Gideon made four consecutive knocks, followed by two more, before he heard the sound of the door lock turning. The man with a white beard came into his view.
The man casually looked around to the left and right before finally opening the door of the room he occupied in the run-down motel in that province.
"Can I offer you a drink, man?" he said it in a hard English accent. His Russian accent was fitting for his features.
He raised his hand and nodded. "No, man. I'm good."
Gideon surveyed the cans of beer on the small table in the room the man was using as a living room. Most of them were empty.
"Wulfric," the man said, extending his right hand in front of him.
"Gideon," he replied seriously, accepting the hand for a forearm shake.
"Lieutenant General."
"Former. I quit the service," he said, tilting his head. The man had a long white beard, a proud nose, and blue eyes. He had Russian features and a Russian accent. He was also a big man, like him. He also noticed the tattoo on the man's
