“I know, and I love you guys too. This is Slava. Do you remember him?”
Slava shuffled along the sofa and into the president's view. “Hello, Mr. President.”
The president seemed as if he was going to explode into a rage, but he took a deep breath and controlled himself. “Yes, of course, Slava, I remember you. I would be grateful if you would please bring my daughter home safely. I could send a few armed men to get her, but none of us want that. Just bring her home, please.”
“Sir, I love your daughter and she loves me.” Slava was resolute, and it seemed he had no fear of who he was addressing. “I have all the respect in the world for you, but Octavia and I have made a decision. Neither of us wants to continue our studies. We are bored stupid by them. We each have a dream that we intend to follow. We ask your blessing in doing so.”
Again, the president drew a breath. “I understand. Maybe if we had all talked about this in the first place, we would have been able to work something out. I am first and foremost worried about her safety. It's a dangerous world, and somebody could quite easily kidnap her. I ask you to think of the consequences of that.”
“Sir, I have, and I understand.”
Octavia decided to intervene when she noticed her father's voice change. It had taken on a more conciliatory tone, one he used when he wanted to reach an agreement.
“Dad, what we are saying is give us a chance. Both of us have enough money, and we have a home. I don't want to be part of the political world. I'm artistic, and I want to write. Slava wants to sail and design yachts. We're not dropping out. We're just following what we really want to do.” She paused and decided she would tell him. “I'm having a baby, Dad. You and Mom are going to be grandparents.”
The president was torn between congratulating her and flying into a rage. “That's great, honey,” he said. “Listen, how about we make a compromise. Come home with Slava, just for a few days if you like. Come and talk to us. Tell us what you want, and I promise I'll support you in any way I can.”
“No tricks?” Octavia asked.
“None at all. Come home, talk to us, and, if you want, go off again on your boat. But one thing I will not budge on is the security aspect. We'll talk about that at the time, though.”
Octavia looked at Slava, and he nodded. “Okay, sir. Octavia will come home for a few days, and I'll join her when I can.”
When the president had gone, Octavia turned to Slava, angry. “What do you mean? I'm not going anywhere without you.”
“Listen to me. My father will have you killed. I am convinced of it after the visit we had. The last thing he wants is to see is me marry an American. He hates Americans and everything they stand for.”
“Jesus. Do you really think he'd—” She stopped mid-sentence when he nodded. “And how the hell would he kill me? You heard Dad; he wants to help us with security. Your father would never get near us.”
“Did you see how they murdered Andrey Yevchenko? They put poison in a cup of tea. Or what about Yuri Davydov? They stuck the poisonous umbrella into his ass when he was walking across London Bridge. There are so many examples where good people have been murdered and nobody noticed the killer.” He looked at her, at distress in her eyes, and decided then and there that he was going resolve the situation. “Listen, I want you to go back to your parents. They are good people; they will let you do as you want once it all has been discussed. I'm going to St. Petersburg.”
“No. You mustn't. What if I never see you again?” Octavia said, now more worried than ever.
“I need a few days there. I will have my father returned to Russia in disgrace, and then we will be able to get on with our lives.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
*****
Slava sat in an office overlooking the River Neva in St. Petersburg and looked at the young man in front of him.
“Slava, it's so good to see you. We haven't seen each other since graduation day at school. How are you?”
“Igor, I am very well. There are things happening in my life now that are so fantastic; I can't begin to tell you.”
“You must. How about dinner this evening?” Igor asked. Igor Krasnoyarsk had been born on the same day in the same year as Slava. They had gone to school together and had been inseparable friends. As often happened, their lives took them separate ways. Igor went to work as a trainee journalist in St. Petersburg, and Slava went to university in Moscow.
“You know why I'm here, don't you, Igor?” Slava said in a somber tone of voice. Igor was just five feet five, but he was handsome with his dark hair and blue eyes.
“Yes. It's time, isn't it?”
Slava nodded. “Yes, it's time. The day has arrived, as I knew it always would. He has to be stopped. My mother is exhausted by his regular beatings, everyone who works for him is afraid of him, and now he has turned on me.”