END OF AN ERA
The world holds its' breath as Vladimir Putin, age 121, hovers on death's doorstep. This enigmatic figure has, without interruption, held the presidency of the Russian Federation since the controversial 2020 amendment to Russia's constitution.
It is widely known that his current state of ill-health coincides with the upcoming elections, causing many to speculate on the fate of the similarly ailing United Russia coalition, not to mention the presidency…
- BnL World News Daily, 09/07/71
"We have arrived, Your Excellency."
Chairman of the Government of the Russian Federation, Galia Ryzkhov, looked contemplatively through the window of the armored car. Then his bodyguards came boiling out of the automobile, hands on their pistols, as one of their number hurried over to his side of the car and opened the door.
"It's clear, sir," the man said, keeping a hand close to his weapon despite his words.
Galia gave a little smile, saying, "I should hope so. If the president's own home isn't safe, my good Andrick, then what is?"
Helping the Prime Minister out of his car, Galia's head of security said stiffly, "We're only doing our job, sir."
"Of course, of course. I did not mean to impugn you or your men's abilities. However…" Ryzkhov inclined his head. "I was thinking that I do not need my entire complement of guards accompanying me to see the President, yes?"
Andrick's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Ah. Certainly, sir. I will instruct the others to wait in the car while I accompany you, sir."
"I am afraid you misunderstand. I would prefer that no one come with me on my visit," Galia said.
"That isn't safe at all, sir," Andrick said, "I can promise you that I will try my utmost to be tactful. I have been with you here many times before."
The Prime Minister pursed his lips. "Mr. Chernoff, I insist that you stay. This meeting, unlike the others, must be completely discreet. I emphasize the word discreet."
"But sir, I-" He let the air out of his lungs with an audible chuff. "Fine, sir. I'll be out here, in the car."
Nodding his head in satisfaction, Galia went on towards the Novo-Ogaryovo, Putin's personal estate for more than seventy years.
After entering its' massive doors, he noticed a dozing soldier in a badly fitted uniform sitting on a stool next to the entrance. Galia let out a forceful cough, causing the guard to jerk upright with a muffled snort.
The soldier stared blearily at the person who woke him up, before his eyes widened in shock. "Chairman Ryzkhov!" He shot up from his chair and hastily saluted. "Sir! I-I was just resting my eyes, sir!"
"That's quite all right, young man. The hour is quite late, I am sure," Galia said kindly.
"Um, yes, sir. Right you are, sir," the soldier said, shifting nervously from foot to foot.
"Very well. I will see you later, then, Mr…"
"Markov. Private Markov, sir."
"Good evening, Private Markov. May your watch be untroubled." He turned to leave when he heard Markov shout behind him.
"Sir! Wait, sir!"
Facing the guard with a sigh, Galia said, "Yes?"
"I'm uh… I'm supposed to search you, sir. For weapons." He gulped. "I have to do this with everyone who comes in. Sorry, sir."
"That was very astute of you to remember, Private. I will be glad to let you search me."
"Thank you, sir." Markov went back over to his stool, retrieving an aging metal detector and an open-faced plastic box from underneath it. "Put all your metal things in here, please, sir."
Beginning with his battered cigar box, Ryzkhov complied. After doing so, the private waved the detector around the Prime Minister. It didn't make a noise. "Alright, sir. You're clear."
"I'm thrilled," Galia said drily. "If there isn't anything else…" His voice trailed off.
"Oh, no, sir. That's it. You can go up and see the president now, sir."
Giving a smile by way of response, he strode off to see his oldest, dearest friend.