"Departures"

Elliot-Mead Centre for Toxicology, Virology, and Epidemiology: Chicago.

Marco Cudicini had entered the staff room ashen faced before solemnly announcing to all present that their colleague Mikael Petrov would not be returning to join them, ever. He had left the room minutes earlier when Janie had called him to the telephone. The police, she had said. The staff room filled with the usual jokes about driving misdemeanours and parking tickets, a tone that changed dramatically when Cudicini returned.

Staniek leaned back in his chair inhaling deeply. He let the seconds draw out before answering his friend.

"What happened Marco?"

Marco Cudicini sipped at a beaker of water, and then sat down opposite him, and hung his head. "They found Petrov's body this morning. At the base of some ravine, about two miles from his cabin."

"A ravine? What was he doing there?"

"I don't know Vanya, I really don't know. There had to be a reason for it. What that is I... no wait."

Staniek raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"The police said something about a power failure. Some nut took a blow torch to a junction box knocking the area out for a few hours."

"So?"

It was Cudicini's turn to take a deep breath.

"Petrov feared the dark, as you and I might fear sharks, or snakes and so on. The poor man was a brilliant scientist, but he just couldn't cope with that. He always needed some light." He shuddered. "He couldn't have been more than thirteen when he was taken away by the Communist Secret Police. They wanted his parents, on trumped up charges, probably counter-revolutionary behaviour or some such nonsense. In the end they took him as well. They were charged, found guilty and sentenced to 're-education' at some hellhole or other. He survived, minus the hearing in his left ear, and with some serious psychological scars."

Cudicini swallowed more water.

"One evening they took all three out into the yard. He was blindfolded when they executed his mother. Someone decided that it would be a good idea to make his father suffer twice. They made them both lay on the floor side-by-side whilst his father watched. They put the pistol by his ear when they shot her. Blew out her brains and his ear at the same time. He never saw his father again after that. Ruthless bastards those Communists." Cudicini set the beaker down.

"It didn't end there. They dragged the poor lad away and threw him into a darkened cell with a madman, and some other social undesirables. The idea was to cleanse him of any treacherous ideas planted in his head by his parents. I hate to think what happened to him in there, although I can guess. In the end though, his intelligence saved him. Somehow, he managed to kill the madman in his cell with some kind of poison he made from things he found in there. The others left him alone after that. God knows exactly what he used or how, but if you have the time to look I am sure these medieval fortresses contain enough nasty stuff to be effective. Anyway, some high ranking intelligence official found out about it and had him immediately released and whisked him off to Russia somewhere."

Staniek nodded. "Omsk. The biological research centre most probably. My father worked there under Stalin, before he tried to escape to West Germany. They conducted experiments on countless German POWs after the war. General Winter didn't kill as many soldiers as the history texts would have you believe."

Cudicini sighed. "Ultimately, and understandably these experiences left him fearful of the darkness. He associated it with death and torment, things beyond his control. I fear that this happened to him up there. The lights go out, and stay out, Mikael panics, runs headlong into the forest and ends up falling into the ravine. It's the only way. Autopsy suggests that there was alcohol in his system."

"It had been such a great weekend too. Seeing the family again, and playing with the grandchildren. You should have joined us. How was the game?"

"An experience."

"Think it'll catch on in the homeland?"

"What with the Mafia taking bets on the greatest passing yardage, and the waterboys carrying vodka?" Staniek chuckled. "I don't think so. American influence goes as far as McDonalds and old television series. Coming back to more morose subjects, what about the book Petrov was working on?"

"We'll probably publish it when the lawyers release it to us, and perhaps fund a course of study in memoriam with the proceeds. It's almost certain that we will dedicate the main auditorium to him."

"A fitting tribute I'm sure." Staniek clasped Cudicini's hands in his. "It's a day for bad news my friend. I ought to be leaving. I am to Europe at the end of the week. Although in light of recent events I could hang on for a while?"

"No, no. You go. I'm sure you're needed elsewhere. We've imposed on you for long enough."

"Not at all. It's been a pleasure."

"Nevertheless. I understand your need to move on. Thank you for all of your help. It's been invaluable, and I'm sure the students have appreciated your assistance. We may even end up naming something after you as a token of gratitude."

"Such as the Vanechka Molot projection booth?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of the VM broom cupboard."

Both men laughed. "Vanya it's been great to see you again. Don't leave it so long next time."

"I won't Marco, I won't. Take care and god bless."

"And a fair wind, and safe passage to you sir."

"I'll be flying Marco."

"Exactly Vanya, exactly."