Makarov inhaled deeply.Yuri was late.Throwing his cigarette to the ground he eyed the passers by with disdain.As he heard a passer-by complain about the bitter cold,he reeled in the impulse he had to slap the man.These fools knew nothing of the cold!!Let them spend a winter in Russia he thought,smiling as he thought of how the man would adapt...or die.After all that was what he had done.He had passed his training in the Frunze Military Academy with flying colours but that was long ago.He felt the familiar anger rise up in him again,like a flame threatening to consume all.That a promising career in the military had been cut short by snivelling politicians second guessing his actions in the field!That he could not return to his beloved Russia under fear of death!! War crimes indeed!! What did those over-fed pompous bufoons in the Kremlin know of War??

Still there had been many who had agreed with his actions,who had saw fit to help him in safely fleeing the country,with money and a clean passport.And now here he was,on the corner of a snow-ridden street on the West side of Philly waiting on Yuri.Yuri had taken to the so-called 'American Way' a lot quicker than he had and that worried him.Still his training made him a valuable asset...at least for now.

As if his thoughts had summoned him,Yuri appeared around the corner,sweating profusely despite the cold.Makarov groaned inwardedly.The fool had been drinking again,that much was clear.Disciplining the man now though would jeprodize the mission though and that was not something he could allow under any circumstances.There was too much money riding on this.But that was not to say the man would not hear his thoughts on the matter later.Loud and clear.

Making sure his emotions did not reach his face was not a difficult task,in truth it never had been.Noting the black duffel bag Yuri carried he smiled before picking up his own similar bag.At least the fool had remembered his equipment,that was something he supposed.Still he had better go over the plan once more,who knew what the mads chemical addled brain had forgotten.

'Right Yuri glad you could make it comrade! i hope your whore was not too dissapointed eh? Now remember we need to go in fast and noisy,shoot everything that moves but we must leave at least one alive!Preferably the bartender,that way we're less likely to catch a bullet in the back as we're making our exit eh? Yuri! Wake up Goddamn you!! Now remember the most important thing,No Russian!! This guy is associated with the Sicilians and it must look like a Mob hit!! Theres a lot of money in this and we don't need the heat these guys would put on us should they find out it wasnt the mob but a couple of freelancers!!Understand??'

Makarov sighed,It looked as though Yuri had taken it on board although it was hard to tell.This certainly wasn't the same Yuri he had served on the Cheka with during the 'Red Terror' that much was certain.That Yuri had been a machine,his mere presence enough to make grown men soil theirselves.Now he simply looked (and smelled) like one of his former victims.But their was nothing to be done about that at this time.Resigning himself to making the best of what was at his disposal,Makarov reached into the duffel bag,bringing out a Model 1887 shotgun and made his way across the street.