Chapter 33: Leaving Russia

The Moscow concert and premiere of Crystal’s film The Naked Truth had gone off without a hitch. The worry I’d felt over those events before paled in comparison with the angst I felt over having to check out of the country with Russian immigration and customs carrying a contraband iPod with a terabyte of highly classified Russian data on it.

I tried to calm myself by recalling one of the missions I’d had in Russia when I was a Green Beret. My squad had done a HALO drop into the edge of the country from a NATO plane flying along the Finnish border. We’d commandeered a vehicle, traveled five hundred miles, ‘kidnapped’ a particular and willing nuclear physicist without anyone being the wiser, and returned to the border with Finland and slipped out of the country with our prize. Somehow, recalling that danger didn’t make me feel any better about my current situation. Both were fraught with bad consequences if caught. I still had this adventure ahead of me.

Tanya, the pretty computer geek who had passed the device to me hung around with us the rest of our stay in Moscow serving as our chauffeur. She didn’t seem to be troubled in the least by the transfer of Russian data to the Americans and the people they would share it with. Tanya enjoyed playing chauffeur for us, complete with a black suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie, probably because when she wasn’t chauffeuring, she hung backstage with us, or else we were at the hotel and probably in some type of sexual situation that brought her many orgasms and took her to places her body had never been. She took to our group sex romps like a duck to water.

Our second afternoon in Moscow, after a fun-filled morning, Nadia translated that Tanya had discovered her sexuality all in one night with me ... and with Jill ... and that morning with Crystal, Nadia, and Terry. I worried we might have created a monster slut who would do herself in, but Nadia talked to her about my concern, and Tanya reassured us she knew what she was doing, and had no plans to go further with her group activities. This was a ‘one off’ as the British would say.

The last night in country, Tanya asked to be with me at the end of the evening and to sleep next to me. The other women had no problem with sharing me, so Terry ended in bed with three horny women, and I had a horny and very loving Tanya.

We made sweet love well into the wee hours of the morning. We were in the living room with the others. Tanya liked being able to look around and see the lurid sex going on across the room. I could tell it inspired her and turned her on.

When we called it quits and went to sleep, we were covered in sexual fluids, not only from each other, but also from some of the others that came over to ‘visit’ with us during the evening’s events. Neither Tanya nor I wanted to break the mood, so we didn’t bathe; we just slipped into bed and enjoyed the wantonness of being sexually aware and odoriferous.

In the morning, we made love again, and I knew that my leaving would tug at Tanya’s heart. We’d both grown attachments to each other in the three days we’d been together and that without sharing a word except through Nadia. We shared a shower, packed up our clothing, and gear, and prepared to leave the suite.

Tanya had dressed in her chauffeur’s suit and looked pretty and crisp. Before she put on the cap that made her ‘official’, she called Nadia over as she stood in front of my. She kissed me very tenderly on my lips and whispered something like, ‘Yellubeedyumteedem’ to me in a very sexy voice. Nadia whispered to me, “She just told you she loves you.”

I kissed Tanya back, and said, “I love you. I hope our paths cross again. If you can, and you are ever near come and find me – anywhere in the world.” Nadia translated. Tanya’s face screwed up to almost a sob and tears, but she blinked them back, kissed me again, put on her cap, turned and walked out the door of the suite to retrieve the limousine that she’d drive us to the airport in. We never touched or talked again after that; all our actions became very ‘official’ and formal.

We unloaded the luggage onto a large pushcart, and rolled it into the airport. With only a longing look and a nod between us, Tanya got back into the car and drove away. I hoped I’d see her again. Crystal read my yearning and came and put an arm around me in sympathy.

The Boeing 737 sat at the general aviation facility at airport. Terry had arranged for the customs and immigration people to meet our group in the small, noncommercial facility, and check us out of the country. My heart was in my throat, and Crystal went out of her way to say a few comforting and calming things to me. We had agreed that I would take the fall if for any reason we got stopped. Crystal, Nadia, and no one else in our contingent were to own up to anything other than complete ignorance if I were stopped and arrested carrying the contraband iPod.

We took turns laying our luggage on the standard conveyor belt that took the luggage through an x-ray machine. I wondered if all Crystal and Nadia’s teddies would show up the way they had a few nights earlier in our living room. That would excite the Russian guards.

One by one, each of us emptied our pockets and went through the scanner as well. In a small plastic tray with my wallet, keys to my motorcycle, some breath mints, and cell phone, sat the iPod with the ear buds attached to it. I added my belt atop the pile, trying to be as casual about the situation as I could.

Everything rolled into the magical x-ray machine, the machine I was sure would spot the unusual internal configuration of the iPod, make them open it, find the contraband chips, examine them, find they contained classified information, and lead to my lifetime tenure in a Russian prison where some guy twice my size and with ten times the muscle would decide I would be his ‘girlfriend’ for the duration of his life sentence. I wondered if I could get swapped for some political prisoner before that happened.

I went through the body scanner, and got waved through by a bored looking young man in uniform. On the other side of the x-ray device, all the bins arrived with no questions, including the one with the iPod. I breathed more easily for a minute. I put my belt and shoes back on, and haphazardly stuffed everything back into my pockets. I put the iPod in the breast pocket of my jean’s jacket, with the ear buds just out of the pocket as though I would be listening to it later.

Across at the other machine, one of the security men became over interested in two of the electric guitars. Our guitarist had them out of the case, and tried to explain to the Russian guards how they worked. I gestured to Nadia who had already cleared through, to see whether she could assist in translation. She went over and introduced herself, and then a three-way conversation started. Soon, things seemed to get cleared up, so Nadia came back to her bags.

I waited at the terminal door, for Crystal and the others to finish clearing through before walking out to the aircraft, when I heard my name called by one of the guards.

“Mr. James Mellon.”

I stepped forward to identify myself to two uniformed men wearing side arms: one older and senior, and the other a younger aide.

“Mr. Mellon, could you come with me for a minute?” The senior man’s command left little wiggle room. My heart sank, and I prepared for the worst. I had been taught how to resist hostile interrogations and even torture, and I tried to recall all the finer points of that Special Forces class.

The senior guard and another slightly younger guard escorted me down a short hallway into a small conference room. I stood and wondered what would happen next. I felt my knees knocking together.

The senior man slowly opened a briefcase that had been on the table. I felt sure the case contained handcuffs and leg-irons. From the briefcase, he pulled ... copies of two of my CDs: The Naked Truth and Texas Dawn. He put them down in front of me with a Sharpie pen lookalike. My brain couldn’t grapple with the situation; this didn’t compute.

In a pleasing voice, the older guard said, “Mr. James Mellon, forgive me for interrupting your journey, but my family, particularly my teenage daughter, is very big fan of your music. When I told her your plane came here, she gave me these albums and asked for me to see if you would sign to her with your signature?”

I broke into a huge grin. Holy shit, I had been so wrong about what was going on. I blinked back tears of relief as I spoke; “Oh, yes. I love to have fans, and I am privileged to autograph them to her. What is her name?”

He told me, “Katrina. In English, you spell like K-A-T-R-I-N-A.”

I picked up the pen and pulled out the paper insert on each CD. I autographed each album insert for the teen, reassembled the CDs, and passed them back to the senior guard as he watched me.

I turned to the other man. He produced a clean piece of paper, and spoke Russian to the senior whom in turn laughed aloud and explained, “He, too, has teen girl in love with you. Her name is Ivy – I-V-Y.” I did a large scrawling autograph diagonally across the sheet of paper, added a little heart, and handed it and the pen to him. He broke into a large smile and bowed to me in thanks.

Both men thanked me, and we walked back into the public terminal area to my great relief, and no doubt to the relief of Crystal and Nadia who had watched me disappear after being summoned by the two men. I just smiled and nodded at the girls who both tried to act nonchalant and unmoved by the incident. When I got near Crystal, I whispered, “Autographs for their daughters.” We both sighed.

Some baggage handlers came and collected the band instruments and luggage, took them out to the plane, and helped load the forward cargo hold. As they were working the rest of us filed out the door, walked across the tarmac, and climbed the steps into the plane. Crystal and Nadia immediately pulled me to the back of the plane into a particularly plush seating area. Beyond that lay a cushy bedroom we’d probably use for the trans-oceanic part of our trip back to Nashville by way of Iceland.

We could hear the door to the plane close a few minutes later, and felt the change in pressure as the plane’s own air pressure management system took over. Each engine spooled up. Out the window beside me, I saw two linemen waving red batons indicating the plane could turn and taxi to the active runway.

The pretty flight attendant came back and made a brief safety announcement, not near as detailed as what happens on a regular commercial flight in the U.S. Ten minutes later, we climbed through ten thousand feet and headed west to Dublin, our next and last stop on our tour. Crystal started to talk about the iPod, but I held my hand up and shook my head. For all I knew, the plane had been bugged in our absence, and a dozen ears could be listening to everything we said – listening close enough to force the plane to turn around and land.

I got up and went forward to the cockpit. The pilot and first officer welcomed me, and I shook both their hands. At my request, the pilot showed me the route we’d use to traverse the 1,750 miles: we’d fly over Riga, Copenhagen, the North Sea, Blackpool, and the Irish Sea, to get to Dublin. I figured we’d be out of Russian airspace in about an hour, and only then would I start to breathe more easily.

When I got to the back of the aircraft and flopped down in my seat, Crystal came and sat in my lap. She whispered in my ear, “I know just what you need right now, a fine massage from a couple of really horny women who passed up a night with you so you could spend time with a beautiful and loving Russian girl. Now, you have to pay us back.” She pulled me up, and with a little nudge from Nadia, pushed me into the stateroom at the rear of the aircraft. Nadia shut and locked the door behind her.

Crystal said, “Nadia and I want to join the Mile High Club, which will be even better because we are about seven miles high right now, or rather we will be when we’re fucking.” She started to undo my shirt, as Nadia worked on my pants.

I wondered how many other corporate executives who flew in this plane had gotten a fabulous piece of ass or two in the cushy bed. I bet the number was a lot higher than people would ever speculate. I noticed the box of tissues strategically placed by the headboard, as well as a couple of towels and wash clothes within easy reach. Whoever outfitted this plane knew what they were doing.