12:30 pm, Monday, Severnaya, Russia:
The phone rang twice. Then it rang again a third time until Boris finally picked it up.
"Boris Vostok?" said a woman's voice.
"Thiz iz the polize. This iz to inform you that you daughter, Natalya Vostok, haz met with an accident here in St. Peterzburg at 11 am thiz morning."
"She waz driving when she crazhed off the bridge into the canal.
We did manage to . . . . . . Hello??"
"Continue please, I'm listening."
"Yes, we did manage to remove her from the canal before she drowned but I'm zsorry to tell you that she couldn't make it through, sir. She was out of breath and died of cold."
The woman waited for a response, so she could console the relative, but couldn't find one. "Can you please come here and report to the police station? We will need you to complete a few formalities before visiting the hospital and taking the deceased."
"Yes" replied Boris and hung up.
He moved towards his jacket, expressionless. He took his jacket and his car keys. He took one last glance before leaving, thinking he might need something more.
The woman's voice was too good.
He then figured it out; reached inside, sighted his gun, and locked up his house. He loaded his Beretta while reaching for his car and then drove off towards St. Petersburg.
He reached St. Petersburg just before dusk. There were some fancy cars outside when he reached. The station was less crowded. He was shown to a room by two constables.
"We took the liberty of bringing the body to the station. We thought it best to keep this low," said a familiar voice. Viktor Bikovsky was standing right behind the door.
"Hmmm . . . I know, pretty fancy cars you've got outside, and too many guards for a KGB chief like you." replied back Boris.
"Yes yes, I like it that way. Listen to me Boris. . . . . If there is anything you need, remember, I'm always there. I'm very sorry about your loss."
"Well Viktor, I highly doubt that!!"
And Viktor slightly twitched. . . . . . . .