Julia Gousseva: Gray Shadows: Russian Historical Thriller

Nikolai was fine with using the cane. But plenty of rest? That was questionable. He could never deal well with rest or too much idle time. Plus, he was all alone since Olga was still in St. Petersburg, so rest meant boredom and loneliness.

As soon as his hospital release papers were signed, Nikolai took a taxi to Anatoly’s office, a small two-story building with a tall wrought-iron fence around it. Nikolai pushed the intercom button, looked up, and waved to the camera mounted on top of the gate. The lock buzzed, Nikolai pulled on the gate, and walked inside.

The security guard greeted Nikolai, and Nikolai headed to Anatoly’s office located at the north end of the long hallway. The walls were painted light brown and decorated with prints of Moscow cityscapes.

The door to Anatoly’s office was open. Anatoly sat at his desk, busy with a thick file and two laptops at the same time.

“May I?” Nikolai said.

Anatoly looked up as soon as Nikolai walked in, leaning on the cane.

“You’re looking sophisticated,” Anatoly said. “With that cane, you could pass for a writer or an artist. What brings you here? Shouldn’t you be at home resting?”

Nikolai shrugged. “I can’t handle playing patient anymore. I need an assignment. Anything.”

“You are not ready to work with clients yet. Not with that cane and a limp. Also, the doctor said two more weeks of rest.” Anatoly shook his head. “Can’t violate doctor’s orders. If we do, your recovery will only take longer.”

“If I don’t have something to do, I’ll go insane. And no recovery time will help with that.”

Anatoly nodded. “I’ll look for something for you to do at the office. For now, why don’t you come with me to the classroom. I have a new group starting today.” Anatoly gestured to the door. “Let’s go. I know teaching is not exactly your thing, but that’s as much excitement as I can offer you right now.”

“Better than sitting at home,” Nikolai said. He wanted to get back into action as soon as possible. He was impatient, but he had to admit to himself that he wasn’t ready. Physically, he was not all back yet, and the medication he had to take for another week was not helping him mentally, either.

They walked to the south end of the same hallway and into the classroom at the end of the building. The classroom was medium-sized and could comfortably fit fifteen people, which was plenty for the type of training they were receiving. Future bodyguards, or personal protection officers, as they preferred to call themselves, needed individual attention from their instructors, and the small size of the classroom and of each class suited Anatoly just fine. The front of the classroom had a whiteboard and a rolled-up projection screen. A projector was mounted to the ceiling and connected to the computer at the instructor station at the front. The student desks were arranged in three rows, with five or six chairs in each row. The walls were bare. Anatoly considered posters, maps, slogans, and other decorative elements that many other classrooms had an unnecessary distraction and opted for clean walls painted light blue.

Nikolai found an empty seat at the back of the classroom, walked over to it, and sat down, carefully placing the cane on the floor next to his chair but out of the aisle so as not to create a tripping hazard.

The group was mainly young men who probably had just returned from the mandatory military service. Many looked like they had served in combat, Chechnya most likely. Nikolai could spot the ex-soldiers by a certain look in their eyes, despair mixed with relief. The physical and weapon training these men had was a definite advantage. The problem with the ex-soldiers was their tendency to be too aggressive and too ready to fight, and it was a challenge to convince them that a bodyguard’s main task was to calculate, predict, and prevent violence. Shooting and fighting was the last resort.

Only two women were in the group. One, a dark-haired woman in khakis and a hooded sweatshirt, sat in the back. The other, a blonde with a long ponytail, black eyelashes, and bright red nails, was in the front. She did not look like a fighter, but Nikolai had learned a long time ago that looks could be, and most often were, deceptive. Women made excellent bodyguards, but not all clients realized that. Most clients still did not believe that women could be effective. Plus, many clients were men, and their egos and images still had a hard time accepting physical help from women. But the smarter businessmen realized the advantages: women were much less obvious as bodyguards. When somebody saw a woman, they assumed she was a friend, a sister, a lover, or a nanny for the kids. Nobody instantly thought she was a bodyguard, and the surprise element made her job easier, and the client’s life was safer. The blonde girl in the front definitely did not look the part, and that could work to her advantage.

Anatoly greeted the students, walked over to the podium at the front of the room, placed his notebook and phone on it, and started his lecture.

“Before you commit to this course and to the career of a bodyguard, you need to know what a bodyguard is and, even more importantly, what a bodyguard is not. A bodyguard is not a tough muscular guy armed to his teeth who wears a leather jacket and looks scary. If you are here because you like that image and want to become that image, this career is not for you. If you think a bodyguard is a person who does not care about his own life and whose job is to use his body to shield his client, it means you have been watching too many Hollywood movies. That’s not what we train for and not what we do.”

A young male with a shaved head raised his hand. “But that’s the kind of bodyguards we always see, like at concerts, big presentations, and fancy restaurants.”

Anatoly chuckled. “That’s exactly the point. We always see them. Real bodyguards should not be seen. They should be gray shadows, unseen, unheard, and unnoticed. The bodyguards we see in all those places you talked about are a different category. They are more image-makers than bodyguards. If a mediocre singer, actress, or public figure wants to boost popularity, they hire a tough-looking guy to stand around and look menacing. And that often works, for the image. But as far as real protection goes, that accomplishes nothing. In the face of real danger, these image-makers can do nothing except put their clients and themselves in danger. Often, mortal danger.”

“So what does a real bodyguard do?” the same student asked.

“Good question. I’ll get to that.” Anatoly glanced at his phone, then at Nikolai. Nikolai nodded his understanding. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Anatoly walked outside and shut the classroom door behind him. The students shuffled in their seats and started chatting with each other quietly. For a few seconds, Nikolai heard Anatoly’s voice and his footsteps as he walked further from the classroom. Then, everything went quiet. Nikolai sat in silence, observing the room and waiting.

A moment later, the door opened and a man in dark clothes and a ski mask rushed into the classroom, his gun drawn.

The class gasped.

“Quiet!” The man looked around the room, then pointed the gun at the young blonde woman in the front.

“Get up!” he barked. “Anyone else moves, and I’ll shoot her.”

The young woman stood up. Nikolai could not see her facial expression, but her posture looked cautious and collected, in control.

Nikolai shuffled in his seat, evaluating the scene. He kept his eyes on the man and the young woman, trying to hide his emotions.

With a quick movement, the young woman flipped her chair over, tripped the intruder, and applied a headlock. He fell to the floor, and two other students subdued him while she wrestled his gun away. A little unrealistic, but not bad for the first class exercise, Nikolai thought.