The vice presidential limousine traveled down the streets of Washington DC while the escort vehicles flanked all sides. Sitting in the limousine I closed back my eyes to have a shut-eye while Oliver sat beside me, running my office efficiently as his job describes him as through his phone and tablet. The first of the two-day summit ended with several agreements and arguments to boot. "Hello? Vice President's office." Oliver answered a call. "... I see. I will notify the vice president." he pocketed the phone just as I opened my eyes.
"What is it?" I asked, trying to not sound my irritation towards the unexpected phone call.
"Sorry to interrupt your sleep Madam Vice President." my chief of staff replied, throwing me an apologetic gaze. "Tatiana Volodin wants to speak with you in a secure location."
"The wife of the leader of the Russian opposition? Now?" I asked. "Do I still have any other engagements?"
"Not much ma'am." he replied.
"Okay." I say, dipping my head low. "Yet, no reports from Director Carey."
"I'll arrange for that meeting ma'am." he said, taking out his phone. The motorcade reached the White House half an hour later and I reentered my office, sit back and waited. It's forty-five past five when Oliver knocked on the door of the office. "She's here." he said. I nodded. Tatiana Volodin entered the office after Oliver exited, caution written in her eyes as she nods at me in a polite manner. I gestured at the couch area facing my desk, offering her a seat. I got up from my seat and walked towards the couch area, sitting down to face her. She soon sat down, placing her purse beside her and leveled a gaze at me. The both of us maintained this interaction for a couple of minutes.
"You're here to speak with me in private." I say, breaking the silence. "If you have something to say you have to do it now."
"I believe that there are still old communists that want my husband dead." she said in English, but her Russian accent is still strong. "And the old communists doesn't like, the, what you Americans say when-"
"Loose ends, you mean." I say. "I understand your concern Mrs. Volodin."
"I cannot go back to my home in the state, I... I do not know where I can go." she say, holding back her urge to cry. "I know my husband is doing the right thing, but he doesn't deserve this."
"I support your husband's views of a democratic Russia Mrs. Volodin." I say. "But there are people, in your country, that doesn't like that idea."
"It's time to call for a change."
"Our countries has been in bitter rivalries during the Cold War, even then, tensions are still there despite the collapse of the Soviet Union."
"It will always be a hard battle." she said. Reaching into her handbag she pulled out an envelope and handed it to me. "Sergei would want you to read this. He was planning to thank you in person but it is too dangerous to do so right now." I took the letter but remained quiet as she stood up, preparing to leave. "I sincerely hope that the government will do their best to save Sergei." her last words before leaving the office. Holding the letter in my hands I looked at it for a while until both Timothy and Oliver walked in.
"Madam Vice President?" Oliver asked, prompting me to snap out of the trance. "How did it go?"
"She gave me a letter." I say, showing them. "Said it's from Sergei."
"Which reminds me of something ma'am."
"Which is?"
"Director Carey just called, he was asking whether that is the vice president available? He said it's about the Russian."
"If he's available now, I would like to see him." I say.
An hour later
If only mom recorded her interactions with any Russians, I thought to myself as I looked through my mother's journal for clues. She did get a thing right, don't simply trust Russian spies. A knock at the door prompted me to close back the book and call for the unknown person outside to come in. "Good afternoon Madam Vice President." said FBI director Ryan Carey as he enters the office. Instead of a sharply tailored suit Ryan came for the meeting in a casual but more towards the look of a private detective : a long-sleeved black sweater paired with a pair of navy blue pants, a grey overcoat and a pair of brown oxfords.
YOU ARE READING
Russian Roulette
Mystery / Thriller"This is a crossroad Isabella." he said. "There will be no return if you were captured." "Can I even turn back?" I asked.
