Peter walked along the aisle of the near-empty train car. Of course, it was empty, he thought. Who would willingly take a train that travelled for seven days before reaching its final destination? Peter had never taken the train for such a long time before. Thankfully, he wasn't travelling the entire length of its route. It would only be three days until he reached his stop. To Peter, that meant three days without a proper bed. True, he had gone much longer without a bed in the army, or even without sleep. However this wasn't the army, it was civilian life.

Peter looked out his window as the big city of Moscow transitioned to smaller towns, eventually becoming nothing but trees and mountains. He stopped staring outside long enough to notice an attractive brunette in her late twenties sitting across the aisle from him.

"Where are you headed?" he asked, genuinely curious about why anyone would be here.

She didn't answer his question. "I'll be here another four days. Makes me regret not spending the extra money for the sleeper cabin."

"Sleeper cabin?" he asked, getting seriously annoyed that his boss didn't book him one.

"It's like a hotel on rails, they even have a restaurant with a five-star chef...next time." She kept her answers very matter-of-fact, showing no emotion.

"How often do you make this soul-sucking trip?" he asked while getting more upset at his boss with each word she spoke.

"I take this trip every six months from Moscow to Vladivostok, and before you ask, it's for work and I'm terrified to fly." She studied Peter, looking him up and down before focusing intensely on his eyes. Her gaze sent shivers down his spine. "You're not scared to fly so that means you, or whoever booked this trip for you, wanted to make sure you went as anonymous as possible. The airlines collect far too much information. You don't need to respond. I know I'm right. I've met far too many people on this train."

"You're right," Peter replied, very impressed by her power of deduction. "I didn't book this trip and my boss is going to hear about it when I return. As for you though, why not just find another job?"

"If you knew how much money I made you wouldn't say that. You'd probably be jealous."

Who is this incredible woman? Peter thought before he instinctively reached out his hand across the aisle.

"I'm Svetlana. It's a pleasure to meet you, Peter." She shook his hand and then placed her other over his. "It's nice to have someone to talk with otherwise this trip can be quite boring."

The train was nearly empty so Peter asked Svetlana to sit with him. She accepted.

They spoke all afternoon and into the evening. Peter talked about his fake job as a land surveyor. Svetlana said very little about herself. Instead, she spent much of her time trying to convince Peter to come work for the same company as her. Land surveying fits in nicely with her firm. She was also open and honest about the fact she would earn a very sizeable bonus for recruiting a successful candidate. Peter would never leave his employer. Still, it gave Peter pause for thought. Supposedly the money was fantastic. His current real job, not so much.

After dinner, they both fell asleep. When Peter woke up Svetlana was gone. He checked all train cars to which he was permitted access. No Svetlana. She must have found a way to switch to the sleeper car. Good for her.

The rest of Peter's three-day train ride through the Russian countryside was unbearable. The scenery, endless kilometres of half-dead pine trees would only briefly change to barren fields of rocks. Missing was any sign of human civilization until the train stopped at stations that could best be described as dilapidated shacks.

Peter eventually got off at one of those shacks where he was met by a seventy-something-year-old male guide who led him on a four-day trek on horseback through the mountains of Mongolia. Mongolia has roads, Peter thought to himself. Why did he have to take this route? Cloak and dagger is one thing, but this was next-level secrecy.

If the Mongolian trails didn't kill him, the boredom would. His guide didn't speak a word of Russian, English or Mandarin, the three languages that Peter spoke. Although his Mandarin was far from perfect.

Every evening the guide would open the bag he kept strapped to the back of his horse. The bag held his tent, a bit of food, some tools and a gun. What was missing was anything related to hygiene. No change of clothes, no toothbrush, no soap, nothing. The man stunk. He wasn't sure who smelled worse, the guide or the horses. Peter willingly slept outside at night. He preferred the company of the horses and the mosquitos.

Peter's boss wanted him to write a journal detailing his escapades so it could go in the book. There would be people who'd want to know how he pulled this off and the story would be far too long for dinner conversation. The first part of the book had already been written by his boss detailing how this trip came to be. He was so proud, but now everything depended on Peter finishing the job. Peter had never let his boss down before. He wasn't about to begin now.

I'm not much of a writer, however, I am truthful. The seven-day trip was as described except the guide did not speak a word of any discernible language. Maybe you should use another agent the next time you want a guide to take an employee through the Mongolian wilderness.

Peter wrote this entry on the fourth day. He purposely left out any mention of Svetlana. It wasn't pertinent to the task, he decided. I suppose that's enough, Peter thought to himself. His boss could fill in the rest with whatever he wanted, after all, it's his book.

The final day was spent in the car with a young female Mongolian driver. She couldn't have been older than seventeen. She was tall, fairly stocky and just like the guide, she didn't speak a word of any communicable language.

Peter was attracted to her but decided that he wouldn't make any advances. Without the ability to communicate he was worried that any actions he took might be misconstrued or even worse, unwanted, and Peter wasn't that type of Russian, he concluded. Besides, she was just so young, and he wasn't one of those Russians either.

Russian men had a horrible reputation, much of it well earned, he concluded. They believed they were God's gift to..well...Earth. Everything was about status therefore you needed to show your wealth. They drove fancy cars, wore flashy jewelry and needed to have the most beautiful women on their arms. Women, however, unlike their cars and jewelry, were disposable. It was important to change up your girls every few weeks while letting it be known that you were never exclusive with any of them. They typically got drunk nightly at the most exclusive clubs. Those who weren't part of the mafia liked to pretend they were well-connected. And these were the good ones. In time some of them outgrew this stage of life once their doctors warned them that they risked permanent damage to their organs.

Okay, Russian men weren't all like that, not even most of them, but those who were made the rest of them look bad. Peter lost his girlfriend to one of those "men".

Peter joined the army originally as a way of getting out his frustrations without committing a capital crime. Peter was a terrific soldier. He moved up the ranks quickly before being hand-picked for the special forces. After he left the military, his current boss gave him an offer he couldn't refuse. It was a mix of security, personal assistant and head of special assignments of which this trip was one. He wasn't making Svetlana money but the prestige of working for one of Russia's most powerful figures was more than worth it. He was certain that in time his patience and loyalty would be rewarded.

Oh, and that mobster wannabe dumped that trash he was dating after a couple of weeks.

Peter eventually reached the Chinese border. It was early morning at the secluded crossing. He was the only soul in sight except for a single Chinese border guard standing by a small wooden building. The Russian border crossing was at a tiny empty booth on the other side of the dirt road.

Peter handed the guard a portfolio with his passport and a set of instructions written in Chinese. The border guard nodded then removed the small loose diamonds tucked away in a secret pouch in the portfolio. He looked at them with excitement as he waved Peter through the gate before pointing him to a dirt bike standing on a patch of grass on the side of the road.

Peter took a key out of his nap sack and opened the small lock box attached to the back of the bike. In it was a map, a Glock 17 and two extra magazines that held seventeen rounds each. Peter checked the gun to make sure it was in good working order. Peter insisted on the Glock 17 even though it was easier to get ahold of a Glock 19. Peter didn't care. Yes, the Glock 19 was smaller and more balanced, which made it more popular but Peter preferred having the two extra rounds in the Glock 17 magazines. More importantly was the fact that there was less recoil which made him more accurate when shooting multiple rounds at a time.

All in all, the crossing had gone exactly as told. He now had to admit that his boss was right. There was no way he could have entered China this easily from within Russia. Too many eyes at the other crossings.

He took comfort in the fact that this probably meant the rest of his trip to purchase the gemstone would go just as smoothly. His boss was a meticulous planner who carefully administered every detail of this expedition. The only problem was that Peter was now a day late. The guide in Mongolia didn't seem to realize that he was also on a schedule.