“This isn’t England; it’s Russia. Get used to it. Otherwise, you’re going to have a hard time here. Oh, by the way, Vika, my girlfriend, probably took some of Azov’s bodyguards with her, just to let you know.”
“Understood.” Edward held out his rock-hard hand. “I appreciate you keeping me in the loop. Here’s my card, my phone number’s on it. It’s always on.”
“Oh, and I have this watch,” I replied, brandishing the gold bracelet. “It isn’t just—”
“I’m aware.” Not a single hair fell out of place when he nodded. Did he glue that on up there? Ilya, come back!
“Very good. I’m headed back to my apartment, and I’ll be waiting for your people at twenty to two.” I didn’t have the strength to keep talking to him; an inferiority complex was gaining the upper hand.
“It was nice to meet you.” One more handshake, and he walked out of Eliza’s office.
“There’s a man right there,” she said once he’d gone, putting the last touch on my distaste for him. It may have been petty, but that’s just the kind of person I was. At least, I’m a real person.
I did have to wonder why Valyaev hadn’t mentioned him. Did he not want to? Or did he not know?
***
The technicians had finished work on the new capsule and were expecting me. I climbed into it and wiggled, getting the feel of my new home.
“Well, how is it?” Dmitry asked proudly. “Comfortable?”
“I’m not sure. I won’t know until I’ve spent a good eight hours in it.”
“Your body will react differently. Believe me; I’ve tested it out myself. Happy New Year!”
***
As far as the party went, of course, we were late; we should have left at one. I had to stop and buy everyone some little gifts from the Raidion gift shop, too, since I couldn’t go empty-handed. Even little things are important to make sure people know that you’re thinking about them. Still, that took time, too.
In the car, I was hit by another thought, What am I going to give Vika? If it hadn’t been for the traffic and the new guards, I could have tried to drop by a jewelry store and pick something up, but Edward’s people were zealots. They covered me from all sides, doing an excellent job of it. My adversaries out in the wild had as little chance of getting to me as I had of getting away.
***
There were a few people I recognized standing by the entrance to our building; they belonged to Azov.
“You’re dismissed,” the senior member of my detachment said as he went over to them. At least, I assumed he was the one in charge since he was the one telling everyone where to go. Some he had wait in the cars; others came with us.
“On what basis?” The one who’d brought Vika there studied the paper he’d just been handed.
“Call the main office, they’ll explain everything to you, but starting today, target security is our concern.”
Ah-ha, so we’re targets. It felt good to finally have a title. Leaving the two sides to stare daggers at each other and hash things out, I walked off to get myself a drink.
“Okay, I’ll give him one last call, and then we’ll get started,” I heard Vika say, noting yet again how you could hear absolutely everything.
“Good decision,” Shelestova said, surprising me with her support for Vika. “The vodka’s already getting warm!”
What, they’re bonding over alcohol? It does nothing if not connect people, after all.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I answered it as I opened the door.
“Go ahead and pour. You heard her; the vodka’s getting warm!”
Chapter Five
On celebratory meals, jokes, and choral accompaniment.
Oddly enough that was the first time I had seen all my underlings in one place. There had always been someone missing, and it felt very festive to have them all together.
“Hey, everyone!” I said with a wave. “Did you miss me?”
The shout that broke out was touching. They were, indeed, happy to see me, and they hadn’t even cracked the bottles or dug into the salads, yet.
“Where’s your beard?” I heard Shelestova call above the clamor. “And your staff? What about your red robe with the pearl buttons? The party’s ruined; pour me some vodka!”
“Are you wondering if I missed you, too?” Petrovich asked as phlegmatically as ever from his spot in the corner. “You were around for most of my life, so I’m not sure what to say, especially given all the messes you got me into.”
“What messes?” Shelestova called over, perking up. She looked fantastic, and she was the kind of woman who could look like a queen in a dirty sack. “Out with it.”
“All different kinds.” Petrovich was apparently the only man in the world who Elena didn’t get going, and I didn’t see the lustful, calculating look in his eyes. Okay, there’s Zhilin, too. He was in another corner, where he was drinking coffee from an enormous mug.
“I remember, one time, when we were about seventeen, he took me to this one girl’s birthday party, even though I had the worst cold—”
“Petrovich, that isn’t the best story,” I said. “Come on, it’s a party; don’t kill the mood!”
Nothing really bad happened, and I didn’t have anything to hide. It was just that Petrovich had a strong, untreatable allergy to garlic that meant his stomach refused the stuff entirely. He’d mentioned it to me lots of times, though he’d never said what his stomach exactly did. How was I supposed to know that it got rid of the allergen by sending its entire contents back up through his mouth? When his back was turned, I dripped some garlic sauce on a piece of chicken he was in the middle of, and his cold meant he didn’t smell it when he went to take a bite. The reaction was practically instantaneous. To make it worse, he was sitting right across from the birthday girl…
Surprisingly, Petrovich didn’t really get mad or try to fight me. That’s just the kind of person he was. All he did was call me an idiot and wave his hand at me. It was an accident. I didn’t know…
That story hardly worked for our party, however.
“You’ll tell me later,” Shelestova said, pulling a lace handkerchief out of nowhere and tying it into a knot. “I love nasty stories.”
Seriously, where did she get that handkerchief? Her dress hugged her perfect figure so tightly that there was barely any fabric, not to mention pockets.
“That’s the thing with beards,” Stroynikov said. “They don’t take long to grow out. But the main thing is that our chief editor is back in the house!”
“Which means we can eat and drink!” Samoshnikov cried happily. “You should hear my stomach growling.”
“Speaking of editors,” Vika said, jumping up, “we need to go wish Mammoth a happy New Year. He’s still the top dog at the paper, even if we are a state within a state; there are still limits we need to remember.”
She wasn’t wrong. He’d slipped my mind completely. Back in the good old days, the office had always gone in on presents for him, letting the old girls, the only ones who cared enough to do it, take them to him. I certainly didn’t care. I was too busy out on assignments or hanging out in the sports department, or, on occasion, heading over to advertising if my personal life needed some spicing up. You could always find single girls there to spend New Year’s Eve with.
“But what are we going to give him?” I asked Vika. “We should have bought him something. I mean, I have a funny phallic-shaped keychain a, um, friend brought me from Haiti, though he might crush my skull in if we give it to him.”
“You don’t think I have this planned?” she said derogatorily as she pulled a gift wrapped in shiny paper out of her desk. “We’re all set, so let’s go.”
“Wait a second,” Shelestova said indignantly, stepping in front of me. “What about our gifts? Of course, he may be the big guy up top, and we have to honor him before anyone else, especially given the kind of person he is, but who’s more important to you? A gray-haired old drunk you see once in a blue moon o
r the young and beautiful people here—the hopes and dreams of the company. I demand attention!”
Her nostrils flared, her hair fluttered, her chest heaved. Valkyrie…
“Hey, if we handed you a flag, stuck you up on the table, and pulled your dress down a little, you’d look like you were pulled straight from the French Revolution,” I replied as I tried to walk around her.
“Vive la France!” Shelestova grabbed the straps of her dress readily. “If you all want, we can make it a present from all of us. I don’t mind, you’ll enjoy the show… I won’t get up on the table, though; I’m afraid of heights.”
“Calm down,” Tasha said, chewing on an apple. “The boss can go, and we’ll all sit down to eat when he gets back. I’m about to drown, I’m drooling so much. And then, if you really want to, you can show him whatever you want. Although, what’s he going to see that he hasn’t seen before?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vika asked as she shot a furious glance in Tasha’s direction.
“I’m in,” Stroynikov called, ignoring the danger my angrily sniffing girlfriend presented. “Let’s see the storming of the Bastille!”
A ruckus broke out on the other side of the door. Zhilin jumped up and slid over to where we were, making sure he was between me and whatever was out there.
With a quick glance in his direction, Vika grabbed my sleeve.
“That’s that, then,” Shelestova said to the group, smiling radiantly. “If the people want bread, let them have bread. We’ll figure out the entertainment later.”
“I’m coming with you,” Sergey said in a tone that brooked no disagreement. “We’ll look more impressive if there are three of us, more respectable.”
He opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. With a twinge of misgiving, I stepped out after him. Nothing for it, now.
***
Everything was as calm as usual. The new and implacable guards were standing there watching us as we trooped out.
“Is something wrong?” the senior officer asked.
“Not at all.” I noticed Sergey glancing down at the floor and followed suit to see several crimson blotches that looked awfully like blood. Ah-ha, so that’s what that noise was. There had been a coup, with one group taking the place of the other. The old guards had apparently been taken out by force, handing Azov’s troops yet another defeat. “We need to go pay our respects to the local boss.”
In confirmation of my words, I shook the shiny package in my hand.
“Got it,” he nodded before mumbling something unintelligible into a microphone that was very well hidden. “Where is that?”
“On the next floor up.” Vika earned herself a nod, as well.
We were walked all the way to the door, leaving me feeling like we were under guard. The only good part was that Kaleria happened across our path, a woman who didn’t like me at all when I was just a simple reporter. Seeing me surrounded by guards and holding a large package in my hand, she looked like she was having second thoughts about her attitude toward life in general and me in particular. Up is down if I’m the one shooting to the top. The color of her face changed, she muttered something that was either Hi, there or Bastard, and she ducked into the first open door.
I had to doubt she realized how temporary my situation was, something I was personally convinced of. Things like that aren’t permanent. You get washed up at the crest of a wave only to get drowned beneath the next one. If you want to stay up there, breathing the pristine air, you have to be born with a silver spoon in your mouth. Either that or you have to be the main character in one of those TV shows the girls all love. I could have told her how nervous I was about what would happen when I got shoved off the mountain and how hard and painfully I was going to land. I could have told her that my tumble was going to suck in the people around me by sheer inertia, something that had me feeling queasy. I don’t even want to think about what will happen to Vika… In all likelihood, she would no longer be around by the time I hit bottom.
***
Mammoth wasn’t expecting us, something we could tell by his shocked face. Really, the trip was worth it if only to see the looks he and Kaleria gave us.
“Uh,” he said to me when we walked in.
“Happy New Year, Semyon,” I said, stepping over and holding out my hand. “May the coming year be a wonderful, happy, and healthy one for you.”
“Your health is always important,” Mammoth replied. “What are you doing here with a present, though? To be honest, I don’t like where this is going.”
Poor Mammoth. Everywhere he looked, he saw traps and bad omens, even when it came to something as harmless as a New Year’s present.
“Don’t worry,” I said to him gently. The past few months had really been hard for him—his mane was shaggy, his cheeks were flabby, and there was a haunted hopelessness in his eyes. He was gone, the shell of a man expecting dismissal ever since I was handed my golden ticket. That kind of expectation will do that to you. “We’re just here to wish you a happy New Year, I swear.”
Mammoth’s eyes caught mine, and he smiled.
“Oh, I believe you,” he sighed. “You’ve matured. You look glossy and impressive, not like you used to be.”
“Is that good or bad?” I asked him.
He threw up his arms. “I’m not sure. It’s just that the guy I knew was a good one, even if he was a lazy idiot. The new you… You’re cold—artificial, put it that way. And don’t ask me to explain what I mean, because I won’t be able to. You asked; I answered.”
“You’re tired,” Vika said suddenly. “You should take a break.”
“Oh, I’m going to be doing just that soon enough,” Mammoth laughed mirthlessly. “Believe me, my girl. I know that better than anyone.”
“No, I didn’t mean that,” she replied, embarrassed when she realized what he meant. “I was just saying that you should get more sleep, maybe go skiing and get some fresh air…”
Mammoth gave her a wave that told her just how much he couldn’t wait to be up on that mountain.
“Okay, get out of here,” he said to us. “Thanks for remembering me. Really, it’s nice.”
I believed him, too, since he’d never talked to me in that tone before.
“It’ll be okay,” I said.
“You forgot to say, ‘I’m sure,’” he replied.
“I don’t know,” I said, scratching the back of my head. “It’s hard to find people with your experience. That much I’m sure of.”
“Go on, leave,” Mammoth glowered. “And make sure your party isn’t too loud. No songs, yelling, or running naked in the hallways!”
“Do people usually run around naked?” Zhilin asked in surprise.
Mammoth jabbed a finger in my direction. “Ask your boss; he’ll tell you!”
“Harriton?” Vika looked at me wide-eyed while a smile spread across Zhilin’s face.
“What?” I shot back. “What’s the matter with you two? I wasn’t the one running around; that was Edik Ramazanov from the creative group. He’d spent the whole two weeks beforehand drinking, too. Oh, and they sent him off to a clinic, though it took the nurses half an hour before they caught him down by the door in the attic.”
“You’re all like that, you, just as much as anyone,” Mammoth said. “Who stirred horse pills into the advertising girls’ cognac a couple years back?”
“It didn’t look to me like they minded.” I grinned. “They didn’t really behave any differently, either…”
“Ve-ery interesting,” Vika said, her eyes narrowing. “What else?”
“Well, there was…” Mammoth caught my look and fell silent. “Okay, I told you to get out of here. You have your party; I have my reports. Scat!”
***
“The old man’s giving up,” Vika said quietly, echoing my thoughts as we walked back.
“You’re right,” I replied. “It’s a shame.”
“It is. I wonder who will take his spot when he leaves.”
<
br /> I’m not sure why, but her saying that jarred me. Sure, it was obvious that he really had resigned himself to the end of his career. And when somebody drops their arms, there’s nothing you can do to save them from the inevitable. Truisms are often axiomatic: if you fight to the end, you give yourself a chance of pulling through. If you give up and decide that things will be the way they’re supposed to be, most likely, nothing good will happen. There were lots of different ways he could go out. For example, he could sit there waiting for the revolutionary executives to walk in and demand his head on a platter. Alternatively, he could have everything ready and make a grand exit. It was the difference between “Did you hear about Mammoth? They fired him!” and “How did Mammoth leave? Bravo!”
But Semyon wasn’t going to do any of that. He’d given up, and it was a shame. Although of course, it’s easy to judge everyone else. When you’re the one on the block, it’s a different story.
As we walked up to our office, I heard an argument going on.
***
“Oh, God, what’s wrong with them?” Vika asked, arms in the air. “You can’t leave them alone for five minutes.”
“They’re not afraid of anything,” Zhilin replied.
“What, I’m supposed to do? Hit them?”
“No, but you should fine them. That works better.”
Vika was thoughtful. “Huh, yeah, that would be more constructive.”
“Just don’t say that I told you that. They’ll poison me without a second thought.”
The usual suspects were making all the noise: Soloveva and Shelestova. They were standing across from each other like two traders at the bazaar, their expensive dresses the only thing spoiling the picture. Tasha was watching the scandal from a chair a little ways away, her legs swinging as she ate Olivier salad directly from the plate. The guys were in the other corner rooting for Shelestova. Even Petrovich had perked up, something vaguely resembling a smile on his face. The only person there who didn’t care or approve for what was going on was Ksenya. Nobody seemed to care much about what she thought, however, and she was just waiting for when she could tell us that the party had been fun and take her leave.
The Right to Choose Page 8