“Okay. I understand,” Igor said as he stroked his stubble. “How do you want to proceed?”
Slava laughed. “You're the investigative journalist. I thought you might tell me. But as you ask, here are the names and addresses of five people who can bear witness against him.”
“Do you think they would testify against him? Wouldn't they be scared?” Igor asked.
“They will be scared, but they are old now and have little to lose. I will provide them with all with the necessary security. And besides, the State Security Service won't protect my father once the accusations come out. They'll drop him like a piece of hot coal.”
“All right. I'll go and interview them all. What about other evidence?”
“I have a weapon, which the witnesses say was used at the time, and I have a shirt.”
“A shirt?”
“Yes. The one worn at the time. It's got blood on it.”
“Great. How did you come across these articles?”
“They were sent to me by an old woman named Petrova Abdulova. I also have the letter she wrote at the time.” Slava placed a bag on Igor's desk. “All the things you need are inside the bag. I know you will do me proud, Igor. Thank you for your friendship over the years, and I do hope our paths will cross a bit more often than they have in the last couple of years.”
“Let's chat about old times this evening. I'll pick you up at your hotel at seven.”
*****
“Octavia, oh, Octavia” her mother cried as the bulletproof limousine dropped her outside the White House. “What have you been up to? We were worried sick about you. Promise me never to run away like that again.”
Octavia didn't say anything. She looked at her mother, the First Lady, a woman of average height and above average looks. A brunette, not a hair out of place. She had married Octavia's father when she was just nineteen. She was more popular than her husband among the public, because she was always on TV to raise funds for children. “Your father has canceled all his appointments this afternoon. We're going to sit down and have a nice chat.”
Octavia hoped the “nice chat” didn't turn into a monolog lecture. She went up to their apartment and into her room. It was predominately white and full of cuddly toys that well-wishers had sent her at various points during her life. The journey from London had tired her, and she undressed, had a shower, and slipped under the sheets. She woke when her mother called her at around three p.m.
“Octavia,” her father exclaimed. “It’s so lovely to see you. Come here.” He took his daughter in his arms and hugged her. She was surprised by how warm he was toward her. They were in the sitting room in the Presidential Suit in the White House. It wasn't a large room; it was cozy. There was a large round window in one wall and double doors in another that lead to the rest of the suit. There were two sofas opposite each other and a glass table between them. Octavia's father sat next to her mother with Octavia across from them.
“Your mother and I are so happy you are having a baby. We're really proud of you, and we want to tell you we will give you all the support you need throughout your pregnancy. If you think Slava will be a good father and you love him, we will support both of you equally.” He looked at his wife, who nodded in agreement. “Where we do have a concern is with you traveling around unprotected.”
“Mom, Dad,” Octavia began, “I hate Harvard and law. I want to be a writer. I want it so much that I was prepared to run away from you. Slava and I have found a way to make our dreams happen. He wants to sail, and I want to write. That's what we'll do, live on his boat and follow our dreams.”
“All right, if that's what you want. But what about your baby? He or she will have to go to school one day,” the president said.
“Of course, and we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now we have our plan, and we're going to follow it.”
“Okay then. Now that we understand what you want, we can support you. Why didn't you tell us you were so unhappy at Harvard?” her mother asked.
“Because I was worried about what you would think. I could see the headlines: President's daughter drops out.”
“Leave the press to me. When I'm finished with them, they won't dare to mention you anymore,” her father said.
*****
As he was about to leave for the airport, Slava's phone bleeped. It was an email. He opened it and read:
Hi Slava,
Please find attached the first in the series of articles. I hope you like it.
Igor
Slava clicked on the attachment and began to read.
St. Petersburg 2015