Surkov was barking orders from 6.00 a.m. He hadn’t slept at all that night. He was like a child eagerly expecting Santa Claus, unable to contain his excitement. However, having waited all his adult life for this moment, it was hardly surprising that he was worked up.
As the President’s helicopter came in to land on the lawn, Surkov waited patiently for the blades to stop before walking forward and greeting President Alexey Gagarin, son of the famous cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin, born just days after his father’s tragic death. Surkov greeted him warmly and guided him towards Grebnevo, a secret that the young president had been keen to uncover since his inauguration some two years earlier.
His presidency was more akin to a coronation. His name, handed down by his hero father, lived on in the hearts of every Russian and it was, when he began to show an interest in politics, more a case when and not if he would become President. Even after the fall of the Soviet Union, the Gagarins had benefited from financial support and through various anonymous benefactors, the young Alexey wanted for nothing and received fully funded scholarships to the best schools around the world. Little did he know that Surkov and his benefactors had been behind his education, that he’d been chosen from a select few and that the chance meetings that had directed his life had been engineered to perfection. From the day he was born, the young Alexey’s life was plotted and planned precisely. Right up until the moment he stepped off the helicopter and accompanied Dr Boris Surkov into his office. Surkov instructing his bodyguards to wait outside.
“So, Dr Surkov, you have me intrigued,” said the President, taking a seat on one of Surkov’s two sofas.
Surkov poured the tea just as he knew the President liked it. There was nothing Dr Surkov did not know about the young President. He knew his favorite meal, he knew his favorite TV shows, he knew he liked to play video games. He knew who he trusted and who he disliked in his cabinet. He knew more about the President than he probably knew about himself.
He carried the tea over and handed it to the President and joined him on the opposite sofa.
“Let me tell you a story about a young boy in Auschwitz who met a doctor who changed his life forever…” he began as the President took his first sip of tea.
A beep interrupted the proceedings but it was a beep that Surkov had been expecting. He excused himself and checked the message from Katherine. Borodin had failed.
“Everything OK?” asked the President, sensing something was wrong.
“Of course, everything’s fine.” He turned to see the President drink the last of his tea. Any thoughts of a change of plan were gone. He’d just have to hope Katherine succeeded where Borodin failed.
Just as he was about to rejoin the President, he noticed the message box still indicated one message. Katherine must have sent two in quick succession. He opened the second one and had Borodin been in the room, he would have happily gutted him with the blunt letter opener on his desk. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time Surkov had gutted somebody with a letter opener.
“Are you sure everything’s OK?” asked the President, the back of Surkov’s neck was almost bright red.
Surkov noted the President was beginning to slur his words. There was no turning back, no more delays. The time had come. As the President’s eyes closed, Surkov opened the door into his secret study. The world was about to see a new dawn.