The Last Romanov (Under Editing)

Undercover

A few more weeks, Virtanen promised himself as he walked through the corridors of the Winter Palace. Just a few more weeks, and all of this will be over. One way or another.

He wanted to go back to Helsinki like he'd never wanted anything, before. He missed his wife, his daughters, his friends, his comfortable flat; but, most of all, he missed not being at the heart of a country that seemed intent on tearing itself apart. He saw it everywhere he turned: brothers against brothers, fathers against sons; most of all, though, he saw the eyes cast down to the ground. Nobody dared to look up at other people on the street, as if they were afraid of what might happen to them if they did. As if they thought they would be the next ones to disappear in the middle of the night if they looked any of their neighbors in the eye.

He prayed that they would be able to free these people. That this revolution would end well for the Russian people, for once-

He bumped into one of the serving men.

Virtanen looked over his shoulder to look at him. "Sorry-"

That's when he caught a whiff of it. It was faint, but he could still smell it: sewer, beer, and cigarettes. That smell belonged to one man, and one man only.

He stopped and turned around, surprised. "Arttüri?"

He hoped – prayed – that he was wrong, but... well, he wasn't. Sure enough, the servant turned to look at him with one of his signature boyish grins.

"Ta da!" Arttüri said, holding his arms out as if it were some big reveal. "Surprised? You look pretty surprised."

Surprised? More like horrified. In fact, it was because of that horror that Virtanen didn't slap Arttüri, or worse.

"We need to talk," Virtanen said, his hands clenched at his sides. "Now."

Arttüri turned around and continued to walk down the hallway. "Can't: I'm busy. Got to get everybody's favorite Czarina her bedsheets-"

Virtanen grabbed Arttüri by the forearm and began to drag him through the hall, heading for a small alcove that he was fairly certain wasn't monitored by Anastasia's cameras. "Now, Arttüri!"

"Right, right," Arttüri muttered. "I kind of figured that you would want to talk. But, I kind of thought you would find a more discreet way of going about things. They've got cameras all over here, you know."

Virtanen gave him a look. "You really think I didn't know that?"

"Fair point." Arttüri pulled out a flask from his stack of laundry and took a swig. "So, what can I do you for?"

"Well, first of all, you can tell me what in the world you're doing here, playing dress-up," Virtanen said. "Second, you're going to tell me what the price is for getting you out of here. Third, I'm going to give you exactly five seconds head start to get out of here before I shove my foot up your ass!"

Arttüri let out a whistle. "I must say: I kind of like this side of you. Take names, show no mercy; I think this Simo is going to get a lot more done than the old, boring one. And I think he'll see more action with Iines. Or Alexandra."

Virtanen couldn't help it: he slapped him.

Arttüri gave him a weird look, then started laughing. "Really? That's it?"

"Start talking, before that five seconds becomes zero seconds!" Virtanen growled.

"Fine, fine," Arttüri said, rolling his eyes. "Some of us think you and the old lady are moving too slow, so we're making our own plans. That will end while we're still young." He began to rub the back of his neck. "Well, while some of us are still young, anyway."