«Shit, how did I miss it?» he mumbled again in a low voice.
Egorov took the sheet again and re-read it. The letter, written in a neat woman’s handwriting, was addressed to him. There was a date and a signature at the bottom. At last he drew a deep breath, like before jumping into water, and pressed the secretary’s call-button.
«Svetlana, please, find Morozov and call him here.»
He looked at the sheet of paper with disgust once again. There was a knock on the door.
«Come in,» said Egorov, sat straight in the chair and put on a serious expression.
Morozov, his deputy and a long-time friend, entered the room, stepping lightly. Morozov was a keen sportsman and looked a model Soviet officer. The uniform fit him like a glove.
«Dmitry, come in and sit down. We need to talk. I have a curious document for you. Read it carefully and then try to explain at least something to me.»
Egorov handed Morozov the sheet of paper. Dmitry looked at his boss attentively. His short hair was perfectly combed, and there was nothing but composure and sternness in his eyes. They had been friends for many years and he knew that if Egorov started talking in a dispassionate, indifferent tone it meant no good. Morozov looked at the paper and started reading. From the very first lines he understood what had happened and managed to quickly subdue a wave of rage. He read it and put the paper on the desk, and looked at Egorov. They were sitting silently for some time, staring at each other. Still saying nothing, Morozov got up and walked over to the window.
The boss had a perfect view from his window a feast for an artist’s eyes. Morozov loved just standing there and admiring the scenery, but at that moment he did not feel like enjoying the beauty of nature. He did not know what to tell Egorov, how to explain to him that the letter contained nothing but distorted facts. Dmitry turned back, looked at the paper once again and a hot wave of range welled up inside him, but he realized perfectly well that rage was useless here. Morozov sat down at the table again and, looking at Yegorov, finally spoke.
« Nikolay, we have known each other for many years, and you know me well. You know, naughty where I live and work is not in my rules, and even more so with a girl like Svetlana. She has been working for you for a couple of years, and you know she nips all the attempts of her colleagues to flirt with her in the bud, there is nothing to reproach her with. She is a very beautiful girl, but serious and responsible.»
The boss’s expression did not change. He was staring at his friend for some time, and then he took a file from his desk and handed it to him.
«Have a look – this is Nelly Belov’s file. She was employed here because she is the fiancée of a sailor – Victor Tabunov. They are both from Ivanovo. But for a personal request from the Leningrad KGB she would not have got a job at our military base.
Morozov was briefly fumbling through the pages of the dossier. The girl looking at him from the standard photo was not a beauty at all. She looked suspicious and filled with resent for the entire world. The image of her face was complimented with two large moles and massive ears. Nelly came from the family of dispossessed kulaks, finished the technical school in Ivanovo and kept a low profile. There have been no complaints about her during her work at the base. She is diligent, efficient, and punctual. Speaking of men, she had close contacts only with her fiancé, Victor Tabunov.
