Time: 12:40. Location: Oleksandr Onyshchenko's home.
Above the treetops and undergrowth, the mountains stand out, natural glories filled with waterfalls and gray stone cliffs. Just past the steel bridge at the entrance to town, a sign on the side of the road reads: Welcome to Sweet Hills, the honey home.
Sweet Hills has a thriving honey industry. It began in the mid-20th century, when a beekeeper convinced an Israeli businessman to travel to Nepal to get giant Himalayan honey bees. They captured multiple honeycombs... One possibility at the time was that none of the bees would survive the transatlantic transfer, but they made it to America, the deal was successful, and the seeds of the village's roots were planted.
The greenhouses are located just over the bridge. The transparent glass of the buildings gives a glimpse of the army of beekeepers working inside, tending thousands of artificial hives. Solar panels on the roofs of the greenhouses supply power to the facility. A 16-wheel truck pulls out of the jealously guarded warehouses, and drives in the direction of the outskirts. A cartoonish bee adorns the sides of the truck's container, accompanying the name Sweet Hills.
A black Uaz Kazak pickup truck with tinted windows crosses going in the opposite direction of the truck, and continues on an alternate road that leads through the greenhouses, zigzagging between the wooded hills, closer and closer to the white mansion at the top. The mansion is protected by thick gray brick walls topped by spirals of electrified wire.
Sharp blue eyes, cold and hard as polar ice, follow the vehicle's movements from the mansion's central balcony. The man, 1.91 meters tall, with cropped gray hair and an impeccable white suit, fixes his tie and lifts his muscular body from the chair. In perfect synchrony and without getting in the way, the maids collect the plates and cups used for lunch. Only one of the girls accompanies the man inside.
The Uaz Kazak pulls up in front of the barred gate, threshold flanked by guards dressed as beekeepers and armed with UZI submachine guns. A window of the vehicle opens and out of it peers a young blond-haired, with two bronze piercings on one side of his mouth, two more silver piercings above his left eyebrow, and a small gold chain connected by tendrils between his nose and right ear. The young man, barely 18 years old, pats the car door and then raises a hand, hurrying the guards to open it.
The beekeepers wait for the patron's signal from the intercoms, and only when they receive open the gate for the Uaz Kazak to follow the stretch to the circle in the garden, swerving around the fountain in which stands a monument of a medieval knight with strong, brutalist angles. The vehicle brakes, and the young blond boy gets out, followed by two older boys, all wearing thick leather jackets and Air Jordan sneakers.
The blond boy pushes through the double doors of the mansion and invades the compound. In his smile dwells the confidence of one who thinks he owns almost everything. At the other end of the hall is waiting for him the cold-eyed man with his strong jaw clenched, as well as a slim, dark-haired young woman a step behind the icy man, dressed in a black formal suit that fits her figure and white gloves, like the uniform a butler would wear. The boy sharpens his smile and opens his arms. The two friends following him do not look so determined, and dedicate silent bows to the older man.
"Alikhan..." The man's voice is heavy, deep but calm, and yet the latter makes it feel more threatening. Oleksandr's speech shows traces of his stainless steel teeth, pointed like those of a predator. The master's stern gaze sweeps over the boy and in a few seconds he makes a judgment. "You have not matured"
Alikhan's smile trembles and slowly disappears as he lowers his arms.
"Dad... You haven't changed either, you're still just as funny, although with more years and gray hair"
Alikhan was about to approach, but his foot hesitates when he notices the transparent circle on the ground. He pales and decides to pull it back completely when he catches a glimpse of the two figures, long and gray, swimming underneath. He can swear that the eyes of the white sharks are following him.
"Is there a problem, Alikhan?" Oleksandr asks with an arched eyebrow but without moving another muscle. Perhaps someone might think that Oleksandr is amused by his son's fear, but very few people have any record of seeing him smiling or happy about anything.
Alikhan shakes his head and begins to walk along the glass floor. When he is five paces away from his father he raises his arms to his sides again.
"Well? I'm here"
Oleksandr takes a few seconds to answer, and his stony countenance makes it impossible to tell what he is thinking. Alikhan takes two steps back just in case, psyched to dodge any punches, but instead of Oleksandr only words keep coming.
"Mariana will assign a room to you and your..." He glances sideways at the two guys following Alikhan. "Friends"
Alikhan purses his lips.
"So that's it? That's it?"
Oleksandr was already turning to leave when Alikhran's question makes him turn around.
"What more do you want?"
"I don't know, old man" Alikhran pats his pockets and fiddles with the coins he brings. "Give me a piece of your business, for example.... Or whatever it is you're doing here. Give me one good reason for not take the first flight back to Odessa"
Now it's Oleksandr's turn to approach. Alikhan takes a deep breath and holds his gaze, years ago he promised himself never to cower in front of his father. But having Oleksandr cover him with his shadow is something that still leaves him drenched in sweat.
"If I tell you that you stay with me.... You're staying with me. Understood?"
Alikhan clicks his tongue. Oleksandr frowns and tilts his head closer.
"Understood, kid?" he repeats.
Alikhan can't stand it anymore, looks down at his shoes and nods, then hates himself and curses to himself for doing so. Oleksandr straightens up, satisfied.
"At least tell me what the hell you're working on" Alikhan asks without raising his head, peering down at his father's countenance from under his golden hair.
Oleksandr delays answering, as if hesitating to share. That pause hits Alikhan like a dagger, but it doesn't surprise him either, he understands that he is a disappointment to Oleksandr and sometimes even goes out of his way to actively annoy him even more.
"What I am preparing is bigger than any of us," Oleksandr says. "You want to know my plans for this country? Then prove you're a real man, instead of the uneducated, undisciplined boy you insist on being"
"Perhaps I would have grown up better if you hadn't run off when I was little" he murmurs just loud enough for Oleksandr to hear.
But the older man merely turns his back on him, leaving through the double doors at the back of the hall. Alikhan curses between his teeth, angrily looking for something to kick, it is then that his eyes fall on Mariana, the young brunette. She gives him a white-toothed smile. It quenches Alikhan's anger a little and cheers him up. He advances to her and smiles back.
"So, you're the old man's whore? I never imagined he liked them so young"
Mariana's smile remains despite the attitude.
"What's up, pussy? Don't tell me that old, impotent cat bit your tongue"
Alikhan is ready to take her to a bedroom. But then Marianna, still looking comfortable, opens her mouth and Alikhan swallows saliva.
The girl's tongue has long since been torn out by the roots. Alikhan decides to leave her alone.