Part I
Catherine III
Part I
“Who shall call them from the grey twilight, the forgotten people?”
-Anastasia Romanov
Yuri Kostov sat in his office at the Kremlin, at his desk that had served every sitting leader of Russia since the dawn of Communism, sipping a glass of tea, looking out his window. Below, on the moat bridge entrance of the famed Moscow fortress, some local primary school classes were hanging handmade Christmas puppets on the brick walls that framed the main gate to the historic enclave. It was a tradition that had begun the year that Communism had fallen, and the eager democrats had begun to reshape the largest country on Earth.
Yuri smiled. His life had become peaceful over the last several months. He had defeated his nemesis, and was now able to rule his country as he saw fit. As he watched the happy children displaying their art with the help of their proud teachers, he felt satisfied. He’d taken part in the birth of the puppet tradition for Christmas at the Kremlin gates. It was the way that he felt Christmas should be. He believed that his way was best for his people.
Protests to bring back a Tsar had diminished, just as he’d believed they would. It was the beginning of Christmas season and his people were able to celebrate the holidays as free citizens of Russia. This was because of progression not regression. He was the future, and the future was the best direction in which to set aim. To go back meant to risk giving up what they’d all worked so hard to achieve.
No sane person would choose to return to the ancient ways. No rational human would choose to become a subject to a royal ruler in the modern age, where the most powerful countries in the world had become democracies. He’d won. He’d kept Stacey Godunov out of the lime light and off the ancient throne of Russia long enough that she’d faded from the people’s memories. She’d faded like a flash in a pan, into nothingness. It was his world now. If only she could be a distant memory to him.
Yuri sighed and checked his calendar. It was the day of the month that he hated most. One day each month he attempted to talk to Stacey. It normally ended badly, with threats and accusations; yelling and a stubbornness that he’d never before encountered. He looked at his watch and decided that he’d better make his monthly call before it got too late in Eastern Siberia, where Stacey currently resided in exile.
Yuri pushed an old fashioned call button on his old intercom system. “Galina, it is that time,” he said. “Could you place my monthly call to Mrs. Godunov?”
“Mr. President, Mrs. Godunov is waiting on line two for you,” Galina’s voice answered.
“You read my mind,” Yuri said, smiling. Galina’s voice often made him smile.
“I wish I could take credit for that. Actually, sir, she called for you,” Galina’s voice replied.
Yuri stared at the intercom. He suddenly got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. She had never called him before. Why now?
Yuri picked up his phone receiver and pressed the button next to the flashing green-yellow light. “Stacey, how nice to hear from you. I was just going to call you.”
“Hi, Yuri,” Stacey’s voice answered back. “How’s things?”
Yuri noticed raspiness in her voice. He wondered about her health. After all, he hadn’t actually seen her face to face since the Yakut couple Lena and Maksim had picked her up from him in a field in Oymyakon over two years ago.
“You sound different,” Yuri commented. “How are you feeling? Should I send a doctor to see you?”
“I’m fine,” Stacey replied
“Good,” Yuri lied. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s Thanksgiving in my world on Thursday. I would like to celebrate the holiday. The people here said that they would like to share it with me,” Stacey told him.
“That sounds lovely,” Yuri replied.
“Yes, it does,” Stacey agreed. “So, what do you say?”
Yuri was taken aback a little and minorly confused. “What do I say in reference to what?”
“Be a sport and come see what it’s like to celebrate Thanksgiving, American style,” she replied. “You wouldn’t be the first foreign head of state to participate, you know.”
Yuri didn’t answer her immediately. He wasn’t quite sure why she would try to make peace with him after all these years. She’d never had any interest in appeasing him. Everything she’d ever done that seemed to be in the name of peace had been a trick. He didn’t want to fall for her false promise again. He was starting to feel like the American cartoon of Charlie Brown every time Lucy pulled the football out from under his kicking foot. Coincidentally, that was what made him think of the American Thanksgiving holiday.
He took a quick moment to think. Stacey had been marooned in Oymyakon, Siberia for years. There was nothing there, save a pole that marked the coldest inhabited place in the Northern Hemisphere. Most of the world, except for some climatologists, didn’t know or care that the village even existed. Yuri couldn’t imagine any way that she could be up to anything in the vast wilderness where she lived. Maybe Siberia had finally broken her like a cowboy breaks a wild horse, mentally beating her into submission. Maybe she had asked him to Thanksgiving dinner to make peace and be an ally like the amicable interactions of pilgrims and the Indians in days of old. He was leery of it, but if he didn’t accept her invitation, she would believe that he was scared of her. He couldn’t have that.
“I believe that I can take you up on your offer,” Yuri finally replied. “May I bring something for the meal? That is customary, is it not?”
“Your making the long trip out here is more than enough, Yuri,” Stacey replied.
Stacey’s demeanor was so sugary sweet that Yuri could tell she was up to something, but what could it be? He’d monitored her the whole time that he’d kept her in Oymyakon. Lena and Maksim had reported all of her activities and any contact that she may have had with anyone outside the village. They had reported time and again that Stacey Godunov was doing only what she needed to in order to survive in the harsh environment of Oymyakon. Yuri had loyal spies, good satellite coverage and total control of the situation. He was as sure as he could be that she could not be plotting anything against him. She simply didn’t have the means to do so.
“Thursday?” he double checked.
“Can you make it for 2:00 p.m.?” she asked. “There’s a vast time difference. Will it be too early for you?”
“That will be fine. I can adjust,” Yuri told her.
“See you then,” Stacey said. “You can bring a plus one if you like. Oh, and dress warm. It’s a little chilly out here.”
“I will dress accordingly,” Yuri replied. “Borya will be my plus one.”
When he hung up the phone, he ran several possibilities through his mind of plots that Stacey might be planning. None of the scenarios that he envisioned made sense. She couldn’t fight against him. The people of Oymyakon had nothing as far as weapons of war or anything that would be used for a military action. She couldn’t attack him. He had vigilant body guards that would never allow her to mount a successful personal attack.
“Galina,” he said, pushing the button on his old intercom again. “Could you get me Yvgeni at the Strategic Monitoring Center please?”
“As you wish,” Galina replied. She wondered what was happening, that she needed to contact Yvgeni.
A short time later, the call was transferred. Yuri snatched up the phone receiver. “Yvgeni, how are you my friend?”
“I am well, Mr. President,” Yvgeni answered. “What can I do for you today?”
“I had a very strange call from my friend in Oymyakon,” Yuri told him. “Has there been any unusual activity in that sector recently?”
“Only snow sir, and a lot of it,” Yvgeni told him. “It is white and lifeless there. I saw a couple of reindeer herds wandering on their way south, but that was about it. It is sparse there at best. Would you like me to recheck the latest data? I may have missed something, simply because it makes us complacent to look at so much footage of lifeless white.”
Yuri suddenly felt as though he was being paranoid, like a teenager after his first joint. “No, that will not be necessary. I know the high quality of your work, and I have no reason to question it,” Yuri said. “Thank you.”
After he returned the receiver of his terribly outdated land line, he buzzed the intercom again. “Galina, I need you to arrange a transport for me to Oymyakon on Thursday.”
“Why sir?” Galina asked. “Is the princess all right? Will you be all right with her? It has always been a tedious issue for you. I do not mean to overstep, but she makes you crazy.”
Yuri rolled his eyes. If only Galina would forget about her and trust his intellect. “Yes, she is fine, and I am fine. There is no trouble. I believe she has accepted her fate. She has invited me to an American style Thanksgiving dinner.”
Start writing here…
