The following material is subject to copyright. This is a slightly edited and preliminary version of 'The Acronym'.
Chapter 3
St. Petersburg, Russia. One week later.
The English ivy was growing out of control.
Green and healthy, the heart shaped leaves reached along spider leg stems from the mossy hanging basket all the way down to the cast iron, white radiator. Fifteen hours of daylight near the large, fourth story window seemed to have had an invigorating effect. With a few snaps this happily growing fellow would be put back to a manageable size. But she would have to trim it some other time. Right now, she had to hurry.
Dressed in a black skirt, a white blouse and apron, the maid was watering the array of house plants. Her sneakers squeaked quietly on the polished white marble floor as she walked quickly through the large entry hall which was tastefully decorated in light beige, taupe, and warm bordeaux tones.
After a short knock the tall wooden pocket door slowly, disappeared into the wall, and opened the entrance to the adjoining office. It was comparable in size and furnished with hand-crafted antiques made out of exotic woods. An exquisite, pale blue, hand woven Berber accented the dark, hardwood floor. The maid did not pay any attention to the visitor; instead, she set down her copper watering can and respectfully stepped outside through the side entrance.
The man standing in the door way to the office was young, barely in his twenties, and he was very nervous. He removed his round glasses from his pale and from fearful sweat gleaming face. He fumbled with them as he cleared his throat.
Sergei Selkin looked up without lifting his head. He sat behind his antique, Brazilian Santos mahogany desk reading the evening issue of the St. Petersburg Press. The latest article on the trial of Siberia’s biggest oil tycoon, Piotr Lagunov, did not reveal anything new. It seemed like Selkin’s contact within the authorities had been correct and they were still chasing their tails, or the investigators withheld vital information from the press - and his informant.
His last conversation with the Prosecutor General himself had been promising. Selkin knew just how much pressure was enough. He was, after all, one of the most significant
business men in west Russia; but once again, the Americans seemed to have found a way of obstructing his plans.
He lowered his eyes back to the paper and continued to ignore the fidgety man standing in his door way. Selkin stroked over his short, sandy blond hair, sneering about that phone call he’d have to make very soon. Leverage had to be applied over seas in a very serious way. Someone would have to make it very clear, that the days of playing these fucking cat and mouse games were over.
He would take no more of this!
God dam Americans!
Pure enmity crawled up his stomach like the sour taste of raging acid. Selkin lost himself in more loathing thoughts as another embarrassed sound came from where the young man stood. He held his hand in front of his mouth and tried to make himself noticeable, again.
“I heard you the first time, Dimitri,” Selkin said annoyed. His voice was low. It sounded like a warning. He stood and motioned to the young Russian to step closer. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Dimitri placed his glasses back onto his narrow face and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He walked closer and held a large envelope in his other sticking it out in front of him, like a knight’s shield which would protect him from the brutal rage Sergei Selkin was known for.
His quiet voice held a bit of a tremor. He explained, “This is my preliminary work. They still have to be digitally enhanced and I will be able to clean them up a lot more. I have been told that you would like to see the first ones as soon as I have them done.”
Selkin had walked around his desk while Dimitri spoke. He now stood close to the young man who was about his height, average but he was a bit narrower framed. Dimitri studied the envelope he held in his hand, unable to withstand his boss’s piercing, cold eyes. Selkin smiled to himself. If he’d say boo, he was sure the man would piss in his pants. People were afraid of him, and he made sure they had every reason to.
He took the envelope and placed it behind him, on top of his desk. “That’s all,” Selkin said briskly and Dimitri turned around and was obviously very glad to get the hell out of there.
Selkin refilled his water glass from the crystal carafe the maid had left for him earlier; his eyes were glued to the envelope. He was a calculating man with a cool demeanor and an unusually high IQ, a full blown professional, not easily excited. But his heart beat quickened and a good dose of Adrenalin shot through his veins, now that he was turning this operation to his advantage. If the content of this envelope was anything near to what he’d been promised, he would be a great step closer to fully succeed.
