Julia Gousseva - Gray Shadows - Russian Historical Thriller

A few moments later, a middle-aged dark-haired man in a parka came out of the gate and approached their car. Nikolai stepped outside, the bitter cold hitting him at once and making his eyes water.

The man came up to the car, took the mitten off his right hand and extended his hand to Nikolai. “I’m Vanya, the security director. Are you the new interpreter for Pyotr Alekseevich?”

Nikolai shook his hand, Vanya’s handshake strong and confident. “Not me. Natalya is the interpreter. I’m her bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?” Vanya pulled his mitten back on and started walking towards the small security building by the gate, packed snow crunching with each step. He motioned for Nikolai to follow him. “What is she, a rock star?”

“No. She just has an overprotective father.”

Vanya shook his head. “A bodyguard. That’s new. There’s always something with these Moscow interpreters: the hotel is not good enough, the weather is too cold, or the food is too greasy, but this is new. A bodyguard.” He chuckled.

Nikolai shrugged. “I did not make the decision to come here, but a job is a job.”

“And you have firearms?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“Two Makarov pistols.”

They stopped at the door with an Employees Only sign on it. Vanya reached for the doorknob. “You have to leave your firearms with me in the security office. No weapons are allowed at the compound.” He pulled on the doorknob.

Nikolai did not move. “Can’t do that. No firearms, no interpreter.”

“Not my problem,” Vanya said.

“It will be your problem if your boss finds out.”

Vanya shook his head again. “Let me call Pyotr Alekseevich.”

Still shaking his head and muttering something under his breath, Vanya motioned for Nikolai to get back into the car and stepped into the security office.

“Trouble already, Mr. Bodyguard?” Natalya said when Nikolai sat down next to her.

“Nothing that can’t be resolved with a call to the boss, I’m sure,” Nikolai said.

Oleg was quiet, suddenly busy with his phone.

A few moments later, the intercom buzzed. Oleg put his phone down, lowered the window and pushed the intercom button.

“You all can go in,” Vanya’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Just tell Nikolai to keep his firearms out of sight.”

“Will do,” Nikolai said, fighting the temptation to comment on this obvious request.

After a short drive inside the compound, Oleg pulled over to a curb, or at least to where the curb would have been if it were not for the tall wall of firmly packed snow that separated the sidewalk from the street. He led Natalya and Nikolai towards one of the buildings. The heat enveloped them as soon as they stepped inside. Nikolai took his hat off, pulled off his gloves, and stuffed them in his pockets.

The inside of the building was all business, with industrial gray carpet, no-nonsense track lighting, and imitation wood panels on the walls. The only element that felt non-utilitarian were the curtains, with bright multicolored geometric patterns on them.

“The conference room is down here,” Oleg said pointing down the hallway. “And Pyotr Alekseevich’s office is upstairs.”

They walked up to the second floor and down a narrow hallway to the door at the end. Oleg half-knocked on the door and immediately pushed it open.

The office was small and cluttered, not what Nikolai had expected the director of an oil company to have. No mahogany-style desks, fancy furnishings, or crystal chandeliers here. Just like the rest of the building, the room was all business-like and simple, like a field operations office. Both walls were lined with desks, with shelves hanging above the desks. The desk nearest to the door had a computer on it, the others were piled high with books and papers. The office was so filled with things that Nikolai could barely see its occupant, a man in a fuzzy gray sweater, dark pants, and big winter boots. His head was topped with an unruly mane of salt-and-pepper hair. A large moustache hid the top of his mouth. The man pushed aside the papers on his desk and got up.

“Welcome to the north,” he said to Nikolai and Natalya. “I’m Pyotr Alekseevich.” He smiled, shook hands with them, then turned to Oleg. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you take their bags to the hotel? I’d like to get right down to business. And when you get a chance, could you do your magic?” He pointed to the computer on the desk next to the door. “It’s slow again.”

“Sure thing, Pyotr Alekseevich. I can come back tonight, after you’re done here,” Oleg said.

“If you don’t mind working late.”

“Not at all.”

After Oleg left, Pyotr Alekseevich pulled an electric kettle off a shelf, filled it with water from a large pitcher on his desk, and pointed to the two chairs across from his desk. “Have a seat.” He sat down himself, reached into a desk drawer and put three large green ceramic mugs on his desk. “We’ll have some tea and chat. I’ll bring you up to date on the happenings here.”

“You are going to stay here, aren’t you?” Pyotr Alekseevich addressed Natalya. “The previous interpreter escaped after a week: too cold and too stressful. We can’t do much without good interpreters, and none of us, Canadians or Russians, have worked with interpreters before. It takes patience. From everybody.”

“I’ll stay,” Natalya said.

“Good,” Pyotr Alekseevich said.

The kettle clicked off, and Pyotr Alekseevich put a teabag in each mug and poured the water into the mugs. He handed one cup to Natalya and turned to Nikolai. “I realize that one of the conditions of Natalya’s employment was that she brings a bodyguard with her. This is really odd for me, but I agreed because right now, especially before the board meeting, I really need a good interpreter, and Natalya came highly recommended. I have no idea how this whole bodyguard thing works. I’ve only seen it in movies. So please tell me, Nikolai.”

“You can ignore me for the most part. I’ll tag along with Natalya to wherever she needs to be.”

Pyotr Alekseevich picked up his mug and took a sip of the hot liquid. “You mean to all the meetings and briefings and trips to the oil field?”

“Yes,” Nikolai said.

“And what are you going to do there? Some meetings can last a long time.”

“Don’t worry about it. My job is to make sure that Natalya is protected, and the length of a meeting is not a factor in it.”

“I still don’t understand. Why is this protection even needed? Neither her dad nor your boss could explain it to me. What could possibly happen to her during a meeting?”

“Probably, nothing. But I was hired to protect her, and I will do my job the best I can, whether an obvious threat is present or not. Also, if I see something I need to discuss with you, I will let you know.”

“Like what?” Pyotr Alekseevich said.

“I don’t know right now, but that’s what I’m supposed to look for. And I won’t be in the way, if that’s a concern for you. I’ll be quiet and unobtrusive.”

“All right, fine,” Pyotr Alekseevich said to Nikolai and turned to Natalya. “Tomorrow morning, we have a pipeline meeting up on the oil field. The discussion can get pretty involved and quite technical, and I’d like you to be able to follow it.” Pyotr Alekseevich reached for the keyboard, then shook his head. “Sorry. My computer has been acting up today. Let’s do this the old-fashioned way.” He unfolded a map on top of a pile of books, notepads and empty coffee mugs cluttering his desk, reached under the map and pulled out a pencil. “Here’s our oil field.” He drew a circle in the middle of the map. “Here’s the river.” He drew a line next to the circle.