There was no attack.
Miss Tachibana’s inspections went off without a hitch, and she was most pleased with what she found at each stop.
She took a close, careful look at how things were being run, and when a worker pointed out that she’d dropped some rubles, she picked them up.
I figured this sort of scene played out all over our glorious motherland.
As jobs went, it was cushy. All I had to do was silently trail behind Miss Tachibana and look intimidating.
We did this from morning until night. For me, it was just one day, but this was how the people of Organ spent every day, and I had to have some respect for that.
“My goodness, it’s gotten late!” Miss Tachibana said as she slid into the driver’s seat after her final stop. She laughed, but it was nearly midnight. In the motherland, nobody ever thought of doing overtime, so this went beyond diligence and verged on masochism.
“Well, you know what they say—work is glorious.” I shrugged and got into the passenger seat. I was actually starting to get sick of its excessive softness.
I watched Miss Tachibana drive, noting that she seemed very used to it. I thought I could sort of understand how she must feel. I could just about guarantee that she hadn’t set the agenda for this tour. Someone else had told her where to go and what route to take, so I understood that she at least liked to drive herself.
“Oh, reach into the glove compartment, if you would,” she said suddenly, without looking at me, and gestured slightly with her hand that was on the wheel. “You’ll find a small gift there.”
I did as she suggested and discovered a paper bag. I took it out and found it bore the logo of a fast-food chain that had recently been making a name for itself in the Western bloc.
This was luxury stuff—you’d need entire rubles to eat this meal. And it was good enough to last for several hours in the glove compartment.
In the bag were two burgers wrapped in paper. I took one of them out.
“Hee-hee… Our little secret,” Miss Tachibana said.
“Are you sure this is all right?” I asked.
“Oh, hardly. But it is secret.”
“Hmm,” I muttered, and took a bite. It had Asian-inspired flavors, packed with fresh ginger, and it was very welcome to my empty stomach.
“I’ll join you,” Miss Tachibana said, and reached to take the other burger. She drove along, eating as she went—not very ladylike.
She took us to the Hotel Russia, which stood near Red Square—it was the biggest hotel in the Eastern bloc, even bigger than Stasia’s building.
“I find this place convenient when the hour makes it too much trouble to go home.”
Maybe it was because the hotel used to be a public building, or maybe it was because she belonged to the finance ministry—whatever; officials sure could be bold.
I shook my head and followed Miss Tachibana into the building, across some plush carpeting.
We took a birdcage elevator to the fifth floor, then walked down the hall to her assigned room.
She unlocked the door, but I went in first, swinging my submachine gun left and right.
The furnishings were pretty classy—I assumed that applied to the bed, as well. There was one window. A Nixie-tube alarm clock, connected by a cable to an outside power source, ticked away.
All was quiet.
“Come on in,” I said.
“Thank you very much.” Miss Tachibana smiled and entered the room, again looking like this was something she did often.
Me, I probably would have exclaimed, “God, I’m tired!” and collapsed on the bed. Nora definitely would have. Mariya might have sunk to the floor.
Stasia… What would Stasia have done? Giggled and grabbed my arm, maybe, pulling me down with her.
“All right! Fine work today,” Miss Tachibana said. With a start, I realized I had been lost in thought. I guess I was tired. Damn. “That’s all for the inspections. The only thing that’s left is to go back to the office tomorrow.”
“Just leave it to me, comrade.”
“Yes, thank you, I will. I’m glad there were no incidents today.” Miss Tachibana smiled again.
I had been assigned the room across the hall, but it didn’t look like I’d be getting much sleep that night.
There is no word for “safe” in Russian. All we have is a word that means “there is no danger right now.”
I had the distinct feeling that “right now” was about to be over. I stared at the flickering bulb. This was the so-called “eternal bulb,” which promised to give light for a very, very long time. Well, it made good marketing copy, anyway.
The light flickered on and off for a moment, almost as if it were gasping for breath.
I glanced at the Nixie-tube clock. It was 7:52 PM.
“Metel…,” I murmured.
“Ah yes. I think there’s going to be quite the snowstorm tonight…”
Sturmanskie: the first wristwatch in space, the one that had gone to the moon with Zond VIII.
I’d bought it from the old junk dealer for Mariya to practice on, and now it was on my wrist, saying 12:32 AM.
—Seven of them. Five cybers, two meatbags.
“…Tsk,” I clucked. This was going to be tough. My mind working so fast I was almost dizzy, I said what had to be said. “It’s an attack, comrade.”
“Oh, goodness… Do you suppose I cut their budget too thin?” Miss Tachibana frowned, looking almost like a child who’d been caught in a prank. She showed none of the panic of someone who might be about to die. “Is it always like this?”
“Depends on the time and place.” I grinned.
Purges make no exceptions. There’s always someone else.
Turns out politicians are like Janitors in at least one way: We’re both replaceable.
“I’ll buy you some time,” I said as I fixed a drum magazine to my PPSh and chambered my first round in the Tokarev. “You go out the window.”
“How am I supposed to get down?”
“Follow the heating pipes. Hold on to the outside wall and count to ten, then climb down and make for the parking lot.”
“Should I get the car?”
“No, wait until I join you. If it looks like I won’t be coming, get away on your own.”
I couldn’t exactly take responsibility for her from beyond the grave.
Miss Tachibana didn’t argue; she simply said, “All right. Be careful.”
“Careful enough not to die, at least.”
I supported her hips and behind as she climbed out the window. I think many people considered the lower half of a woman in a suit and stockings to be attractive.
—Maybe I’ll ask Stasia to wear some for me next time.
Even as I had the thought, I was lifting my PPSh and crouching beside the heater. I pulled my balaclava down over my nose and mouth to hide my face, then steadied my breathing. It was sweltering.
And then—well, you remember what happened, right?
It involved a grenade.