Argentine Archive №1. Магомет Тимов

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СКАЧАТЬ I inherited from my father. Well, here’s my hand!”

      He got up and held out his hand to Ivan, which turned out to be wide, like a shovel. Ivan also stood opposite, habitually shook it, and it felt as if his fingers were in a steel grip. Kotov was trying to determine how long the student could resist his vice-like grip, which was probably developed over many years of training.

      Ivan strained his hand as best he could, sweat beaded on his forehead from the pain. This did not escape the attention of Sergey Vladimirovich, but he only smirked and did not loosen his grip. Ivan noticed he did not resort to underhanded tricks, like some of his strong wrestling partners. For example, he did not press his thumb on a certain dimple of his opponent’s hand, nor did he try to crush his fingers. Kotov played fair, and Ivan muttered honestly after half a minute:

      “That's it, I'm done. I give up!”

      Kotov released his grip, patted his shoulder with his palm:

      “Well done. Few would have stood against me. Strong, young man.”

      Kotov took his seat again.

      “Thank you.” Ivan stood opposite and rubbed his throbbing hand for some time.

      “Not at all. Let's get down to business. You study in the Spanish department, don't you?”

      Ivan nodded, trying to predict the next question. What Kotov followed up with was unexpected.

      “¿Te gustaría practicar el idioma en el país del idioma que estás estudiando?”

      “Por supuesto, ¡y quién no querría esto!“

      Ivan answered reflexively and suddenly froze. Kotov watched him mockingly. Then he nodded curtly at the wide sofa, where the dean usually offered a place to distinguished guests. Ivan sat down on edge and asked cautiously:

      “So, you speak Spanish?”

      “Have you noticed?” asked Sergey Vladimirovich, mischievous notes in his voice.

      “On the contrary, you have excellent pronunciation,” Ivan said, encouraged by a delay in his punishment for absenteeism. “The real Español Castellano!”

      “I know,” the guest replied with unexpected sadness. “This is bad.”

      “Why?” snapped Sarmatov.

      “Because, my dear Ivan Petrovich, should you meet all the requirements our service makes of candidates and we end up working together, we’ll need to go exactly where my ‘Castellano’ is poorly understood. Well, I can see in your eyes you’re astonished. I’ll repeat the approach, as our pilots say. Let me introduce myself: Sergey Vladimirovich Kotov, Major of State Security. Glad to meet you. And I came here precisely for your undoubtedly immortal soul, Ivan-sunshine-Petrovich. To make you one most interesting proposal, from my point of view. I want to invite you to serve with us.”

      Ivan was incredulous. He looked at Kotov as if expecting a trick:

      “I don't understand. For the authorities, or what?”

      The major nodded.

      “Exactly. At the MGB. Ministry of State Security. Just let's make a reservation right away,” he raised his hand, stopping Ivan, who was ready to jump up from his overwhelming feelings. “If you agree to cooperate with us, then immediately after passing your state exams, you’ll go to our school to take a special course. If, after what you have heard here and now, you refuse – wait, don’t interrupt your elders! – then, you’ll immediately forget about our conversation forever and ever. As they say, we talked and went our separate ways without consequences. I will ask you to sign the corresponding papers later. So?”

      “I agree.” Ivan nodded quickly and caught Kotov's mocking glance. “What now? Did I say the wrong thing again? Was it necessary to sign an oath in blood or something?”

      Kotov suddenly became serious.

      “Don’t talk nonsense. I don’t care about your blood. Somehow, we’ll manage without it. But you have to sign something.”

      He took out from somewhere from under the chair a voluminous briefcase, clanked the copper clasps, and pulled out a thin folder from its voluminous interior. It contained only one sheet of paper with neatly printed text. He took it, stared at it for a while as if it was a window. He then put it on the coffee table, which was next to the sofa, and pushed it over to Ivan.

      “Read and sign. Do you have a pen, student?”

      Ivan took out of his inner jacket pocket a fancy 'Parker' – a gift from his father and an object of his classmates’ envy. Without reading it, he signed the document with a flourish. Kotov grunted and took the paper. He looked with regret at the fresh signature, and with a sharp movement, tore it up.

      Ivan jumped up:

      “What are you doing! I signed that document!”

      “But you haven't read it.” Metal rumbled in the Major's voice, which made Ivan's nose seem to freeze like the Arctic suddenly rose.

      “You broke two commandments of the Chekist at once,” Sergey Vladimirovich continued, “you didn't follow my orders and didn't read what you were signing. You can consult your friends at the Moscow University Law School about the perniciousness of the latter fact, even in everyday life. They’ll explain everything to you.”

      “But I…”

      “I understand. You trusted me. Flattering, but it doesn’t absolve you of responsibility for your actions. Seems I have to do everything with you more than once.”

      From somewhere, the major took out a second sheet of the same kind – the twin brother of the first – and handed it to Ivan.

      “Read and sign.”

      Sarmatov nodded and read the paper, which turned out to be a statement that he undertakes to keep state secrets, not to communicate with foreign citizens or inform the relevant services about inevitable contacts, and so on, and so on. After reading to the end, he looked up at the grinning Kotov.

      “All clear?” he asked sarcastically. Ivan nodded.

      “It seems like it, yes. Can I sign?”

      “Go ahead,” the major said as he nodded. “The most important thing is that you have no questions now. Questions that arise, we’ll answer elsewhere.”

      From the face of Sarmatov, who signed the paper, it was clear that he had a lot of questions, but they were all irrelevant. After handing the sheet to the major, Ivan asked anyway.

      “And where am I going to work? You hinted at a Hispanic country.”

      Kotov put the sheet into a folder, the folder into the briefcase. He snapped the locks shut and, putting the leather monster aside, said:

      “The hot Spaniards will be both mulattos and creole. In the meantime, we will assign you to Bureau № 1, kid. This is your main workplace, after you pass the exams, of course. And any outstanding tests, by the way. I can’t cancel your ninety-four hours of truancy, so I’ll have to correct the situation myself. In terms of study, of course, if we find you skipping out, so be it, we’ll write you off.”

      Ivan nodded once.

      “Thank СКАЧАТЬ