Chapter 7
If Nina had had a dog, the beast would have hated its mistress because in those days, Nina would have certainly been forgetting to feed or walk it. The only excuse Nina could provide was that she herself was forgetting to eat, let alone have walks.
To say that Nina was hard pressed for time would be a gross understatement. Developing the ‘Zaryadje under crisis’ scenario should normally take at least a couple of months; as it was, Nina had only a few days at her disposal. The tenders from the contest participants were officially due the next Monday. Not counting the weekend, Nina had it until Friday to draw up her new proposals. How she was supposed then to reach Samsonov, bring him to listen to her sensational ideas, and convince him to make last-minute changes to the approved document – about all that Nina tried not to think for now.
Complying with Sinitsin’s directions, Nina did not keep any project materials on her home computer, but she had no need for that. She relied on her well-organized, ‘library’ memory. Drawing out the right ‘card-boxes’ from her huge ‘catalogue’, she restored the necessary figures and facts immediately.
When the first panic that had seized her after she had made her global discovery was over, Nina forced herself to concentrate and at least try to evaluate the new risks. That was an incredibly hard job, her analysis constantly getting blurred and falling apart. A lot of doubtful pieces of information had to be taken on trust, and a lot of missing pieces had to be thought up. Still, having gathered and organized in great haste all the available data on major financial crises over the past half century, Nina was pretty confident she could put her finger on the main threats. Everything that did not qualify as such had to be neglected.
To her great relief, Nina discovered that things were not all that terrible after all. Gradbank’s investment project proved to be rather robust and, on the whole, capable of surviving even a serious shake-up. Part of the credit for such high quality of the project was due to her, Nina.
The project Zaryadje XXI would survive the crisis, but only at the cost of very serious losses. After several days of backbreaking work, Nina identified five issues that were going to become threats to the project in the event of a big crisis. The way it was kept in Samsonov’s safe now, the project contained two of those potential weaknesses. If the other three had somehow found their way into the project, it would have become suicidal for Gradbank. To herself, Nina called that hypothetical, worst-case version ‘Plan B’. If she had been the old Nina who had dreamed of taking revenge on Gradbank, she would have desired fervently that, through some twist of chance, Plan B be adopted by the management of that callous capitalist monster. But Nina was no longer her old self, and quite the reverse, she hoped to convince Pavel Mikhailovich to make changes to the two bad items and thus defuse those time bombs. She had figured out a way to defuse them, too.
Besides, as it turned out, a crisis could paradoxically lead to some big benefits, provided Gradbank was prepared to reap them.
Nina made up a ‘Plan C’. According to that plan, the two problem items were removed from the project, and some good items were added to replace them. With those changes, the project was not only feasible again – it became many times more profitable and promising to Gradbank.
Nina recalled what she had read somewhere about the way the word ‘crisis’ was translated into Chinese – it was represented by two hieroglyphs one of which meant ‘hard plight’, and the other ‘opportunity’. It was the same way with Gradbank: a crisis might ruin it, or else, it could become its hour of triumph.
The victorious Plan C was her gift for her man.
On Friday morning Nina called Samsonov.
She hoped that her call would be taken by Klara Fedorovna as it would be hard for her to go into explanations with Marina. But it was neither of the two; instead, an unfamiliar woman’s voice answered:
“Director’s reception. How can I help you?”
Nina asked to be put through to Klara Fedorovna.
It seemed to her that she traced a moment’s hesitation in the woman’s voice.
“Klara Fedorovna? … She is not here. Who is speaking?”
Nina gave her name and said that she needed to see Pavel Mikhailovich.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but it’s a very important and urgent matter.”
“State your business, and I’ll report it to Pavel Mikhailovich in due course.”
“But it’s impossible! Not on the phone.”
“Sorry, there’s nothing I can do. You said that you worked in the analytical department? Then you should turn to your department head.”
There was no way Nina could approach Ariadna Petrovna about that. What could she say to the wise woman? That she had a presentiment of a crisis and suggested altering the project proposals on those grounds? However much Ariadna Petrovna might favor Nina, she was not about to go to the director with such nonsense. At best, the chief of Analytics would advise her employee to stay at home and take a really good rest since, obviously, the girl had gone off her head a bit as an aftermath of a long, exhausting pull.
Nina was pondering what she could do. Go to the bank and try to force her way to Samsonov through the unfamiliar secretary? The secretary would probably just call the security and kick her out. Nina did not even know whether her pass to the twelfth floor was still good – it could have been cancelled already.
Nina dialed Sinitsin.
“Gennadiy Viktorovich, this is Shuvalova. I have an urgent need to speak to Pavel Mikhailovich. It’s about the project. Help me, please, it’s very important.”
Sinitsin seemed to have been expecting her call.
“It’s good that you called, Nina Yevgenievna. Please come to the bank.”
“Can you arrange for me to see Pavel Mikhailovich?”
“Come to the bank. I’ll be here to meet you.”
And he did meet her. When Nina arrived at the bank and got up to the directorate floor, Sinitsin was waiting for her in the hall.
“Good morning, Nina Yevgenievna. Please go to your room and wait. You’ll be summoned.”
The delay was welcome; Nina needed some time on the bank computer to type her proposals which did not exist yet except in her head.
Nothing had changed in the room during her absence – only a thin film of dust had accumulated on the desk top and computer keyboard.
Nina brushed off the dust and turned on the computer. She hoped to have time to print out both plans – the bad one and the good one – so that Samsonov had a complete picture to base his decision on.
Each of the two plans was only a couple of pages of text. To avoid losing or mixing up the files, Nina saved them into a separate catalogue titled, ‘Project Variants in View of Crisis’ and attached the note, ‘Plan B – catastrophic; Plan C – optimal’.
She had barely completed both files and was about to print them out when Sinitsin called.
“Nina Yevgenievna, I’m expecting you in my office.”
“Gennadiy Viktorovich, please, can I have another five minutes? I need to print out something…”
“No, please come now.”
Sinitsin’s tone struck Nina as odd – it was nothing like its usual civil self.
Nina opened the door to the security chief’s office.
“Gennadiy Viktorovich, I need urgently to prepare some papers for Pavel Mikhailovich. It’s a moment’s work…”
“Sit down, Nina Yevgenievna.”
Sinitsin pointed at a chair that stood in front of his desk.
Puzzled, Nina obeyed.
“Nina Yevgenievna, I’m going to ask you some questions, and I expect very accurate answers from you.”
“But, Gennadiy Viktorovich …”
The man hushed her with a gesture. He was really changed – behaved in a dry, official manner, like Nina’s superior, which he actually was.
“Tell me – what was the last time you saw Klara Fedorovna Pavlenko?”
“Klara Fedorovna? …” Nina wondered. “What does she have to…”
Sinitsin waited.
“About three weeks ago, I guess.”
“How did it happen?”
“We had lunch together in the cafeteria.”
“What did you talk about?”
Nina could not bear it any longer. “Gennadiy Viktorovich, please – what’s all this about?”
Sinitsin gave her an intent look which was totally devoid of sympathy.
“Answer the question.”
Dumbfounded, Nina uttered, “Well, I don’t really remember… It was just before the board meeting, so we talked about that.”
“What exactly did Klara Fedorovna tell you?”
“I don’t remember. Honestly, I don’t.”
Still, Sinitsin made Nina remember word for word everything that the director’s assistant said on that day. Then he started questioning Nina about the other occasions when the two women had seen each other and had any talk. He dug for every detail.
The security chief asked whether Nina and Klara Fedorovna had had any contacts outside work, and whether Nina knew the woman’s family or friends.
“She only has a son, Stas, and she doesn’t seem to have any friends. Not that I know of, anyway. I’ve never seen Klara Fedorovna except here, in the bank…”
Sinitsin clearly was not about to finish his interrogation, but his phone rang. The voice in the receiver was loud – Nina recognized Samsonov. The director called Sinitsin to his office.
“Coming,” Sinitsin said into the phone and told Nina: “You go to your room and wait.”
He ushered her out of his office, locked it and hurried to the director’s.
Nina was confused. She realized that something had happened on the directorate floor, but what did it have to do with her? She only wanted to give Pavel Mikhailovich her new proposals – explain the essence of the matter to him in just a few words. Sinitsin did not seem to be going to help her with that.
The main thing though was that Samsonov was in the bank rather than travelling around somewhere. After some hesitation, Nina approached the director’s reception.
As she opened the door, she saw an unfamiliar woman in Klara Fedorovna’s place. The woman was typing on the computer. In that, she was no match for Klara Fedorovna. Marina was not there.
“Can I help you?”
Nina made up her mind.
“I need a word with Pavel Mikhailovich,” she said in a businesslike tone and strode towards the door to the director’s office from behind which Samsonov’s voice was coming.
The new secretary darted to intercept her but did not make it. Nina pulled the door open.
In the middle of the director’s office, Klara Fedorovna was sitting in a chair. Nina was struck by her appearance: elaborately neat ever before, the woman was now disheveled and rumpled, with her makeup smeared and eyes swollen.
Bending over her, with his back to Nina, was Samsonov.
“Klara, you damned idiot, how could you?” he shouted.
Despite the abusive words, there was anguish in his voice.
Nina was noticed by Sinitsin who was standing beside the director. The man waved his arm at her furiously: “Go away!” But Nina, struck by what she saw, was unable to move, as if rooted to the ground. The new secretary who had run up in order to drive Nina away stood still, too.
“Tell me, you brainless hen, why didn’t you tell me anything?” shouted Samsonov.
Klara Fedorovna mumbled something.
“What? Speak up!”
“I… I was ashamed…”
“You were ashamed, eh? And what about now? Aren’t you ashamed now?”
Klara Fedorovna issued a croaking sound and mumbled something unintelligible again.
“What? I can’t hear you!”
“C-can you open the window, please? I can’t breathe…”
Pavel Mikhailovich strode to the window and snatched it wide open.
When he turned round, Klara Fedorovna was beside him. Within a second, she had jumped up from her chair, darted to the window and climbed onto the window sill.
Samsonov did not have a good reaction, but he managed to grab the woman by the arm as she was stepping outside, into the void. He caught her other arm and pulled her in. The director and his assistant tumbled down on the floor together.
Klara Fedorovna was writhing in convulsions, issuing savage sounds. Her eyes were rolling madly, and foam showed on her mouth.
Samsonov was sitting on the floor beside her. He lifted the head of the insane woman and nestled it on his knee. With his wide palm, he stroked her hair.
“Ah, Klara, Klara… How can you be such a fool?”
Only now Samsonov noticed Nina.
“Nina, what are you doing here?”
“I… I need to discuss something with you.”
Samsonov’s face was distorted with anguish. He waved her away: “Not now! You see what’s going on here…”
Sinitsin stepped up to Nina, took her by the elbow and led her out of the office.
“Sinitsin! Ambulance, now!” Samsonov cried after him. Then, after a second, his voice came again: “Don’t call ambulance. I’ll take her to the hospital myself.”
Having dragged Nina out of the reception, Sinitsin said to her, “Nina Yevgenievna, I hope you understand —whatever you may have seen here must be buried. Not a word to anyone.”
“I understand,” Nina mumbled although she was totally dumbfounded and unable to comprehend the scene that she had witnessed. She realized only that something terrible had happened.
“Go home and don’t come to the bank until you’re told to do so,” said Sinitsin. “But don’t leave town either – a need for you may arise any time.”
“Yes, of course… In a minute, I’ll just grab my stuff.”
She hurried to her room. She had no more than a minute at her disposal. It was clearly not a good time to approach Samsonov with her new proposals. But she was hardly going to get another chance to pass them on to him.
Nina snatched a memory stick and stuck it into the computer hastily. She could no longer hope to provide Samsonov with a complete picture – the detailed best and worst scenarios, with her commentaries. All she could do was pass on to him a list of what, in her opinion, had to be done absolutely. Pass it on – and hope that Samsonov would find time to speak to her.
Nina selected ‘Plan C’ with the cursor and pressed, ‘Copy’.
The copying completed, she pulled out the memory stick, snatched a piece of paper and wrote the note, “Pavel Mikhailovich! It’s absolutely vital to make some changes to the project. I beg you to listen to me – I’ll explain everything. Nina.”
With the memory stick and the note in her hand, Nina hurried back to the reception.
At the door, she ran into Sinitsin.
“Gennadiy Viktorovich, I must see Pavel Mikhailovich for just a second. It’s very important – the entire project depends on it!”
“Pavel Mikhailovich is gone.”
Nina’s heart sank.
“He… When is he going to be back?”
“I have no information about that. Possibly, not until Monday.”
Nina was in despair.
“Well… Then… You are going to see him, aren’t you? Can you give this to him?”
Nina held out the memory stick and the folded note.
Sinitsin took one and the other, and without showing any interest, tucked both into his pocket.
“Nina Yevgenievna, didn’t I ask you to leave the bank?”
“Yes, sorry, I am leaving.”
And she did. She did not know what else there was to do. She could not but hope for a miracle now – that Sinitsin would not fail to give her material to Samsonov; that Samsonov would not wave it aside but would send for her and have a talk with her; that she would be able to convince him…
There were two days left for the miracle to work: Saturday and Sunday.
Chapter 8
On Saturday, Nina got up late after no less than twelve hours of heavy, dreamless sleep. She felt exhausted, both physically and mentally.
When she came up to the window, she saw that the sun was already high. The weather was beautiful – the Nature indulged people with a late Indian summer.
On the ledge, the familiar pigeon was perching. It squinted one eye at Nina, as if asking, “Well, how goes? Save the world?”
“Not me. Who am I to even try?” Nina answered in her mind.
“And your man? Did you save him?” asked the pigeon.
Nina sighed. She did not know what to say. She had done all she had been able to, but that was probably not enough. The chances that her belated revelations would help Samsonov were almost non-existent.
“So what was that yelling about? You alarmed the whole alley, you know,” the pigeon said reproachfully. It turned away, slipped down from the ledge and flew off. Nina with her anxieties was of no interest to him.
Nina still cherished a faint hope that Samsonov would pay attention to her proposals and give her a call; in order not to miss it, she was keeping her phone constantly within reach. But Samsonov did not call.
Nina no longer cared about either the global problems or Gradbank. Let the world and Gradbank take care of themselves. She only cared about Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov, but apparently, her man did not took any more interest in her now than did the alley pigeon.
Nina shuddered as she recalled what she had witnessed the day before in the director’s office. She had pity for Klara Fedorovna. “Poor woman! Whatever happened to her?” But Nina was too exhausted to ponder about that either.
The day passed without her noticing it. Towards evening, the phone rang. Nina snatched the receiver: “Pavel Mikhailovich?”
But it was her father, not Samsonov. Nina did not remember when she had last spoken with him on the phone.
“How are you, Nina?”
“I am good. How are you?”
“I’m all right… Here’s the thing – would you care to go to the dacha? We have some stuff left there since the old times, remember? Somehow I feel like messing about with it a bit.”
Nina was surprised. They had not been to their dacha for several years already. She had been the last to visit it, and she had since kept the keys.
“Of course, papa. Why not go tomorrow? It looks like the weather’s going to be fine. Is Lydia Grigorievna going, too?”
“No, she has some tidying up plans… But thank you, I’ll tell her that you invited her.”
They arranged to set off in the morning, but not very early. In fact, they did not have any real business at the dacha, and nostalgic rituals should not take more than a couple of hours. “Is it that he has decided finally to sell the dacha?” thought Nina. “All right, let him sell it if he likes…”
The next morning, as she was preparing for the trip, Nina wondered how she was going to conduct herself with her father. For a very long time already the two of them had not had a heart-to-heart talk as a father and daughter. A lot had happened both to him and to her. They both had changed, but Nina hoped that they were still family. It was time to forget all wrongs and forgive each other whole-heartedly whatever there was to forgive.
Nina dug up the old, rusty key to the dacha and was already getting dressed for the trip when the word ‘Gradbank’ caught her ear. It was mentioned on the TV which she had turned on, with sound on for once, and was just about to turn off. Something had happened at the bank but Nina could not make out what it was all about.
“My God! Not another explosion! Let him be safe,” the anxious thought of Samsonov flitted through her mind. She snatched the remote control and started switching the channels hectically. At last, she came across an intelligible news release. At nine thirty in the morning Gradbank’s general director Pavel Mikhailovich Samsonov had been assassinated at the entrance to the bank building. It was a sniper shot from a great distance; the bullet missed the director but grazed his vice Sinitsin. Sinitsin was taken to hospital, his wound not giving cause for concern.
Nina was appalled. “What’s going on, for heaven’s sake? What kind of people are doing that? How can they?” When Samsonov’s car had been blown up with her just a few steps away, she somehow had not been shocked too much, but now she was dumbfounded by the thought that her man had been shot at and only barely escaped death.
“Damn this big business! No business is worth it…”
Nina was no longer in a mood for any dacha outing, her mind preoccupied by Samsonov. She called her father and excused herself from the trip.
“Let’s go next weekend, OK? I’ll free up a whole day, I promise.”
“Sure, next weekend is all right.”
It seemed to Nina that her father was going to say something else but changed his mind. They said goodbye to each other.
Nina was beside herself with anxiety. She kept switching TV channels in the hope to hear some more details of the accident, but all in vain. The drama that had taken place at the entrance to the Gradbank building did not make a sensation and was soon replaced by other news. Indeed, what kind of sensation was that? Nobody had even been killed.
Nina called Samsonov’s reception several times, but the number was dead. At some other time, she could have turned to Sinitsin, but the man was in hospital.
Even if somebody had answered Nina’s call, what could she have said? That she was worried about the director and wanted to make sure that he was safe? And who was she to pester people on a Sunday with her worries? Not even a wife – just an ordinary employee of the bank…
Hours passed. Nina was sitting with a phone in her hand, waiting for God knows what.
When the short autumn day turned to evening, she said to herself, “That’s it. I can’t take it any more.”
Hardly realizing what she was doing, she set off for Gradbank.
As she was approaching the building of the bank, a beautiful, expensive car pulled out of the parking lot. The car seemed familiar to Nina but she was unable to place it.
Nina started crossing a wide asphalted space. The car that seconds before had been at the far end of the parking lot was nearing rapidly.
Trying to get out of the way, Nina took a few steps aside, towards a railed-off sidewalk. The car seemed to alter its course slightly and was now heading in her direction. Puzzled, Nina quickened her pace, but the car accelerated, too. It was clear now that, even if Nina ran like a sprinter, she would not make it to the safe sidewalk. The crazy car was tearing along right at her. And then it came home to Nina whose automobile it was. It was Marina’s.
The distance between them was shrinking swiftly – twenty meters, ten meters, five meters… Nina shut her eyes tight.
The screech of the brakes was deafening. When Nina opened her eyes, a gorgeous bumper was glistening close by, and smoke was rising from the wheels of the mercilessly stopped car.
Marina was glaring at her from an open window.
“You deserve to be run over, you bitch…”
Nina was barely conscious and weak in the knees.
“Going to see him?” Marina asked and answered herself: “Sure you are.”
Even now, despite all her ugly hatred, Marina’s face was beautiful.
“Yeah, right, go ahead,” she said. “I hope you’ll get zapped there along with him.” Nina kept silent.
Marina set the car in motion and skirted Nina who was unable to move as if rooted to the ground.
Marina braked again as she was side by side with Nina and asked suddenly, “Do you even love him, or just…”
“I love him,” Nina said resolutely.
“Bitch,” pronounced Marina.
She stepped on the gas and drove off, gaining speed. After a few seconds, the beautiful car disappeared from view.
When she regained her senses, Nina hurried to the building entrance. Marina who hated her had let her know the main thing: Samsonov was in the bank.
Nina had been in the bank on weekends before. Usually, there were some people there on both Saturdays and Sundays – some kind of emergency constantly arose in one or another department, and the employees worked overtime. Now Nina was struck by the quiet: there was no one around, and not a sound – of human voices or working elevators – could be heard. The bank was empty.
A guard stopped her: “You can’t go in.”
But Nina would not be stopped. She waved her pass: “I’m the director’s assistant. I have admittance to the twelfth floor at any time.”
The guard clearly hesitated but he was still blocking her way. “All the same, nobody is allowed in. We’ve had special orders.”
“Who gave the orders? Gennadiy Viktorovich?” Nina asked and, on a sudden inspiration, bluffed: “I just visited him in the hospital, and he sent me down here to Pavel Mikhailovich.”
Unable to withstand such pressure, the guard reluctantly let Nina in. As she was entering the elevator, Nina saw him speak on the phone with someone.
On the twelfth floor, where one muscular young man had always been on watch, there were two of them now.
“Where are you heading? How did you get here?”
“I need to see Pavel Mikhailovich. It’s urgent,” Nina declared.
Both muscular guards knew Nina well – they had more than once seen her with the director. For the twelfth floor, she was a persona grata.
“Open your bag.”
Nina complied. She had nothing in her bag except for the rusty dacha key and some snacks she had gathered for the trip that she and her father had planned.
“You may pass.”
The reception room was empty and almost totally dark. Some light was filtering from the director’s office whose door was slightly ajar.
Nina stepped into the office.
Pavel Mikhailovich was sitting in a chair, smoking. The director’s desk was occupied by Kolya who was busy cleaning a disassembled gun.
As she was opening the door, Nina wondered – what kind of reception was she in for? Was Samsonov going to be glad, or vexed, or just indifferent, to see her?
Samsonov’s face was alight with joy: “Nina!”
But the next moment already he jumped up, frowning: “Nina, what are doing here? Go away now!”
Tears welled up in Nina’s eyes.
“I just wanted to make sure everything was all right with you… And please, don’t you yell at me, Pavel Mikhailovich!”
Samsonov stepped up to her and took her by the arm.
“For God’s sake, Nina, what are doing to me? … I’m not yelling, I’m begging you to leave. You can’t stay here.”
“Pavel Mikhailovich, don’t talk to me like I’m five years old. I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on. It concerns me, too.”
Samsonov took it his own way.
“Nina, you are in no danger. The project has already been sent off to the committee. By the way, I made the changes that you suggested. I couldn’t make head or tail of your proposals, but I did all you wanted me to. You can see how much I trust you… Nobody’s going to harm you now – you only have to keep away from me.”
Nina clutched at his arm, her whole air testifying that she was not going to budge. “All right, Nina,” Samsonov gave in wearily. “I’ll tell you everything, but you must promise that you’ll leave right after that.”
Nina nodded without letting go of his arm.
Samsonov made her sit down and took a seat beside her.
“The matter is quite simple, Nina. They mean to kill me.”
He told Nina how things actually stood. As it happened, apart from the open competition, there was a fierce shadow battle going on for the project Zaryadje. Samsonov’s main rival, Atlas, had colluded with dissenters inside Gradbank. Too much was at stake, and the interested parties would stall at nothing. Samsonov’s opponents had no choice – they had to stop Gradbank at all cost, or else many of them would lose their career and money, if not life. They had tried to remove Samsonov in a legitimate way, through a general meeting. When that attempt failed, they tried bribing, then intimidating him.
“Nina, do you remember how we wallowed in the dust when the car was blown up? That was not in earnest yet, they just wanted to scare me. And then Klara…”
“Klara Fedorovna? What happened to her?”
Samsonov’s face was distorted by anguish.
“She stole some documents and handed them over to Atlas.”
“My God! …” Nina let out.
“Yeah, that’s that… To think that she’s been with me for over twenty years. Who’s to be trusted then?” Samsonov shook his head dejectedly. “On the other hand, one can understand her – she’s a mother.”
As it turned out, Klara Fedorovna was cursed with a misfortune which she did not share with anyone – her son Stanislav was a drug addict. Once he had been admitted to the architectural academy, he got mixed up with some bad company, neglected his studies and ran into debt. The international contest which he had nearly won was all a figment of Klara Fedorovna’s imagination – in reality, Stas had never even entered it. By now, Stas was on heroin in a big way. The academy was a thing of the past – he had got expelled from it a year ago. Two of his lot had died of overdose, and he was in for the same fate in the near future.
Klara Fedorovna tried to get him treated, but all in vain. She had one last hope now – to put Stas into a famous Swiss clinic where the likes of him reportedly were given real help.
But the clinic required a pile of cash. Klara Fedorovna drew a good salary at Gradbank but she did not have that kind of money. In fact, she was penniless now as in the recent years she had been spending everything on her son. Somehow, Atlas’s agents had found out about her problems and offered Samsonov’s assistant the necessary means.
“Poor woman.” Nina was really sorry for her.
“Yes,” responded Samsonov. “But why didn’t she tell me anything? Ah, Klara…”
“How is she now?” asked Nina.
“She’s in hospital. It’s all right, she’s going to be looked after there. And I sent Stas off to Switzerland yesterday. They say, there is hope…”
Nina saw how hard it was for Samsonov to even speak of that.
“What kind of documents were those?” she asked.
“They were pretty important documents, but they did not cause any big damage after all,” answered Samsonov. “It appears we’ve really worked a solid project – it can’t be undermined by such spy attacks. We owe that to you, Nina.”
But Nina was in no mood to listen to compliments.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“Now their only hope is to remove me from the picture by hook or by crook. It must be done today so that early tomorrow morning my first vice can withdraw our tender under some pretext. They tried shooting me this morning but hit Sinitsin instead.”
Nina was horrified: “So you are what – sitting here waiting for them to come and kill you?”
“Well, I don’t mean to be anybody’s sitting duck… Kolya and I were just talking things over – trying to figure out what to do.”
“But there is police after all!” Nina cried out. “Call the police!”
“Don’t be absurd, Nina. Police is useless…”
“Well, thank God, you have your own guards. I saw two of them on my way here.”
Samsonov and Kolya exchanged glances.
“Yeah, that’s the question: which way are those two going to shoot when it comes to action?”