Hours passed. Nina was sitting with a phone in her hand, waiting for God knows what.
When the short autumn day turned to evening, she said to herself, “That’s it. I can’t take it any more.”
Hardly realizing what she was doing, she set off for Gradbank.
As she was approaching the building of the bank, a beautiful, expensive car pulled out of the parking lot. The car seemed familiar to Nina but she was unable to place it.
Nina started crossing a wide asphalted space. The car that seconds before had been at the far end of the parking lot was nearing rapidly.
Trying to get out of the way, Nina took a few steps aside, towards a railed-off sidewalk. The car seemed to alter its course slightly and was now heading in her direction. Puzzled, Nina quickened her pace, but the car accelerated, too. It was clear now that, even if Nina ran like a sprinter, she would not make it to the safe sidewalk. The crazy car was tearing along right at her. And then it came home to Nina whose automobile it was. It was Marina’s.
The distance between them was shrinking swiftly – twenty meters, ten meters, five meters… Nina shut her eyes tight.
The screech of the brakes was deafening. When Nina opened her eyes, a gorgeous bumper was glistening close by, and smoke was rising from the wheels of the mercilessly stopped car.
Marina was glaring at her from an open window.
“You deserve to be run over, you bitch…”
Nina was barely conscious and weak in the knees.
“Going to see him?” Marina asked and answered herself: “Sure you are.”
Even now, despite all her ugly hatred, Marina’s face was beautiful.
“Yeah, right, go ahead,” she said. “I hope you’ll get zapped there along with him.” Nina kept silent.
Marina set the car in motion and skirted Nina who was unable to move as if rooted to the ground.
Marina braked again as she was side by side with Nina and asked suddenly, “Do you even love him, or just…”
“I love him,” Nina said resolutely.
“Bitch,” pronounced Marina.
She stepped on the gas and drove off, gaining speed. After a few seconds, the beautiful car disappeared from view.
When she regained her senses, Nina hurried to the building entrance. Marina who hated her had let her know the main thing: Samsonov was in the bank.
Nina had been in the bank on weekends before. Usually, there were some people there on both Saturdays and Sundays – some kind of emergency constantly arose in one or another department, and the employees worked overtime. Now Nina was struck by the quiet: there was no one around, and not a sound – of human voices or working elevators – could be heard. The bank was empty.
A guard stopped her: “You can’t go in.”
But Nina would not be stopped. She waved her pass: “I’m the director’s assistant. I have admittance to the twelfth floor at any time.”
The guard clearly hesitated but he was still blocking her way. “All the same, nobody is allowed in. We’ve had special orders.”
“Who gave the orders? Gennadiy Viktorovich?” Nina asked and, on a sudden inspiration, bluffed: “I just visited him in the hospital, and he sent me down here to Pavel Mikhailovich.”
Unable to withstand such pressure, the guard reluctantly let Nina in. As she was entering the elevator, Nina saw him speak on the phone with someone.
On the twelfth floor, where one muscular young man had always been on watch, there were two of them now.
“Where are you heading? How did you get here?”
“I need to see Pavel Mikhailovich. It’s urgent,” Nina declared.
Both muscular guards knew Nina well – they had more than once seen her with the director. For the twelfth floor, she was a persona grata.
“Open your bag.”
Nina complied. She had nothing in her bag except for the rusty dacha key and some snacks she had gathered for the trip that she and her father had planned.
“You may pass.”
The reception room was empty and almost totally dark. Some light was filtering from the director’s office whose door was slightly ajar.
Nina stepped into the office.
Pavel Mikhailovich was sitting in a chair, smoking. The director’s desk was occupied by Kolya who was busy cleaning a disassembled gun.
As she was opening the door, Nina wondered – what kind of reception was she in for? Was Samsonov going to be glad, or vexed, or just indifferent, to see her?
Samsonov’s face was alight with joy: “Nina!”
But the next moment already he jumped up, frowning: “Nina, what are doing here? Go away now!”
Tears welled up in Nina’s eyes.
“I just wanted to make sure everything was all right with you… And please, don’t you yell at me, Pavel Mikhailovich!”
Samsonov stepped up to her and took her by the arm.
“For God’s sake, Nina, what are doing to me? … I’m not yelling, I’m begging you to leave. You can’t stay here.”
“Pavel Mikhailovich, don’t talk to me like I’m five years old. I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on. It concerns me, too.”
Samsonov took it his own way.
“Nina, you are in no danger. The project has already been sent off to the committee. By the way, I made the changes that you suggested. I couldn’t make head or tail of your proposals, but I did all you wanted me to. You can see how much I trust you… Nobody’s going to harm you now – you only have to keep away from me.”
Nina clutched at his arm, her whole air testifying that she was not going to budge. “All right, Nina,” Samsonov gave in wearily. “I’ll tell you everything, but you must promise that you’ll leave right after that.”
Nina nodded without letting go of his arm.
Samsonov made her sit down and took a seat beside her.
“The matter is quite simple, Nina. They mean to kill me.”
He told Nina how things actually stood. As it happened, apart from the open competition, there was a fierce shadow battle going on for the project Zaryadje. Samsonov’s main rival, Atlas, had colluded with dissenters inside Gradbank. Too much was at stake, and the interested parties would stall at nothing. Samsonov’s opponents had no choice – they had to stop Gradbank at all cost, or else many of them would lose their career and money, if not life. They had tried to remove Samsonov in a legitimate way, through a general meeting. When that attempt failed, they tried bribing, then intimidating him.
“Nina, do you remember how we wallowed in the dust when the car was blown up? That was not in earnest yet, they just wanted to scare me. And then Klara…”
“Klara Fedorovna? What happened to her?”
Samsonov’s face was distorted by anguish.
“She stole some documents and handed them over to Atlas.”
“My God! …” Nina let out.
“Yeah, that’s that… To think that she’s been with me for over twenty years. Who’s to be trusted then?” Samsonov shook his head dejectedly. “On the other hand, one can understand her – she’s a mother.”
As it turned out, Klara Fedorovna was cursed with a misfortune which she did not share with anyone – her son Stanislav was a drug addict. Once he had been admitted to the architectural academy, he got mixed up with some bad company, neglected his studies and ran into debt. The international contest which he had nearly won was all a figment of Klara Fedorovna’s imagination – in reality, Stas had never even entered it. By now, Stas was on heroin in a big way. The academy was a thing of the past – he had got expelled from it a year ago. Two of his lot had died of overdose, and he was in for the same fate in the near future.
Klara Fedorovna tried to get him treated, but all in vain. She had one last hope now – to put Stas into a famous Swiss clinic where the likes of him reportedly were given real help.