7.1 Lights Outside Stavropol

He sat down with Samvel Salazar at his office or his dressing room draped in orange and brown to discuss his trip to Georgia. He spread a map on the coffee table.

“What’s the purpose of going to Georgia?” asked Salazar.

“I want to earn my pay,” said Tyler, “I might not be able to find Jair Sivils but having a lead to the weapons factory, I want to take some photographs. I am hoping to dig something out of the addresses I found in the card holder. They say Jair Sivils is in Greece. Or maybe Italy as I heard from Sasa at Nyolc Hotel in Budapest. I don’t have a clue where to look either in Italy or Greece. I am curious to find about these addresses from Spain, Italy, Georgia, Iran, banks and organisations. What can you arrange for me?”

“Well, Armenia is a beautiful country bordered by powerful nations and different religions ruled by cruel emperors. The Russian Empire, the Ottoman Empire, the Persians, the Mongols, even the Byzantine Empire, they all took slices from Armenia, invaded us, ruled us, chased us, ethnic cleansing and genocides. Even today you find enclaves and exclaves, border disputes, wars and clashes. We don’t have a determined border. The Russians formed Transcaucasia to govern the three countries of Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan that dissolved in a month. On the west, we have major issues with Turkey and you have heard of the genocide during the First World War. On the east, we have major issues with Azerbaijan over Nagorno-Karabakh. And conflict in the south bordering Iran. In the north, Georgia still claims the entire Lori Province.

“My point is to say that we have Armenians in all these regions and I have connections. If you wish to travel by your papers, you will have to take the Tiflis train from Erevan or Gyumri because this train doesn’t stop here. It is not your visa but the border I worry, here in Sadakhly. When they find out you are an American passing through Armenia, they will demand answers. They’re Azerbaijanis in control here. They will ask you to show evidence of the places you stayed, names of the hotels and people you met. They might even call the hotels to check because the Azerbaijanis do not like us. But you might still be able to pass because they do not speak English and your papers will be valid. Still, they might start following you.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Cross the border with an escort, no checkpoint, enter Georgia through the countryside on a truck. You go to Tiflis and do what you want. He’ll bring you back.”

“Is it safe?” asked Tyler.

“I say so,” nodded Salazar pointing down on the map, “He can drive you from Lamabalu, rather known as Debetashen, through Sadakhly, two towns bordering one another, to Tiflis. You stay with Armenians on either side of the border.”

“What if I got caught?”

“Show them your visa and passport.”

“What do I do?”

“In that case, you will have to hop on the Erevan train and go to Ayrum. My escort will wait at the station. Take a good rest in Debetashen in the Debet riverside, it is beautiful country.”

“Sounds good.”

“There’s one little thing,” said Salazar, “We must avoid Blue Beret from any suspicion that you are leaving town. They will be very intrigued if they find out you are heading north. They might even call the Russians and put a tail on you. In that case, you can’t enter secretly and do what you want to do in Tiflis. Say in twenty minutes after the train leaves town, you don’t have to worry. It is very comfortable with a dining car. It’s the moment you board the train that they will notice,” he paused.

“What is the plan?”

“Disguise,” he said, “like a Jew. They won’t ask a question because they ignore them. Obviously, they won’t be expecting you to show up.”

“Alright, I will disguise like a Jew.”

“Then one week!”

“One week is good enough,” nodded Tyler.

“I will call Giorgi and arrange everything as well as your tickets up and down.”

Taking matters at ease, Tyler Friesen dressed up like an Orthodox Haredi wearing a shtreimel and payot, a white tallit with dark brown stripes over his winter jacket and a fake beard. He packed light, placed the leatherette box case with his typewriter and gun inside the suitcase and wore a couple of shirts under his jacket. Tyler made duplicates of important addresses in Tbilisi and they too were in his handbag. He paused at the station among the crowd of commuters to catch the 14:25 train to Ayrum in Noyemberyan raion. This town close to the border was in Georgian hands however, under the SSR and with a strong presence of Armenians and Azerbaijanis, the passengers from this line won’t be checked and considered a neutral zone.

As the train came in his view, he noticed a ‘goat’ moving behind the trees. As the train entered the station, he saw that vehicle climb the platform and roll its wheels through the crowd towards him. He was focused on the train that made a lot of noise as the carriages passed in front of him. As it came to a halt, the black HBV (I want to be Willis) stopped right behind him and three or four Blue Berets surrounded him with weapons drawn.

Tyler made no protest as he was ushered to the vehicle. He climbed with his luggage and it rolled through the pouring commuters. No questions asked, they locked him in handcuffs. Grigor stood shocked few yards away by the trees watching the GAZ-67 disappear from his eyes heading north. He hurried to his car to go back and report to Samvel Salazar at Rusadan Ski Resort.

There were five soldiers on the vehicle wearing black uniform and blue berets holding PPS Sudayeva submachine guns. Two in the front and two by his sides and one sat on the edge of the tub. He knew he had no chance to escape or to pretend. The jeep passed the urban town of Hrazdan. He saw the mountains, the buildings and the towers of the cement factory. Tyler was blindfolded rest of the way. The GAZ-67 sped at high speed on the dusty road. Sometimes he felt they would stop, shoot him and toss his body over a cliff into a river.

“Nabijvari!” he swore in his rightful tongue. He was born to the Molokans in Vanadzor and spent his life in the northern territories. Giorgi threw down his hat and cursed. Train arrived at Ayrum at 16:50 on time. He could not find that Heredi Jew. An hour passed and he had to reach a telephone to call Salazar. When he finally reached Salazar, it was six-thirty in the evening, he was told that the Blue Beret snatched Tyler Friesen while waiting for the train at Hrazdan station.

A twenty-minute ride, Tyler estimated, and they stopped on top of a boulder beside an old monastery by a lake. His blindfold was removed, his headgear and fake beard removed and still in handcuffs. He saw a blaze of blue surrounded by snowscape mountains shrouded in streaming clouds. Grass was green and wet on top of the island peninsular. They were at Lake Sevan.

The Sevanavank Monastery stood in ruins with black walls and rusted rocks. Tyler was ushered into Surb Arakelots and that door was intricately carved of Mongol features that they believed kept the Mongols away from sacred sites. This church was out of function for a quite some time since the Russians arrived. He sat down on the stone floor and looked up at the arch and black walls of the alter. They put a chain around his ankles and secured him to a stone pillar.

That was 23^rd April, a Friday, 15:10 on his watch. None of the Blue Berets attempted to talk to him. He only heard their utterances for themselves. Then one of them offered him a drink, a coke.

“Thanks,” Tyler accepted, “Why am I here?”

He motioned not to talk.