Julia Gousseva: Gray Shadows: Russian Historical Thriller

The classroom door opened.

“Good work, everyone!” Anatoly said from the door, then addressed the blonde woman. “Physical preparation classes were not wasted on you.”

“Thanks,” the woman said and sat down in her seat.

Anatoly nodded to the kidnapper. “You’re free to go. Everyone else, have a seat.”

He walked to the front of the classroom and addressed the young woman. “You handled this situation well. And such situations are part of our job. But our main challenge and goal as bodyguards is to do everything in our power to prevent these types of scenarios.”

He paused and turned to Nikolai. “Can you take over for the remainder of class? I need to settle this one problem.” He pointed to the phone. “And stop by my office once you’re done here.”

Nikolai picked up his cane, got up from his seat, and walked to the front of the room. “If you are here because you think that the job of a bodyguard is glamorous, because you think you will make a fortune, or because you think you will become famous, you are wrong. If that’s what you expect, it would be best for you to leave now. Don’t waste your time. There are plenty of other jobs out there.”

He paused and looked around the room. “No shame in leaving if that’s what you want to do.”

Nobody moved.

Nikolai nodded, then continued. “Being a bodyguard is a dangerous job. And most of the time, it’s an invisible, hidden job. The best thing you can expect at the end of the day is to keep your client alive. If you manage to keep yourself alive as well, that’s an added plus. For obvious reasons.”

He picked up a marker and walked to the whiteboard. “Earlier, you asked what a real bodyguard is. A real bodyguard is like a gray shadow of his client: always there, always next to the client, watching and thinking, but never intrusive. The best bodyguard is barely noticeable, barely seen, both by the clients and by their potential enemies. As for what a bodyguard does, it’s three things.”

Nikolai stepped closer to the board and started writing. “One is foresee a threat. Two is avoid the threat, at any cost. And if, and only if, the first two fail, then it’s on to number three.”

Nikolai stopped writing and looked at the class. The students were quiet and attentive, so he continued. “The third and the final task is to eliminate the threat. And if you follow these three tasks, in that order, and with a cool head, then you are likely to keep your client and yourself alive. But there are no guarantees and no certainties. Except for these two: if you stay in this job, you will develop problems with your health and problems in your personal life. If you can’t handle that certainty, you can still leave the training. You need to make the best choice that fits you and your life. Some people don’t want to be constantly putting themselves in stressful and dangerous situations. Others, however, cannot imagine their life in any other way. They crave the satisfaction of a job well-done and they would rather risk their life than spend it in a regular desk job. If you are one of those people, then you’ve come to the right place.”

Nikolai looked at the class again. The students were quiet, looking at him, and listening, probably weighing their options. He paused, allowing them to consider what he had just said. It was an important choice to make. After a pause, he continued.

“The first and foremost muscle needed for a successful bodyguard is this one.” Nikolai pointed to his head. “The brain. You need to gather information, analyze it, synthesize it, and apply it to the situation at hand. Most of the time, all of that needs to be done quickly.”

Nikolai finished the lecture and dismissed the class. As the students left the room, he lingered at the desk, not wanting to show his physical vulnerabilities to the class. He remembered the time three years ago when he took the same class. Having had many of the same misconceptions about the life and work of a bodyguard, he knew exactly how these students felt. Nikolai rarely admitted it to others for fear of sounding too sentimental, but he was an idealist and wanted to make the world better. He believed that his job as a bodyguard, his ability to prevent acts of violence and save a life of a client was his small way of making this world a better and safer place.

“Great job, professor,” Anatoly said when Nikolai walked back into his office. “I could use some help in the classroom, you know. With more demand for personal protection and many new potential clients to work with, I’m having a hard time balancing teaching and client work. And the students like you.”

“Thanks, but it’s just not my thing. Classroom feels too confining.”

“And I’m guessing you’ll say the same about office work? Background checks, client interviews, things like that?”

Nikolai nodded. “Right. I don’t want to do office work. Isn’t there a real job I can do while I’m recuperating? I feel pretty good.”

“Not now. ‘Pretty good’ is not good enough for our clients. Get back to ‘excellent’ and we’ll talk again. But if you change your mind about teaching, the classroom is waiting.”

“Thanks, Anatoly. You’re right. I at least need to get off all those weird drugs they keep giving me. I don’t feel as alert as I should be on a real assignment. I’ll think about the classroom.” Nikolai turned around and headed outside.

The afternoon was fresh and crisp, rare for Moscow’s usually wet winters, his leg felt better, so Nikolai started walking. The office was only three blocks away from the apartment he shared with Olga, and a walk would help clear his head and work out any lingering soreness in his body. The apartment was his, but Olga was as much in charge of it as Nikolai was. It was their joint decision to rent out Olga’s place and live in Nikolai’s: hers was closer to a metro station and yielded slightly higher rent, thus, more extra income for them, and his was closer to Nikolai’s office. Olga’s work was a few metro stations away from either one, so that was not a factor in the decision.

Living together was a new arrangement for them as of the past two months, and Nikolai knew that Olga wanted more than just a joint living arrangement, and she deserved more, too. She was caring, ambitious, successful, and pretty, and all these were qualities that any man would cherish and admire. Nikolai did, too, he just did not feel ready to completely commit to a life, marriage and kids, with Olga. He did not want her to spend her life worrying about him, or worse, becoming a widow and a single mom after an assignment gone wrong for Nikolai. There was another issue in their relationship, too, that made it difficult for him to propose to Olga, but he did not want to admit it, even to himself.

He crossed the street and turned into a small lane leading to their building. He had lived in the center of Moscow since he was a little kid, and loved everything about it: the mix of the old and the new architecture, the narrow streets punctuated by small parks and playgrounds, the proximity to famous theatres and to the Red Square, with its beautiful red brick architecture, the ancient towers, and the newly re-opened cathedrals. He liked being close to all the important places, yet away from big streets and noise. The area and the apartment were familiar and, therefore, pleasant and comfortable.

Looking at the few remaining Soviet-style buildings, at his old school that had stayed unchanged since his childhood, and at the little bakery on the corner, Nikolai felt immersed into his own past and into the old Russia. The new Russia offered many more work and travel opportunities for him, but he sometimes felt nostalgic for the old times, for the simpler times, when he and his friends sat in the kitchen late at night, drank endless cups of tea, played their guitars, and debated the meaning of life. Now, people were different: even young people were concerned with money, business successes, purchases, and other material things. They did not seem as idealistic and as pure as Nikolai and his friends used to be.