A big Russian box-like car (probably a Gaz Vogla) painted white and with near black windows pulled over suddenly, swung a tight turn and pulled into our unofficial carpark, but luckily as it later turned out, not in front of us, or blocking the exit completely. Three men got out but one was very obviously, 'the Boss' and this wasn't looking good. The three 'goons', as Viv called them later, spread out, 'The boss' in front, his henchmen to the rear and to each side. They looked like bodyguards, all from the KGB. Jabbing his finger at me, 'The Boss' demanded our paperwork and photos. This is where it's handy not to know the language and we (Viv & I and Neil & Helen) had been schooled in Africa the previous year with people just as officious as these, so we knew the game we were about to play. I played dumb, smiling, shaking my head, saying, 'No understand' and 'From Australia'; he turned to Rod demanding his passport; he smiled and said while tapping his chest, 'Australian' which made 'The Boss' angrier and his henchmen even more edgy than before. Neil was next to be questioned and while 'The Boss' was up talking to him, his mobile phone rang; with that, I started the Patrol and headed for the roadway; Rod leaping into his Ford and doing the same, Neil already in his big Ford, gunned the engine and was right up our bum as we hit the road. The Boss, yelling, arms waving, with threatening not-so-friendly gestures tried to stop us while his henchman stood waiting for orders, but it seemed as if, 'The Boss', had an important phonecall and couldn't cut it off.