Chapter 256 The Train to Winter: Wood and Glass

Winters in Siberia are far harsher than those in the Balkans.

In early February, the Novosibirsk railway station platform took on a bluish-gray hue in the twilight.

If you've ever seen Tang Jiangang, the "hero," perform "Zhong Kui Marries Off His Sister" on the simple stage in the auditorium of the St. Mary's Welfare Home, you might think of it as resembling a ghostly passage created by lasers.

Major General Punonin had not seen it; he had only watched two or three episodes of "The Great Swordsman," which swept across Eastern Europe and the CIS countries.

At this moment, his military boots crunched on the dirty snow on the platform.

In the distance, diesel locomotives spewed billowing black smoke, mercilessly torn apart by the howling north wind. Snowflakes, mixed with coal ash, lost their way and haphazardly pounced on the faded "Workers of the world, unite!" slogan in front of the station.

The platform was deserted. Apart from a few men smoking in a sheltered spot, only an old woman with a sorrowful face squatted on the ground, a moldy loaf of bread laid out in front of her, propped up with 1992 ruble banknotes. Now, no one would buy these worthless papers; even the Poles who traded Soviet souvenirs on the black market preferred 1991 100-ruble notes.

The tax police officer rushed over, first giving his superior a hurried salute, then, with his back to the wind, tried to report: "Carriages 8 and 9 came from Kuznetsk. No problems were found during the previous inspection."

In fact, this was the third inspection of a special train targeting the Kutsletsk steel plant.

But they found nothing but steel.

The secretary standing next to Punonin explained in a low voice: "Construction steel, Mr. Ivanov has secured a large number of orders in China. The Kuznetsk Steel Plant will supply building materials for a new city and millions of country villas."

My God, this is an order that's absolutely insane.

No wonder the tens of thousands of workers at the Kuznetsk Steel Plant were so eager to sell the factory to him. He was the one who could pay their wages and provide them with beautiful, warm new coats.

Major General Punonin narrowed his eyes: "What about special steel? Did you smuggle any special steel in?"

"No," the subordinate, his face red from the cold, said with absolute certainty. "They're all construction steel; we've checked them carefully."

He bet all the steel mills in Russia are now green with envy of the Kuznetsk Steel Plant.

If they could do what it did and secure real estate contracts in China, God, that's a market with a billion people! Once they've taken it all, who would worry about halting construction?

The secretary carefully explained from the side, "Mr. Ivanov seems to be very motivated right now. His business in China seems to be very successful as well."

He was starting to wonder why his boss was so fixated on Ivanov.

To be fair, there are plenty of unscrupulous businessmen in Russia. Compared to them, Ivanov is practically a model student.

“Apart from personally overseeing the first shipment, he now delegates all shipping to his subordinates.”

God, what the secretary really wanted to emphasize was that on such a cold night, everyone else was comfortably staying in their warm rooms, enjoying a delicious meal.

Only they were there, freezing like dogs on the cold platform.

Unfortunately, Major General Punonin's heart, like his epaulets, gleamed with coldness, completely oblivious to the hardships his subordinates had endured. His smile was colder than the Siberian wind: "No, all of that was just a smokescreen; now is the time for him to truly strike."

Ivanov has been like this since he was a child; he always knows how to be clever and take advantage of people's lowered guard before making his move.

In the distance, the train came billowing thick, grayish-white smoke and emitting a piercing whistle.

Punoning gestured for his men to go and check.

As soon as they approached the carriage, the men who had been smoking ran over.

The young man leading the group had a shaved head and was clearly a member of the recently emerging skinhead gang in Russia. He smiled and stood in front of the carriage: "Sir, perhaps you could speak with the stationmaster. This is us..."

Before he could finish speaking, a cold object pressed against his temple.

It wasn't the Siberian wind, nor the winter snow, but the chilling gun barrel that carried the scent of death.

"Get out of the way." Major General Punonin's cold lips uttered only two words.

Almost instantly, all the tax police drew their guns, the dark muzzles all pointed at the skinheads.

The once arrogant mafia members on the railway line now felt like their bladders were about to explode, and they were almost about to wet themselves.

"Sir... sir," he pleaded, trembling, "it's a misunderstanding, just a misunderstanding, please... please don't let it go wrong."

But the major general ignored him completely. He was grabbed by the back of his collar and thrown aside and tied up, just like a little chick.

Punonin stepped into the carriage in his leather boots, and his eyes, having just adjusted to the dim light, frowned slightly.

Carriage number 8 contained no steel, only wood, and smelled of pine resin.

Carriage number 9 was not made of steel, but entirely of glass, and was packed in containers, stacked one on top of the other.

The train conductor approached cautiously: "Sir, what do you need to check?"

Punoning frowned slightly, his leather gloves touching the cold glass: "Excuse me, what's the deal with the cargo in these two carriages?"

While timber and glass are indeed building materials, Novokuznetsk's industries are primarily steel, coal, machinery manufacturing, and coking chemicals.

If you really want to import timber and glass from Russia, there's no need to source them in Novokuznetsk.

The train conductor looked bewildered: "It's just wood and glass, imported from Romania."

Fearing that this high-ranking official wouldn't believe him, he hurriedly pulled out the shipping manifest to show him: "It's being shipped to Manzhouli."

Punonin's gaze sharpened instantly: "Romanian goods?"

The train conductor was startled and stammered as he handed him the freight bill, weakly emphasizing, "Sir, it is indeed Romanian wood and glass; Romania frequently exports this."

Punoning gritted his teeth: "Who is the owner of the goods?"

The train attendant was almost in tears.

Good heavens! For freight transport by train, there's absolutely no need for anyone to accompany the passengers; that's the train's job.

But this shipment did indeed have an owner, a Romanian man, in the front carriage.

He was clearly a little annoyed: "Sir, can't trains even travel on Russian railways?"

Relations between Romania and the Soviet Union were poor, and during the Russian era, relations remained strained.

Punoning pursed his lips tightly, revealing a frown line between his brows.

That damned Ivanov, that slippery fellow, he used the "openly repairing the plank road while secretly crossing the Chencang" strategy from the Thirty-Six Stratagems!

The carriage number has been changed.

Novosibirsk Main Marshalling Yard is the largest marshalling hub on the Trans-Siberian Railway, with 11 marshalling lines handling an average of 2,000 carriages per day. Trains from Romania and Kuznetsk meet here.

He could easily change the carriage number by bribing the dispatcher.

While he was being drawn to the carriage number, his real cargo had already roared away from the station.

Damn it!

Punonin clenched his fists. If that damned guy were in front of him, he would definitely give him a good punch!

He gritted his teeth, his gaze sweeping around menacingly before finally settling on the cargo owner: "Documents, show me all your documents, the police are checking!"

The cargo owner was furious but dared not speak out, and could only angrily pull out his identification documents.

He had every reason to believe that this damned Russian was deliberately picking a fight.

Punonin looked at the documents one by one. He didn't understand Romanian, but some of the documents were written in English.

"What's this?"

"A document issued by our Ministry of Culture, authorizing a children's art troupe to participate in cultural performances in East Asia." The cargo owner was very averse to this. "Sir, shouldn't this require special approval from your country?"

The train conductor, standing nearby, asked nervously, "Officer, have you finished checking? The train should be departing soon."

Punonin gave him a cold look, then turned and jumped off the train.

The train conductor and the cargo owner on the train all breathed a heavy sigh of relief, looking as if they had survived a disaster.

Good heavens, that devil is finally gone.

The tax police major general's feet crunched on the dirty snow again.

Suddenly, he stopped and turned to his subordinate, asking, "Is that pine wood?"

The subordinate hesitated for a moment, then instinctively replied, "Romania is indeed rich in pine."

Punonin, however, acted as if he hadn't heard, and answered his own question: "No, that's not pine. Where does the smell of pine resin come from?"

He spent several months in a forest farm during his youth, working alongside loggers. As a successor to socialism, he also needed to understand how workers and peasants worked and lived.

He whirled around and grabbed the car door that was about to close: "Stop the car, check! We suspect there are smuggled goods in the vehicle. We need to thoroughly check it!"

The cargo owner was taken aback, and pleaded, reaching out to try and stop him: "Sir, our profit margin is very low, and we still have to pay protection money."

What he was holding in his hand was a small roll of US dollars.

This is very common on this railway line; being extorted by the Mafia and blackmailed by the police is the norm.

This time, however, the US dollars were invalid. The tall, burly policeman shoved him aside and coldly ordered, "Police dogs, bring the police dogs over."

The cargo owner pleaded again: "Sir, please, we have to pay a penalty for late payment. Business is really tough right now, please be lenient with us."

He had been speaking English, but now, in order to make it easier to beg for mercy, he even started speaking Russian.

Unfortunately, this attempt to curry favor failed to move the cold-blooded police officer. He tapped his fingers on the wood, then opened the box and carefully examined the glassware inside.

The Romanian man was almost in tears: "Glass, architectural glass, and hand-blown glass crafts. God, sir, we really don't make any profit. Delaying will bankrupt us, please have mercy on us."

Punonin had already opened a box, which was full of crosses.

Damn titanium alloy, it's actually here. No wonder the instrument detected titanium alloy before.

The owner of the goods was already pale with fright: "Sir, I, I am actually a pastor, these are all church orders."

After the red flag was lowered to the ground, the influence of the church surged dramatically in both Eastern Europe and the CIS countries.

People who are lost and confused cannot find the answers to the future, and can only pray for God's protection.

This is why the Patriarch was qualified to mediate before the clashes between the Russian president and the speaker of parliament.

Punonin felt a wave of annoyance. The church had too many privileges, so there were also a lot of people using the church for smuggling.

"Is that so?" He dropped the cross and turned away indifferently.

The police dogs have already jumped onto the train carriage and started working.

Before long, fierce barking rang out as the police dogs wagged their tails frantically in front of the resinous wood.

The owner of the goods looked like he was about to burst into tears. He stammered, "Sir, I really don't know what happened. You see, they are just ordinary timber, whole, without splices, without gaps, there's nothing hidden inside."

Punonin completely ignored him and coldly ordered, "Detain them all."

The cargo owner burst into tears: "God, how could you do this? You're forcing me to die."

But the police dog barked wildly at the glass inside the box again.

Finally, when the cargo owner pretended to crash the train car, Punonin broke the crucifix in his hand: "You know why."

Under normal circumstances, it is almost impossible for a titanium alloy cross to be broken because titanium alloy is too strong.

However, this cross was hollow, with only a thin layer of material. Perhaps due to poor craftsmanship or insufficient material usage, spiderweb-like cracks appeared on the surface of the cross, greatly reducing the strength of the titanium alloy. At the break point where the Major General broke it, white powder was clearly visible.

This is the powder that makes the police dogs bark incessantly.

The cargo owner kept muttering, "I don't know, I really don't know what happened. God, please help me. I was just passing by, I didn't prepare the goods myself."

“On the way?” Punonin’s gaze pierced him like an icicle. “Taking a children’s art troupe’s pastor along the way and carrying drugs on the way, you must have quite a lot of work to do.”

He raised his arm, and the fully armed tax police behind him immediately restrained the man who was still trying to explain himself.

The train conductor was trembling like a leaf, swearing, "God, I really don't know anything. Yes, vodka, I didn't take anything from the couple except a bottle of vodka. I didn't touch the vodka, sir, I really didn't touch it."

"Husband and wife? Where is his wife?"

In the cramped private room, even in the bunk beds, there were two children sleeping on each bed.

Even the abrupt sound of leather boots stepping on the carriage failed to alert them.

Thankfully, there was a boiler on board, which could deliver heat into the carriages through pipes; otherwise, these poor children would have frozen solid.

A slightly plump middle-aged woman hurriedly defended herself: "My God, sir, I don't know what happened. I know nothing about Theodore's affairs."

Tax police have already begun searching the train carriages.

Strangely, despite making such a commotion, not a single child woke up.

Punonin's eyes blazed with fury: "What did you use on them?"

The woman stammered, “No, the children are just tired from playing, so they’re sleeping soundly. God, sir, they’re just children.”

"And what about this one?"

The police dog barked wildly at the area under the bed. Lifting the drooping sheet, they found a sleeping girl lying underneath.

Her face was pale, and her hair was very short and messy, as if it had been chewed by a dog.

If it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest, he would almost have thought it was a corpse at a murder scene.

"A children's art troupe's overseas performance?" Punonin stared intently at the panicked woman. "Madam, you need to give us a reasonable explanation."

As night deepened and dawn approached at midnight, the stars of Siberia reluctantly revealed themselves.

In the darkness, the car roared across the snow like an angry beast, seemingly about to pounce on its enemy at any moment.

The car screeched and squeaked as its tires abruptly jammed against the edge of the step. If it weren't for the snow-covered Siberian terrain, sparks would likely have been flying from the tires.

The carriage door was suddenly flung open from the inside, and Major General Punonin jumped out, strode angrily into the luxury hotel room amidst the Siberian wind and snow.

The receptionist followed him anxiously from the moment he entered: "Sir, who are you looking for? Please register. It's not appropriate to disturb any guests at this hour. Good heavens, are you a tax police officer? Do tax police check rooms too?"

Punoning glanced at her briefly, and the poor waitress was so frightened that she froze on the spot, too afraid to take another step.

Just as he was about to knock on Ivanov's door, Nikolai, the bodyguard who lived in the next room, rushed out first and blocked his boss's door.

"Sir, is there anything I can help you with...?"

Nikola couldn't continue speaking because a gun, a MAKAROV PM pistol, was pressed against his forehead.

God, he did guess that Punonin might be carrying a gun, but the latter was a policeman, so it was normal for him to carry a gun.

He never expected that Punonin would actually shoot him.

What exactly happened? Wasn't Ivanov someone Punonin had watched grow up?

The door opened from the inside, and Ivanov, still in his pajamas and bleary-eyed, said, "Nikolai? You..."

Before he could finish his sentence, a huge fist slammed into his chin, knocking him to the ground.

The bronze reindeer sculpture in the corner was moved by his waving arm, making a dull thud on the thick Persian carpet.

Ivanov felt a sudden darkness before his eyes, and the pain was so intense that he almost died on the spot.

Good heavens, who's gone mad?

Nikolai rushed back to his boss and desperately grabbed the enraged Punonin: "Sir, what are you doing? Are you going to kill him? God, please stop! You really are going to kill him!"

Punonin ignored Nikolai's attempts to stop him and threw him onto the gilded wall lamp.

Amidst the rain of shards of glass, the Major General's second punch slammed into Ivanov's cheekbone.

The latter knocked over the coffee table, and the Georgian wine splashed out in amber waves on the carpet.

But that wasn't all. Punonin continued, punching him repeatedly: "You bastard! I thought you were just a thief, stealing state property. I never imagined you were so utterly depraved that you could do something like this!"

"I didn't!" Ivanov, who had been pampered since childhood, had never experienced such brutal torture, even when a gun was pointed at his head. He groaned in pain, "God! Can't I even sell the steel from my steel mill to China?"

Punonin grew increasingly furious: "You damned bastard! You still dare to deny it! You killed two birds with one stone, switching the carriage numbers to smuggle titanium alloy..."

Ivanov panicked, but stubbornly denied it: "No, I didn't do anything, nothing about switching carriages."

“So—” Punonin stepped onto the overturned mahogany screen, his military boots shattering the painted peonies, and looked down at him coldly, “So you admit that the wood and glass in carriages 8 and 9 are yours? Oh, and carriage 7 too.”

Ivanov was in so much pain he almost fainted: "What wood and glass?"

Punoning threw another punch, his teeth almost grinding to powder: "The timber and glass have been shipped. They were shipped the day before yesterday. They're really on time."

Ivanov was initially taken aback, then flew into a rage, like a child who had finally caught his parents red-handed, struggling to throw himself back: "You're listening to my phone calls! You're actually listening to my phone calls!"

Punonin slapped him on the head again, his anger burning so fiercely it felt like it could set the whole building on fire: "That's right! If I hadn't been watching you, I wouldn't have known you were smuggling drugs and children!"

"A double trap. You're using titanium alloy as a cover to distract me, but that's just the tip of the iceberg. The real big stuff is smuggling drugs and children."

He flew into a rage once more and punched Ivanov in the face again. "Is this what you mean by letting all Russians have enough to eat and wear, and live with dignity?"

Punonin wouldn't have been so angry if it were anyone else.

But how could Ivanov, that kind, soft-hearted, and naive man who was like a child who would never grow up and who always had unrealistic and beautiful fantasies about the future, do such a thing?

Isn't Russia already devastated enough by drugs? And what about the children? He's injecting them with anesthetics. Where is he going to sell those poor kids?

Ivanov was beaten and cried out in pain.

Nikolai and the other bodyguards, disregarding the risk of offending Punoning, rushed forward and forcibly carried him aside.

Thank goodness, Ivanov was someone Punonin had watched grow up, so the latter didn't bring any other tax police with him.

Otherwise, Ivanov might really have been beaten to death in his hotel room.

He struggled to his feet, cursing, "You're insane! You're a complete lunatic! What drugs? What children? I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"You still dare to argue!" Punonin was held in a hug, unable to reach Ivanov with his hands and feet, and could only curse angrily with his mouth, "Do you think everyone else is an idiot? Do you think that soaking cocaine in wood and putting heroin between double-glazed windows and inside the hollow of a cross will make it impossible to detect?"

"Ha! You, who failed high school chemistry and physics, actually know about titanium plating on lead cores and using lead's gamma-ray shielding properties to interfere with X-ray detection. Is that all you've got in your head?"

Ivanov was stunned, even forgetting the pain all over his body: "You can do that?"

Good heavens, this is the first time he's ever heard of such a thing.

Punonin's voice cracked: "Don't play dumb. The timber and glass came from Romania. Are you trying to deny it now?"

“You’re the one playing dumb!” Ivanov snapped back. “Yes, the king did purchase glass and timber in Romania, but they were shipped to China by sea.”

He said sarcastically, "Romania isn't Russia; it doesn't even have an ice-free port. Sea freight is cheaper, so what crazy person would choose to transport building materials by train?"

Punonin was panting heavily, his eyes fixed on him: "You didn't?"

"Of course not!" Ivanov retorted without hesitation. "Are you an idiot? How poor would I be to earn this kind of money?"

Nikolai almost couldn't hold back and burst out laughing.

But his boss certainly had the confidence to say that.

After all, given the boss's starting point four years ago, he really couldn't have amassed such a fortune by solely dealing drugs.

Punonin looked him up and down suspiciously, then slowly regained his composure.

Instead of dispelling his suspicions about Ivanov, he seized upon another, more obvious flaw: "As you said, only an idiot would use a train to transport building materials. Then tell me, why did you choose to use a train to transport steel?"

"Otherwise what?" Ivanov retorted, his tone both righteous and defiant. "Otherwise, am I supposed to transport it by plane? Does Russia have any ice-free ports? Besides trains, what else can we use to get steel out of the country?"

He added sarcastically, "Well, when you were so eager to kill the Soviet Union, you probably didn't realize that Sevastopol wasn't Russian territory."

Punonin stared intently at him: "You know what I'm saying, and I know what you're doing. Ivanov, don't let me catch you, or I'll send you to prison without hesitation."

Ivanov, his face bruised and swollen, tried to sneer, but the pain made him hiss. He forced himself to endure it: "I also know that before I went to prison, at least half of the upper class in this country should have gone to hell."

Punonin gave him one last deep look, then slowly put his gloves back on.

Just now, he even took off his gloves so he could personally beat Ivanov.

The atmosphere in the room became tense, and the white light outside gradually brightened, though it was unclear whether it was sunlight or light reflected from the snow.

Ivanov hissed and gasped, wanting to find cotton swabs and medicine to treat his wound.

Suddenly, there was a loud knocking on the door, accompanied by the assistant's incoherent voice: "Boss, something's happened! Miss Wang's plane has crashed!"

Ivanov jumped to his feet, aggravating his wound without even noticing: "What did you say?"

According to the flight schedule, Wang should have arrived in Moscow yesterday.

He initially thought she hadn't contacted him because she knew Punoning was watching him and didn't want to offend the higher-ups in the tax police.

————————

Note: The drug trafficking methods mentioned in the text were indeed those used by newly emerging gangs at the time. Also, railway management was extremely chaotic. Yes, I did a lot of research for this chapter, including choosing Novosibirsk Station, which was the result of repeated comparisons. The alternative locations for the carriage number swapping included Novosibirsk Main Marshalling Station, Krasnoyarsk Freight Station, and Chita Border Transfer Station. After careful consideration, I chose Novosibirsk Station. Yes, I'm also reflecting on this; I always get hung up on these kinds of things, which blurs the focus and makes the novel less engaging.