Sicilian Defense

by Andrey Vasilyev

  Zimin’s office door opened, and Valyaev’s head popped out.

  “Kif, let’s go. We’ve been waiting so long we already polished off half the bottle.”

  I glanced at Eliza, who was fixing her hair, to show why I hadn’t joined them immediately.

  Valyaev looked at her, then back at me, and then again at her.

  His eyes widened. “Seriously? You and her? Right in the reception area? I don’t believe you!”

  “Are you crazy?” I hissed at him, hoping Eliza hadn’t heard what he said and forgetting for a second that he was my boss. “She was giving me my benefits packet!”

  “A-ah,” Valyaev replied with a wink. “And here I thought…”

  “You’ve never thought before, so why start now?” Eliza said without turning toward him, her heels clacking on their way to the elevator. “Give it up—it’s a lost cause.”

  Valyaev made a face at her receding figure before pulling me into Zimin’s office.

  “Kif, my friend,” Zimin said, getting up from behind his desk, coming over, and throwing an arm around my shoulders. “I knew we made the right move talking you up to the Old Man.”

  “What a guy.” Valyaev went over to a small table, on which were a plate with lemon slices, a large dish loaded with black caviar, sliced bread, some kind of fish, and something in a small pot. He pulled a fat bottle of cognac and a strange-looking glass out of it. Really, it was more of a cup without a base, instead of which was something that looked like a fish tail made out of copper.

  “What’s that?” I shook my head as I checked out the oddity.

  “Never seen one of these?” Valyaev replied, pouring the cognac into the glass and holding it out to me. “When it’s empty, it’ll sit upright on the table, but it tips over as soon as you put anything in it. You’re going to be drinking out of it so you don’t lag behind. You earned it!”

  Zimin waved a finger under his nose.

  “Wait a second, Kit. We can have one now, but then we have to talk before we keep going. Work is work.”

  “Agreed.” Valyaev’s face instantly switched from clown to businessman the way it always did. “I already poured him a drink though, so…prosit!”

  “Prosit,” Zimin and I replied, holding our glasses up.

  Why “prosit”? Although, I guess it’s no worse than “l’chaim” or “budmo.”

  “Okay, Kif, so about what we wanted to discuss.” Zimin put an arm around my shoulders. “First, you did a great job. You did push the goddess a little, but you didn’t go too far.”

  “I didn’t realize she’d be so arrogant,” I said, grabbing a lemon wedge and tossing it into my mouth. “She was driving me crazy.”

  “She’s a goddess.” Valyaev sank back into his chair. “What did you expect? The gods are all nasty characters, believe me. This one’s a walk in the park compared to Gera or Freya, not to mention Kali. Mesmerta is a delightful, white-winged angel next to them.”

  “Gera!” Zimin snorted. “As vengeful and vindictive as a cobra, with plenty of complexes and nothing to hold her back. And she’s as loyal as a dog to her idiot of a husband, who sleeps with everything that moves. An explosive mix!”

  Then he glanced at me.

  “At least, that’s what the legends say.”

  Valyaev nodded.

  “So yeah, this one is more or less okay. But you can forget about her regardless, since you won’t see her again until you finish the quest. And it’s long and hard…brutal!”

  “Thanks a lot,” I replied sullenly. “Sounds perfect! Fun for me…”

  Valyaev hopped up to his feet, wrapped his arm around my head, and started rubbing my scalp with his knuckles.

  “Oh, stop it, my friend, it’s not all bad. After enemies always come friends.”

  “Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” Zimin cut in, “but I’d like to finish what I was saying if you don’t mind.”

  We both looked over at him.

  “Anyway, you did some good work finishing up the first part of the quest. And we’re sure you’ll have equal success with the second and harder part.”

  “I’ll do my best to justify the confidence you have in me,” I muttered.

  “Would you mind not interrupting me?” an indignant Zimin asked. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “It’s true,” Valyaev said. “The more you interrupt him, the more he talks. And the more he talks, the later we finish—and the later we drink!”

  Zimin growled angrily. “I’m going to kill you both!”

  Valyaev and I instantly sat down in our chairs, clasped our hands in our laps, and gave the snarling Zimin our full attention.

  “Okay!” Zimin said, looking at us from beneath lowered brows. “We believe that you’re going to finish the second half of your mission successfully, and in so doing usher in a new global update for the Fayroll universe. There, I’m done.”

  We applauded him, and Zimin gave us a bow with his hands against his heart.

  “All right, that was the official part—the Old Man asked me to say that. And when he asks you to do something, you make sure you do it. He also asked me to show you something, so let’s go.”

  “Really?” Valyaev replied with a pout. “Congrats, Kif, you’re going places.”

  Zimin had already stepped outside the office, and he turned back to us as he held the door open.

  “What are you waiting for? Come on!”

  We took the elevator down six floors and walked out into a foyer that had a sign saying “Floor 22” on the wall as well as two doors with magnetic locks. One was to our right, the other opposite it.

  “Right or left?” Valyaev asked.

  Zimin grunted and walked toward the door on the right. Valyaev clapped me on the back. Once we’d walked through, Zimin gave me a tour of the floor, not paying the slightest attention when the people working there sprung up out of their seats with ingratiating smiles on their faces as soon as they saw him and Valyaev. Finally, we got to a darkened and shuttered office, the largest on the floor.

  “Have you guessed yet?” Zimin asked as we stepped into the huge office.

  “I have a good shot at getting this office, as well as the entire floor and, I assume, the whole department?” I replied. “That much I got, though I’m not sure about what comes after that.”

  Zimin looked at me in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, ‘this will all be yours if you…’ I have no idea what comes after the ‘if you,’ and that’s the most important part.”

  “Oh, that’s what you’re getting at.” Zimin nodded. “Yes, you’re not far off. Let’s head back to my office and I’ll explain. Do you like this space?”

  “Gorgeous, roomy, senseless,” I shrugged. “I’ve never really gone for things like this. But what about the twenty-second floor—is it a good place to be?”

  Valyaev clucked his tongue and shook his head.

  “You always do ask the right questions. It’s the threshold to power in Raidion. The twenty-third, twenty-fourth, and twenty-fifth floors don’t count because that’s where the programmers work, and the twenty-sixth floor is for security, so it’s basically the floor below us. The boss on the twenty-second floor doesn’t have to say hello to pretty much anyone, and just about everyone has to say hello to him.”

  “That last part reflects more on a person’s upbringing,” Zimin said as he pushed the button for the elevator, “though it’s pretty much right on the money. The Old Man is offering you a seat at his table, even if it is at the far end—and that doesn’t happen very often.”

  “What does he want in return? I still haven’t heard that part.”

  “The usual.” The elevator doors opened in front of us, and Zimin stepped in. “Loyalty, integrity, intelligence. Soul and body, like always.”

  “That’s all?” It didn’t sound like much to me, especially given what was at stake. I was no idiot, and I knew that half a decade working as a middle manager in a company like Raidion would at the very lea
st have me on my feet for the rest of my life. If I live long enough to enjoy it…

  “You don’t think that’s all that much?” Zimin smiled thinly. “Believe me, it’s more than enough.”

  “All I’m hearing so far are generalities,” I said, deciding not to beat around the bush. There was a business offer on the table, and I needed to get the details.

  “That’s true. You’ll get what you’re looking for when the time is right,” Valyaev said. His interjection didn’t have any of his usual jokes attacked. “Right now you have two jobs to do: get the gods back in the game and figure out who got into the paper. I’m not even sure which one is more important.”

  “And I have several questions about both. But before that, let me ask this: what would my job be on the twenty-second floor? Not just some figurehead, I hope?”

  Zimin looked at me approvingly.

  “Good question. No, you’d be more than a figurehead. The Raidion board of shareholders looked at how well the Fayroll Times is doing and decided to split it off into a separate business: a department housing our printed publications, movies, and internet information services. Guess who could manage the whole thing as a company shareholder with a voice on the board if they keep doing excellent work?”

  “Ta-da!” blared Valyaev.

  Now that really was a chance in a thousand. But I still didn’t know what I’d have to give up for it. My soul wasn’t a big loss, and I wasn’t even too worried about my body—at least they weren’t the kind to want me that way. But what did they need? It wasn’t heroics in the game—I couldn’t believe that. I was already getting more than I’d dreamed from them for that, so much so that I was practically drowning in their gifts. But the payoff was worth it. It had to be.

  “So what do you say, my friend?” Zimin stood in front of me. “Do we have a deal?”

  He smiled and held out his hand.

  “Yes, we do,” I replied as I shook it.

  “Excellent. In that case, go ahead with your questions.” Zimin sat down, very pleased with himself. “Then we’ll get back to the drinks. How are you for time?”

  “Fine, though I have Vika downstairs drinking coffee. I should let her know if I’m going to be up here much longer.”

  “Not a problem,” Valyaev responded, going over to Zimin’s desk, picking up the phone, and dialing a three-digit extension. “We’ll give her a tour of the premises in the meantime.”

  His fingers drummed on the table.

  “Hello, who is this? Svetlana? Well, Svetlana, why did you forget to tell me your name when you answered the phone? Who is this? Nikita Valyaev. Hey, don’t go fainting on me. You just be happy that it’s me on the line, seeing as how I’m such a good-natured guy. If it had been Zimin calling, he’d have read you the riot act. He wouldn’t have killed you outright, though he very well might have bored you to death.”

  “Kit!” Zimin cried.

  “Fine. Anyway, Svetlana, listen carefully. There’s a woman sitting in the cafeteria, the wife of a friend of mine. And not just a friend, either—someone who could very soon be one of us. Let me say that again: one of us, not one of you, and so he’ll be working in our company, too. I very much hope that lovely lady…” Valyaev looked at me, and I whispered her name to him. “Vika. I very much hope Vika won’t be bored. Give her a tour of the building, show her to the beauty salon, really just make sure she feels anything but sad and abandoned. If she’s happy, I’ll forget about your little oversight, Svetlana. Maybe I’ll even reward you. Okay, anyway, off you go to the cafeteria.”

  “Eliza is with her there,” I said to Valyaev.

  “Svetlana, hold on,” he said quickly into the phone. “Wait for Eliza to leave before going in. You sound young and beautiful, and I’d hate to attend your funeral already. What do I mean? How long have you been working with us? Two weeks? Ah, that explains it. Ask your more experienced colleagues why you shouldn’t get in Eliza’s way. And as soon as you see her get on an elevator, go find Vika. Got it? Excellent.”

  Valyaev hung up the phone, obviously pleased with himself.

  “I should introduce myself to her,” he said to us. “Sounds like a blonde, and she’s still pretty innocent and demure. A sweet morsel for old Nikita.”

  “Kit, if you send another of our receptionists off to get an abortion, Jadwiga will have you castrated,” Zimin said seriously. “Don’t forget that they’re illegal, and we pay good money to fly them to Europe.”

  Abortions had been made illegal about five years before when the country’s statisticians realized that ethnic Russians were starting to go extinct. Oddly enough, considering how impotent the legal and executive systems were, the new law was actually followed. Underground abortion clinics were closed down faster than they could be opened, and doctors stayed away from the practice once a few of them were sentenced to long prison sentences. Normal people went ahead with their pregnancies; rich girls flew to Europe to get their abortions done.

  “Whatever,” Valyaev replied with a wave of his hand. “If it happens again, I’ll pay for it myself.”

  While their conversation didn’t really interest me on its own merits, the fact that they were having it in front of me told me I’d broken into the inner circle.

  “Kif, so what did you want to ask?” Zimin looked at me. “Anything in particular?”

  “What should I start with? The game or our HR problem?”

  “Start with the HR problem,” Valyaev said, jumping in. “We can talk about the game over cognac, but we should get HR out of the way first.”

  “HR trumps everything,” Zimin said instructively. “So what’s the problem?”

  “Well, still just about the mole,” I replied with a shrug. “And questions about him.”

  Zimin glanced at Valyaev and picked up the phone.

  “Ilya, could you come up to my office?”

  Zimin hung up, pulled a cigar out of a box, lit it, and sent a ring of aromatic smoke drifting up toward the ceiling.

  “Tell me something, Kif, my friend. Have you ever heard of the Consortium?”

  Chapter Three

  In which the hero finds out all kinds of new and interesting information.

  “Well, I know that’s a term from economics, something about how someone joins with someone else to form a consortium,” I said to Zimin.

  “Okay,” Zimin agreed, “you’re partially right. In this case, however, it’s ‘the Consortium’—it’s a name.”

  “Then no, I haven’t heard of it.” I shook my head. “If I had, I would’ve remembered.”

  “Anyway, there’s such a thing as the Consortium, and it’s quite the serious organization,” Zimin replied, extinguishing his cigar in an ashtray. “Most important, they aren’t awfully loyal to Raidion.”

  “Max, you’re always idealizing and softening things.” Valyaev spun in his chair. “Kif, all major companies have their enemies. The bigger the company, in fact, the more enemies it has. We’re a huge company, and so we have our fair share of them—with the Consortium being the largest. They’re a powerful organization and a very dangerous opponent.”

  “And?” I asked warily.

  “And whoever you have working in your paper belongs to them,” Valyaev said, finally getting to the meat of the issue.

  Great…that’s just what I need. Everything had been fine and dandy at the paper, and then suddenly I was saddled with three quiet, predictable devils and a smart sexpot—one of which was a spy with an assignment I didn’t know. Lovely… For a second, I thought about solving the problem with the drastic solution of shutting down the paper entirely. If there wasn’t any work to do, there wasn’t a problem in the first place, after all. But then that office on the twenty-second floor would have disappeared along with the fat salary and juicy bonuses. I can be an altruistic guy, and I’ll even work toward ideas for their own sake, though I’d only had one idea for a good while: buying a nice island in the Caribbean. Okay, just kidding…phew, this is bad.

  “So
this is more than just a harmless, idiot insider or a walking recording device,” I said in a doomed voice. “It’s an experienced foe, a foreign intelligence officer.”

  “Pretty much,” Valyaev confirmed. “Azov will explain a few things to you when he gets here.”

  As if on cue, Raidion’s head of security walked in with an uncharacteristically pleasant expression on his face. When someone in his line of work tries to make himself look like a Christmas cookie, something inside me starts to panic…

  “Ah, there’s our journalist,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Kif—you don’t stop by enough.”

  “Too much to do,” I explained. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another. And now this…”

  “Yup, yup,” Azov said sympathetically. “Everything’s wrong over here. Sometimes there’s no wood, other times there’s no coal, and when there is, someone steals the pot.”

  “Exactly,” I agreed. “I have the enemy infiltrating the paper over there. Ilya, why aren’t your people protecting us? How are they getting through the front lines?”

  “I guess they already told you about the Consortium?” Azov started off secretively. “And you still need to ask why? Well, my dear friend Kif, it’s because they don’t just have some rabble over there; the people on that side are just as good as I am. They’re the last remnants of the empire, taught in the belly of a superpower. You really think I’m just asleep at the wheel or something?”

  Azov’s voice took just a few sentences to change in timbre and intonation, and by the end he sounded like a silenced pistol snapping off word after word. I was beginning to get nervous.

  “Sure, I didn’t mean it like that. We’ll get the bad guy together,” I replied, holding my palms out in front of me. “But we have to know something, right?”