Vektor Read Online Free PDF Page B

cigarette he had lit to annoy the younger Internal Affairs agent.
    “Do you want me to wait here?” Prerovsky said.
    “Don’t you have a fucking job to do?”
    “Keeping you out of trouble is a full-time job,” he said and stood up to get the door for Kaparov.
    Kaparov retrieved his suit jacket from a tree stand next to the door and squeezed the ill-fitting brown jacket over his saggy frame. He pulled down on the lapels out of habit, which did little to flatten the wrinkles.
    “I think it’s time for a new suit,” his deputy said.
    “Maybe it’s time for a new deputy director,” Kaparov said, raising an eyebrow.
    “If you’re not back within the hour, I’ll start looking for my new deputy,” Prerovsky said, dusting off the shoulders of Kaparov’s jacket.
    “If succeeding me gives you hope, who am I to crush the dream?”
    “You can’t blame a young man for dreaming. See you in few minutes. Greshnev isn’t one for many words,” Prerovsky said.
    Kaparov walked through the cluster of cubicles and workstations that defined his turf on the third floor. Few of his analysts looked up from their work to greet him, which was to be expected. His true mood, or whatever he chose to display, was rarely established before lunch, and nobody wanted to push their luck, especially after a visit from Internal Affairs. This suited him fine. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk on most days, and today was no exception. Despite this preference, he’d have to put on a smile and do some public relations work, regardless of the meeting’s outcome.
    In a few seconds, word would spread like wildfire that he was meeting with Greshnev, fueling rumors limited only by their wildest imagination. Within two minutes, half of them will be despondent, convinced that the entire section would be dismissed, their careers forever tainted by Kaparov’s stubbornness. The other half would start to prepare their transfer requests, certain that Greshnev would appoint a ruthlessly cruel director to replace Kaparov and reform the section. He’d spend half of the remaining day smiling and assuring them that everything was fine. The smiling was the worst part. Kaparov hated smiling.
    He proceeded past the boundary of his section and turned onto a central thoroughfare leading to the staircase. A few minutes later, he was standing in front of Greshnev’s secretary like a schoolboy waiting to see the principal for a spanking. She barely acknowledged his presence, and he silently refused to take one of the wooden chairs against the wall.
    Inga Soyev, as her desk placard indicated, had apparently been a fixture in this building before Kaparov started his career with the KGB in 1973. With silver hair and graying skin, she looked old enough to have served as a secretary under Stalin’s regime. Despite her years, she looked sturdy. When she stood up to open the door to announce Kaparov to Greshnev, she showed no signs of advanced age so common among senior Muscovites. Wearing a pressed knee-length gray skirt and starched white blouse, she moved steadily and surely, with perfect posture. Kaparov suddenly felt self-conscious about his shabby appearance and unhealthy aura.
    “The director will see you now,” she stated without smiling.
    “Thank you,” Kaparov said, moving past her scornful gaze as quickly as possible without breaking into a run.
    The door closed behind him.
    “Alexei. Have a seat, please,” Greshnev said, indicating the cushioned, straight-back chair in front of his desk.
    “Thank you, sir.”
    He wondered if he would have the opportunity to say more than “thank you” to Greshnev. Actually, if that was all he was required to say, the meeting would be a success.
    “I just spoke with Internal Affairs,” Greshnev began.
    “So did I. Less than five minutes ago, coincidentally,” Kaparov replied.
    Greshnev showed the faintest hint of a smile, which faded as quickly as it arrived. “Monchegorsk is a closed issue.”
    “I