“Ahhh, how good of you to come, Comrade Danila Kragin!”
Commissioner Tachibana, who sat smiling in the office, was far more beautiful than I had imagined. Blonds are more my type, but there’s nothing wrong with a brunette, either. Commissioner Tachibana’s hair was a chestnut color.
I studied the office, while also thinking to myself that a woman in a suit didn’t look half bad.
—It’s the perfect picture of an office—stereotypical, I thought.
Of course, I’d only ever seen public officials’ and politicians’ offices on TV.
The decor was subdued. Things like awards and a national flag hung on the walls, and the room was home to a ridiculously large, L-shaped desk. On the desk were several CRT monitors attached to a single terminal. What did a person do with four screens at the same time? It was the same question I had when I saw Mariya’s room.
Each one showed something different, and you could only look at one screen at a time. Maybe two, if you really worked at it.
Next to the monitors, stacks of paperwork—the motherland runs on paperwork—piled up like a range of mountain peaks.
The commissioner’s smile never wavered as she flipped through the paperwork. Laborers got the same pay regardless of whether they worked, but for a commissioner, sabotage was a crime. If they didn’t want to lose their head, they had better be diligent. Work is glorious, comrade.
I watched the dust dance in the sunlight that filtered into the room through a thin lace curtain.
“I guess this is the part where I ask ‘viy po kokomu voprosu <what’s all this about?>’” I said.
“Davaitye po uzhe <Let’s get straight to the point>,” she replied.
I nodded and sauntered toward her desk.
“Is it really all right that I didn’t stash my gun before I came in?”
“But of course.” Miss Tachibana smiled brightly. Was this trust? Couldn’t be. “I know there’s no profit for you to gain from killing me.”
Ah, so she did trust me. I nodded again. That would make everything easier.
“I’m being paid to protect you. If you survive, I get my money,” I said.
“Da, vseo v poryadke <Yes, that solves both our problems>.”
The commissioner and I amiably started in on the details.
The People’s Commissariat for Finance, aka the People’s Logistical Commissariat for Finance, aka Narkomfin—the finance ministry. In short, it was a very important office responsible for cutting the cake that was our motherland’s budget.
And what post did Commissioner Tachibana hold in this all-important ministry?
—Ne imeyet znacheniya <Doesn’t matter>.
As a person without a passport, I didn’t exist as far as our motherland was concerned. Of course, even if I’d had one, it was the members of the Central Committee who so graciously ran the motherland for us. I doubted they cared what Danila Kragin, raised in a manhole, thought about anything.
The most I could do for the likes of them was to play bodyguard for council members on tour.
“Well, comrade. Thank you for being here to work with me today.”
“Certainly, comrade. The pleasure is mine.”
I answered Miss Tachibana’s smile with one of my own, then followed her out of the office.
Outside, a glittering black official vehicle waited for us—a ZiL limousine, which was very roomy and pleasant inside. A ZiL might be old news even among the masses, but their Packard-esque vehicles still saw a lot of service. Comrade Stalin had loved these cars, after all. Hence, so did everyone in our glorious motherland.
Now if only they could pave over the entire nation, everything would be perfect.
I walked once around the car, then peeked underneath, just by way of caution. It wasn’t like I really knew what I was looking for. I just wanted to make sure nothing seemed out of place. I would check if there were any weird parts, any scratches or marks—a less than beautiful car was a car that had been tampered with.
—Then again, the car can be perfectly safe, but if you get run off the road, it hardly matters.
After I spent a few minutes giving myself some peace of mind, I made for the driver’s seat, but Miss Tachibana said, “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll drive.” She held up a finger, from which dangled a key, and spun the key around.
The way she popped open the driver’s-side door and slid her shapely behind into the seat demonstrated she was used to this.
“You don’t have a driver, ma’am?” I asked.
“I happen to like cars. I like controlling them myself.”
“I’ll take the passenger seat, then.”
“Yes, yes. I’m a safe driver—don’t worry.”
I sure hoped so. But I didn’t say that as I got in my seat, just let out a sigh.
The door closed with a clack, and the engine turned over with a low rumble. There was a faint smell of exhaust gas; maybe even council members couldn’t get quality gasoline so easily.
“………”
The car gave us a good shaking as we went along, its suspension unable to cope with the ruts in the asphalt. I held on to my ancient PPSh and looked out the windows—left, right, behind.
What mattered to me were the workplaces Miss Tachibana was going to visit today and the route she would be taking to get to them.
I mentally opened the agenda that she and I had hammered out in her office. It included a long list of factories, offices, bases, official residences, and a slew of other public facilities. Apparently, she was there to make sure that the people were laboring away, as they were supposed to.
I didn’t know how important that was or wasn’t for budget distribution, but I did wonder if there was really any point to all this sightseeing. I doubted anyone could hope for a bigger budget as a reward for showing how serious they were—although a slash in budget as punishment for sabotage was common enough.
—I get it.
I stole a glance at Miss Tachibana’s black eyes—was that the Eastern blood at work? I didn’t know. I thought about how much effort it must’ve taken for her to rise in the ranks of Narkomfin. Her arms were delicate, yet when it came to budgets, she must’ve wielded a scythe with ruthless efficiency.
It had to be the military, I thought. They must chew through money like nothing else. There were lots of places they could find some savings, surely. So naturally she had a target on her back. I pondered the situation. Of course they were after her. Of course she would be attacked. Would she—of course—be killed?
Similarly, I contemplated what it meant that I was the only guard for a woman in such danger. Why use someone official when they could hire an easily replaceable Janitor? Because I was cheap? Because there actually wasn’t any need for security?
Would there be an attack or not? And if there was, who would I be facing? When and where?
What outcome, exactly, was Organ hoping for?
—Not something I want to think about.
I would just do the job I was getting paid for. I didn’t expect to have time to organize my thoughts about all those other things.
After all, Moscow hardly knew what a traffic jam was.