Friday, May 13, 2011

Rushing From Russia

After breakfast coffee and croissants, I felt a bit gritty in my mind. To counter this, I went to the study and curled up with Balzac, a writer that really understands grit. About a quarter the way through Nana Irving interrupted.

"Phone for you", he said. "On the secure line."

So much for Balzac. I went to my desk, and picked up.

"Why?" I said.

"That's no way to answer the phone," came a response in Russian.

I recognized the voice immediately, and responded in the same language. "Lanni? Is that you? Where are you calling from?"

"The airport. We need to talk. And I need a place to stay for a bit."

"No problem. I can send Irving --"

"I'm already in a cab. See you in about fifteen."

Well, well, well I thought. Something rather dramatic must have happened to get Svetlana Marinskaya to ask such a favour. It was not that long ago that we were trying to kill each other. Nothing personal, mind you, just the normal ups and downs of The Trade. Since the end of the Cold War, however, things had simmered down between Russia and the West and we had become friends. Sort of.

A short time later, Svetlana burst in, followed closely by a worried Irving. He was well aware that as assassins go, Marinskaya was in the top echelon, and he was not about to just sit by and let havoc reign. He also knew that a piece of her left ear was missing, courtesy of a rather poor shot by yours truly. Well, I was in my twenties then, and just learning how to tame my ERMA SR 100.

I settled Irving down, and asked him to have Consuela bring up more croissants and coffee. Svetlana in the meantime had plunked herself down on the sofa. She wore her travelling clothes, baggy jeans, nondescript blouse, and a rather ratty cardigan. I understood this, and dress in similar fashion when travelling on commercial airplanes. You literally disappear, a very Good Thing in The Trade. In my tee and jeans, I looked like a marvel in contrast. This was no small accomplishment -- Svetlana Marinskaya is a very beautiful woman and can appear stunning when occasion demands it. But enough of feminine stuff.

"Well?" I asked. We conversed in Russian. Svetlana is fluent in English, but misses nuances, and I had a feeling that nuances were going to be important.

"There is an African saying," she began. "You may know it. When two elephants fight, the grass gets crushed."

"I recall something similar."

"The point, Simone, is that this particular blade of grass wants to avoid being crushed."

I began to see. "These particular elephants, Lanni, they wouldn't be named Dmitri and Vladimir, would they?"

"You always were sharp. Yes, things are getting tense. Putin is losing it I'm afraid. He more and more is beginning to resemble Vlad the Impaler, and it's the Russian legal system that he wishes to impale. Medvedev thinks that this is a big mistake -- it is -- and things look like there going to get....messy."

"And you'd rather watch things from afar."

"Absolutely. The more so since I had a rather nasty difference of opinion with Putin, and was perhaps more vocal in support of Medvedev than I should have been. I would stay just a few days, mind you."

"You realize that the computer room will be off-limits?"

"Yeah, I heard something about an IT whiz and a key software program. But no, I'm definitely not working."

"You realize I might play around a bit with this information?"

Svetlana smiled. "Sole purpose of visit."

"And I liked your beaten grass analogy. Reminds me of a short poem written by a colleague in university. Goes as follows:

"I am a blade of grass.
Father to thousands.
Grandfather to millions.
Damn fear of lawnmowers."

"Now that," said Svetlana, "says it all."

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