HELIX (a technothriller)

2 - Russia

TEN YEARS AGO

St Petersburg, Russia

'Wake up.'

Olesya rubbed her eyes. Zakhar, her older brother, was whispering in her ear.

'What are you doing?' she asked, sitting up.

Zakhar held a letter, typed and printed. She tried to read it but some of the English words were difficult. Zakhar giggled and folded the paper over to reveal the Russian translation.

'I'm ... accepted? I have the scholarship?' she asked.

He grinned. 'Congratulations!'

'Where did you get this?' she asked.

'I took it from the kitchen,' Zakhar said. 'But you need to act surprised when they tell us tomorrow.'

Olesya looked at him. 'Where's your letter? Did you get in?'

'No,' he said. 'My letter's different.'

'But ... I'm going without you?'

Zakhar smiled. 'You're fourteen now, you can do it. I know you can.'

She looked at her brother. He was dressed in jeans, a down jacket and beanie.

'Where are you going?' she asked.

'I'm going to build a snowman,' he said. 'And I'm not doing it by myself.'

She frowned. 'In the middle of the night?'

'All the other kids are doing it. And it's your last New Year before you go.' Zakhar wiggled an eyebrow. 'You don't want to miss out on the fun. Unless you're boring—'

Olesya pushed him to one side. 'I'll get my boots—'

'These ones?' Zakhar was already holding them.

She grabbed them. 'Lucky guess.'

Zakhar paced the bedroom while she pulled a thick sweater and jeans over her pajamas. He'd already picked out their scarves and gloves. She reached for the door. Zakhar put his hand on her arm.

'The window,' he said. 'Always go through the window.'

Luckily they were on the first floor, because she didn't like heights. The window creaked as he opened it, and she hoped their parents wouldn't hear. She could hear them with the other adults. They were in the apartment next door, sharing Olivier salad, champagne and loud stories.

Their voices were constant enough to cover Zakhar's movements as he helped Olesya out into the winter's night, holding up the window so she could wriggle through. She let him take her hand and steer them to the subway, avoiding next door's windows. It was only a five-minute trip into town and they didn't have to wait more than a minute for the train.

It was almost two in the morning, but the streets were filled with equal amounts of kids and grownups. She watched kids slide down a hill on a wooden sled and plough into a clump of snow. They disappeared into the white, their laughter muffled.

Zakhar's nose was already winter-red as he pulled her eagerly toward the bridge. He wanted to walk across the canal—the water frozen solid—but she chose the bridge instead, not wanting to slip across the ice. He didn't protest and instead they crossed the bridge and reached the Palace Square. This was their first new-year celebration outside of their hometown in Belarus and she wasn't prepared for so many people or decorations.

In front of the peppermint and cream Winter Palace, Olesya could see large crowds gathering. Grownups ate pirozhki—pies filled with cabbage, mushrooms or beef—while the kids nibbled on sweet gingerbread. Some of the families danced around fir Christmas trees that sparkled with gold ornaments and purple, blue, and green fairy lights. They were dancing for Santa Claus—Grandfather Frost—and his granddaughter, the Snow Maiden.