Skyfall

“I always told the men in my outfit don't complain, don't explain. Though you are not in my company I give you the same advice for free.”

They were a study in contrasts, in age and in every other way. Colonel Kuznekov was a rock of a man in his middle fifties, stocky and hard, his grizzled hair as tough as wire. Gregor Salnikov was a head taller and twenty years younger, blond, easy-going, still with the accent of his native Georgia. He led the way to the kitchen and while the Colonel dropped into a chair he put fresh tea in the pot and filled it with boiling water from the samovar.

“I thought I would bring my car and take you to the meeting,” Kuznekov said. “Very important, very high level, the world watching.”

Gregor looked up at the clock. “But there's more than an hour yet, plenty of time.”

“Good. We can enjoy some tea first.” Kuznekov dropped a slice of lemon into his glass and mashed it with his spoon. Instead of adding sugar he held a lump between his teeth and drank the tea through it in the old-fashioned manner. He did a lot of things like this and some people were foolish enough to take him for a rustic. “You have a very pleasant house here, Gregor,” he said.

“Yes,” Gregor said, looking around, his face falling as he did so. He had never learned to hide his emotions. Kuznekov nodded, understanding.

“Excuse me if I speak out of turn, but I think we are good enough friends for you to hear me out. You wear a black band on your sleeve — but you also wear one around your heart. I know it hurts you to talk of this, but some things must be discussed. How long it is now, two months since the plane crash? Those old Ilyushins, some of them should have been retired ten years ago. Your wife and small daughter. .. But you have to go on, eh?”

Gregor sat heavily, his hands clasped before him, head lowered. “There are times when I don't feel like going on.”

“Yet those are the times when we must. You look at me. An old family man, grandpa twelve times over. But it wasn't always that way. I was nine years old when the Germans came to our village.” His voice did not change much, but was suddenly harder, emotionless, his face the same. “Black uniforms, lightning bolts on their collars. Our people were in the way so they just wiped them out. Like beetles. I was lucky. I was out with the cows and they didn't see me. They shot the cows though.” He shook himself and took a long noisy sip of tea before he continued.

“So what was I to do? No one else there and all the Nazis between me and the rest of the country. I went to the forest and thought about it and met Pyotr there who was in the same fix. Only he had done something about it. He had a nice new German rifle and a wallet of ammunition and was cleaning blood from his ax.” He finished the tea with a happy sigh and put the glass down. “In the partisans we fought behind the enemy lines for the rest of the war. I killed my first man before I was ten years old. I tell you this simply to show you that life must go on. Your life must go on. I know how you feel but if you continue like this you'll be dropped from the Prometheus program. And whoever replaces you won't be able to do your work as well as you can.”

“I know this. I've been trying. But it's hard.”

“Nothing in this world is easy, my friend. But you owe it to yourself and to the rest of us to try.”

“Yes, I will, of course. Thank you.”

“Don't waste time thanking me. Just get into my eighteen-year-old racing car and break some records for the two-kilometer dash.”

3

“Mr. President, these are the ladies and gentlemen of the Council for Good Government of Topeka, Kansas.”

There were murmurs of greeting and some hesitant bows from the women in the delegation. President Bandin nodded his great head in solemn welcome, managing to convey a strong resemblance to Pope John bestowing a benediction. He did not stand, but met them eye to eye, for his chair was on a raised platform behind the great desk. His bandy legs did not match the noble breadth of his forehead, but none of his visitors were aware of this for the ceremonious hush of the Oval Room impressed and subdued even the most cantankerous. This was the heart of America and here, under the Great Seal of the Presidency, was the head of state.

“It is my pleasure to meet with you fine people from the great midwest, and I cannot tell you how much I back your efforts for good government. Though I understand that good government is not the reason that brings you so far to see me.”

President Bandin waited expectantly, the massive head tilted receptively to hear their pleas. Charley Dragoni, the presidential aide, touched the leader of the delegation on the arm, and nodded towards the President. The man took a step forward, coughing to cover his embarrassment, then spoke.

“Mr. President, I, that is we, want to… thank you for seeing us today. It's a great honor, believe me. What we come about is not so much government, I mean good government, like the name of our organization says, you know…”