Mr. bin Aliyy looked wildly around the shack, rifling through a desk and filing cabinet, until he found an antique revolver under some paperwork. He spun the barrel, saw it was loaded, and ran out the door into the deep snow, firing at the disappearing cormorant. "Stop, you bird! That is good American cash!" But the cormorant was flying straight for the river, the Neva, now frozen. And Mr. bin Aliyy was headed straight for it. "Hey!" I shouted at him, but my shout was lost as soldiers suddenly materialized from the snowfall. "Halt, comrade!" I heard, or at least that's what I thought I heard. My Russian is not so good. And I was running. There was a quick burst of gunfire. Then I heard profanity, and all was silent. I feared the worst and ran as hard as I could. It was slow going in the deep snow. One could not see twenty feet ahead.
The snow suddenly turned to ice at the river's edge. I couldn't see it. Too late, I went down in a heap and slid to a stop in a tangle of bodies. "Crazy nephew! What are you doing?" One of the soldiers was shaking Mr. bin Aliyy. "I will get fired for this. You, shooting a historic firearm at a protected species on the grounds of the Winter Palace!" The soldier threw up his hands. "My sister! My dear sister! You raised a fool! Why didn't I keep him in the flower shop? Now we are all dead. Why did I ever agree to let you have a meeting in my dear shack?"
"It is not a problem." Mr. bin Aliyy had struggled up to a seated position. He wiped at his bloody mouth and smiled. One of his teeth had been knocked out. He held up the envelope. "We never had a problem, you see?" He counted out some bills to each of the soldiers. "A bird flew by accident into your sentry post and took important state documents. You successfully retrieved the documents. All safe. As is the bird." He pointed to the riverbank not far away. The cormorant, unharmed, watched us. I realized that in this heavy snowfall, I couldn't see the other riverbank. I couldn't even see the palace from here. Sounds seemed to die away. We were five men on a frozen river in Russia. Three soldiers, two of them looking lovingly at the cash in their hands, Mr. bin Aliyy, and me. "No harm has been done. Merely a winter day's excitement."
The third soldier was not impressed. He had regained his feet, and now raised his assault rifle. "Who are you?"
Mr. bin Aliyy held up his hands, palms out. He gestured to his coat, and the soldier nodded. Mr. bin Aliyy slowly reached inside his coat, fished around for a moment, as if reaching for identification, then withdrew two baseball caps. He gave one to me. I wondered why on earth he had brought two caps with him. Signed by the entire team, no less. Nico, Mason!, Felitti, Pei Wei, Jaime Robles. Everyone. He rose carefully to his feet, testing the slick ice, and gestured for me to do the same. He took off his winter hat and put on the baseball cap. He crossed his arms. I followed his lead.
"We are the Moscow Mules," he said.
end of part 3
