The Bear

Day Fifteen The Kremlin

The wind whistled about the ancient walls; the weather blowing in from the top of the world pushed against the tarnished glass, panes that had been in place for over a century. Andrey felt winter’s grip tighten about him in his office. He shivered, pulling his cloak around his shoulders. His eye caught the bars that decorated his wool, military overcoat. It was still the warmest coat he owned. At least the USSR did something right. He kept it close in his office, but never venturing out with it. It was a keepsake, a reminder of where he’d come from, the hardships he had overcome on his march up the ranks.

He stared across his desk to the opposite wall, taking note of the dark paneling framing the single painting hanging in the stillness. It was a nice work, a painting by Akimov, an eighteenth century classical artist. But it wasn’t quite his style. He’d often wondered how it arrived here, long before his time. He was sure it was the handiwork of Soviet imperialists. He preferred a more modern style.

He slipped his hand into his pant pocket as he continued to stare, his fingertips feeling the crease of the paper folded within. He hadn’t looked at it since he boarded the plane to come home. He knew what it said; a number and ‘four days’. Today was the fourth day. He began to remove his hand, but the temptation was too strong. His fingers continued their dance before he could no longer fight the urge. His hand slipped from his pocket and up to the desk drawer on his left. His cell phone was in his palm seconds later. He didn’t need the paper. His thumb ran across the numbers as if he had dialed it a hundred times. In his mind, he had done so; 8-495-262-7626. Perhaps a thousand times. Two rings.

“Hello?” Andrey asked as the ringing stopped.

“Helikon Opera Theater. 48 hours.”

Andrey looked at his phone as the line went dead. That was it. It was over.