. The moves targeted systematic corruption and power abuses within key state apparatus however it had unnerved many leftists within Russia. The move also put on edge a number of pro-revolutionary factions who feared the Russian state apperatus would crush their movement.
As dusk turned to dawn, Saveliy excused himself from his small group of Russian colleagues who all considered Thailand their home, and returned his apartment. He returned to his private chambers where he felt most secure. Secure from the surveillance and security officers which he became paranoid about giving him a sense of engagement. Inside his office there were stacks of memos and reports that seemed to grow taller by the day.
His mind was particularly preoccupied with the news of President Nemstov returning from Washington. "A Sellout" Saveliy muttered as he saw his idol for change become another capitalist stoodge and upholder of oppression. They were no different from the rest he concluded. The ballot box would not save him or the Russian people. Like the serfs before them, only revolution would emancipate them.
Just then, Nuntida Paireerak, a beautiful looking Thai lady walked into the room, her transparent robe unveiling her. Her hands touched the back of Saveliy's head sending warmth through the back of his body as she gave him a light peck. "What is on your mind my love" she asked rather cutely as she moved her small hands across his broad Russian shoulders.
Saveliy remembered it as if it was yesterday. The day he met Nuntida, at a local communal political meeting, the room was packed with so many people in a language so different to him. Nuntida stood out so boldly to him. He turn returned to the present. "I feel so hopeless my love. I look back at my country and I...I feel so much pain."
Nuntida moved herself onto his lap as she kissed him patiently and looked him in his eyes. "Thailand is not a nation-state my love...it is a revolutionary state...it is a state for all.This is your country.
Saveliy smiled, but looked at himself, "my love, look at me, I am so different." Nuntida put her hands on his lips, shushing him. "Do not let the white man's lies corrupt your mind. You may be phsyically different, but your heart," she said putting her hand on it, "is red like the revoution that flows through our veins. You are a citizen of the globe, not some nation that exists in time and space."
Saveliy nodded. "I still want to free my fellow people from this oppression. I really do." Nuntida nodded. "I'll introduce you to someone later my love, lets enjoy this night together for now."
Later the next day, Nuntida and Saveliy would stroll together through a park as they walked to the Thai Government Complex to speak with revolutionary leaders. Saeliy was a bit uneased over it, but, he knew it had to be done.
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