Ivan Petrov

Epilogue

Few months ago, Cossacks Restaurant, Moscow, Russia

Days after the Constitutional Crisis event, Ivan drives his restored Volga to the restaurant. He had an appointment with the mysterious contact there.

He arrives at the entranve and passes his keys to the valet. The receptionist recognises him and welcomes him into the restaurant. Ivan follows the watier inside, who brings him another table.

The table was actually a private room, where it is usually reserved for important guests. Inside the room, the contact was watching the news with the Russian President announcing his decree to dissolve the parliament and call for elections under reasons of corruption and asserting links to the Bratva.

"Sir, Mr Petrov has arrived," the waiter knocks on the door.

"Let him in," said the man, and he sounded weirdly similar, if not exactly the same, as the President of Russia's voice.

Ivan enters the room to be greeted by the presence of a large-sized figure businessman sitting and drinking a tall glass of vodka, like beer.

"Ah, Volodymyr," the man seems to address Ivan as such still. "Take a seat and order what you like, I'll be treating this time."

"Thank you, Mr President," kindly said Ivan as he takes a seat. The contact himself, was actually the President all along.

The news at the background continues to feature the President arguing for his decree and accusing the Parliament and the FSB for terrorising its civilians, before showing the burnt White House and the reporters were inaudible to them.

"Volodymyr Slobodan Markovich, did I get it right?" clarified the Russian President, as he eats some food. "What, like... are you Ukrainian or Balkan?"

"I was born in Ukraine SSR, sir. My dad was from Yugoslavia," replied Ivan, or Volodymyr.

"Interesting... now, let's talk about business," said the President. "Now, you did me a lot of favour. The evidence that you gathered from Lubyanka was more than enough to prove that my colleagues were collaborating with the Bratva terrorists, to orchestrate attacks in Chechnya and other cities."

"Yes, sir," Volodymyr confirms. "That is correct."

"But," said the President. "I will not make it live now."

Volodymyr is confused, not sure if the President had too much of alcohol right now. After all, his diet has been subjected to great concern and even foreign governments were monitoring his health.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said the confused man.

The President clears his throat before continuing, "The issue here is that, if I were to reveal this now. I will implicate myself in further doom... right now, my top priority is making sure that I'm still the President of Russia. I will be impeached, that I am already made aware of, but I will not risk myself being ousted from power."

"So, I did everything for nothing?" asked Volodymyr.

"No," replied the President. "I am delaying my cards while making sure I keep floating... if I am no longer in power, the corrupt politicians will seek to oust me and will take full control of Russia, and the nightmare will resume... that, well... our efforts will be all for nothing."

"I see," said Volodymyr. "You have killed the Parliament, and now you're waiting for the right time to bury it."

"Indeed, you got the idea, comrade."

The President poured Volodymyr a glass of vodka and they toasted, before continuing the conversation.

"Listen, Mr Markovich," said the President. "I know what I did wrong, and I'm no saint. In fact, I'm planning to retire once I can find a successor... perhaps, I might even be ousted during my 2nd term. But would it be okay, for you to do one last favour for me?"

"Do go on," requested Volodymyr.

"I have sent Stanislav to do his part in arresting oligarchs involved in this, but I believe this particular oligarch should be done only by you, it's yours to do the honours."

"And who might that be, sir?" asked Volodymyr.

"I want you to kill Grigory Fomayev."

The President looks at Volodymyr with sharp eyes, and no hesitsiton in saying it.

"You have done your service in the KGB and now. I believe this one should be easy right?" continued the President. "He will be at the docks tomorrow night, at St Petersburg. There will be company, so go in prepared."

"Once you're done, you will be a free man, no police will ever come looking for you. I will then release the evidence to the press when the time is right."

Volodymyr, or Ivan, thinks for a moment while stirring the vodka in his glass, before looking back at the President and answering.

"Consider it done, sir."

**The End**