the Moldovans came across again. It gives the one thousand Russian “peacekeepers” time to get to the border to help.’
Anna prepared her passport for another outing. We emerged from the chicane to see two uniformed Russians in camouflage parkas and furry hats, AK47s slung across their chests. They looked severely pissed off at being on stag at this time of night.
‘They’re part of the Fourteenth Army, the so-called “secret Russians”. You can’t move for them over here.’
Ahead of us, on a straight bit of tarmac, there was another pool of light. More lads sat outside on chairs, but this time there was a Portakabin close by.
‘This one’s trickier. Same story. Visiting a bar.’
More Russian soldiers milled about. They’d pulled in a few of the newer-looking wagons but the rest screamed through. The Transnistria flag, ripped and tattered, flew above the door. It was just the old Soviet red duster with the hammer and sickle in the top left-hand corner and a green stripe across its centre.
We joined a queue. Three Russian soldiers took our passports and Irina’s ID. Their condensed breath hung in the air. They ordered us out and pointed to the Portakabin. Vehicles honked their horns and the smell of diesel fumes filled the cold air.
A trestle table groaned under a pile of brown-paper forms. Anna picked up a pencil. ‘I’ll do it.’
My passport was causing quite a stir. Maybe they’d never seen a British one. They were probably working out how much they could get for it on eBayski. Word had got around. The commander made a special guest appearance, a high-peaked hat cocked on the back of his head and a cigarette clamped between his lips.
He beckoned Anna over. The two of them exchanged pleasantries, and then they got down to business. Whatever it was he’d asked for, she wasn’t going to give up without a fight. Finally they seemed to agree.
I dipped into my left pocket. She held up her hand. ‘He wants four hundred. He’s going to let us stay until two a.m.’
‘It’s by the hour?’
‘Welcome to Dodge.’
I handed over the money, and fished another two notes from my wallet. He accepted the cash before getting one of his underlings to stamp the form about six times.
Anna took it and we got back into the car. None of us said a word as we left the checkpoint and almost immediately crossed the three-hundred-metre-wide Dniester River into Transnistria. I expected to see Checkpoint Charlie at any minute.
The roads here were even worse than Moldova’s - stretches of concrete and tarmac that looked like they’d been carpet-bombed. Maybe they had. We passed the burnt-out shell of a building, crumbling walls stained brown where its rusting iron skeleton poked through.
Anna shook her head. ‘This place depresses me so much. It’s like the Wild West. There are no international aid agencies here. Why would they risk their people? It’s bandit country.’
With one hand on the wheel she flipped open a cigarette pack, lit two and passed one back to Irina. ‘Have you heard of Viktor Bout?’
‘The world’s biggest arms trafficker? He still in jail in Thailand?’ I powered down my window to lose the smoke. She smiled and did the same.
‘He operated out of Tiraspol. Same as the Russian and Ukrainian Mafia. They come here to hide. The police are a joke. Even when families are afraid their daughters may have been trafficked they don’t report it. They just don’t trust them.’
For the next two kilometres, we passed factory after factory. Even at night, some were still online and belching fumes. Minging cars filled the parking lots, along with the occasional Merc. There was plenty of foot traffic. The young lads sported cheap tracksuit tops, jeans and trainers and wore their hair white-walled around the sides. The occasional whore patrolled a street corner. Ancient Trabants kerb-crawled alongside them. I could almost see the hot breath on their windows.
‘Whatever they manufacture here, they do it away from the prying eyes of the international community.’ Anna flicked her butt out into the darkness. An old guy at the roadside looked tempted to go and pick it up. ‘The border with Ukraine is only a kilometre or two away. It’s unmarked and unguarded. All sorts of goods are smuggled across, from cigarettes and alcohol to serious weapons.’
Irina nodded. ‘Smugglers load up and head for Odessa. From there they can ship whatever they have to the rest of the world. This place is—’