The Master of Cyber Sutra
Victor Paul
Published by Victor Paul at Smashwords
All the characters and events in this book are fictitious, and
any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by Victor Paul
Cover art copyright © 2010 by Roxana Paul
Contents
PROLOGUE
Chapter 1 CYBER SUTRA
Chapter 2 CULTURAL HERITAGE
Chapter 3 A GRUBBY APPLE
Chapter 4 DIRTY LAUNDRY
Chapter 5 FIRST BLOOD
Chapter 6 A LOAD OF PAST
Chapter 7 THE THIRD ENGRAVING
Chapter 8 LOVE AND PARTING
Chapter 9 A SCENT OF MESS
Chapter 10 SCHEMING IN THE INTERNET
Chapter 11 VIRGINITY LOSS
Chapter 12 A JOHANNITE MOVE
Chapter 13 BAPTIZING
Chapter 14 DOUBLE PENETRATION
Chapter 15 THE FIRST TAKE
Chapter 16 SECOND BLOOD
Chapter 17 COMMUNION
Chapter 18 MISSION
Chapter 19 MYSTERY OF THE NASCENCY
Chapter 20 VIRTUAL PARADISE
EPILOGUE
And he saith unto me, Seal not the sayings of the prophecy of this book: for the time is at hand.
He that is unjust, let him be unjust still: and he which is filthy, let him be filthy still: and he that is righteous, let him be righteous still: and he that is holy, let him be holy still.
And, behold, I come quickly; and my reward is with me, to give every man according as his work shall be.
I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.
The Revelation of Saint John the Divine, 22:10-13
PROLOGUE
Jerusalem, year 1238
The black velvet veil of the night exscinded the St. John Hospital off the day fuss, full of pilgrims’ babbling, silverware clanking and moaning of the wounded. The flickering flame of an oil lamp cast dim light onto the faces of two companions, still keeping stone vaultings and walls of the wide chamber in utter darkness. Their raiments – red woolen robes, featuring very tight sleeves which symbolize social engagement abdication, and white linen octagonal crosses on the chest — sings of chastity, indicated that their wearers belonged to the Knights Hospitallers of the St.John Order of Jerusalem. Thracian swords on their sashes served another quite eloquent testimony of that. The Order had a good fame for its victories over infidels, caring of pilgrims and healing of the wounded. However, apart from that, the Order had another mission, a secret one, and the two companions were nearly related to it.
“I had to summon you so urgently, Brother Controller, interrupting your alchemical experiments in the Castle of Alamut, but this matter brooks no delay. A runner came from Rome, bringing the Pope’s bull to monsieur Bertrand de Comps. His Holiness Gregory IX threatens us with an excommunication. He accuses the Order in concluding an agreement with Hasan-i Sabbah; however, his accusations are not confined to that only... The Pope writes about using ungodly secrets of Chaldean healers, breaking the vows of godliness and the vows of not striving for fame. Our Grandmaster is gathering a convention to talk resolving this situation.”
“By virtue of the eight years of our friendship with the assassins, brother Keeper, their healers and alchemists had granted the Order the knowledge, which no one in Europe possesses. That were the Chaldeans, it were them who gave us the Holy Blood, gathered by Joseph of Arimathea. The papacy, as well as the monarchies, has sunk into the mire of luxuriance, putrefaction, and depravity. Is pontifix indeed the one to tell us about breaking the vows of godliness and poverty? “Healer, heal yourself!” as Hippocrates used to say... What is this Pope’s bull for us? Today, in this Holy Land, the Order is stronger than anyone. It is not too long till the moment when people want us to give them the pontifices, and we shall become the masters of the Christian world.”
“Brother Controller, I fear you’ve spent too much time in the Alamut. The poisoned daggers of Hasan-I Sabbah’s assassins are fine for strengthening our positions here, in Jerusalem Kingdom, but they will be of little help for us beyond its borders. Positions of the crusaders grow inevitably weaker, and it is not far till the day when we are to leave Palestine for good. Sagacious men say that there’s no more than five years till then. As for our success in medical treatment, I fear it did no good for the Order at all... The Pope heard the rumors about the Cross with the Holy Blood, that miraculously stops bleeding, and about the magic mould, that heals purulent wounds in no time — all this smells just like warlocks’ sorcery for simpletons. And there’s some truth to this as well; indeed, you cannot just tell Pope that you’ve perfectly mastered the art of Kabbalah… without risk of being dragged straight to the death-fire. If Pope happens to accuse the Order of heresy, our days will be numbered. Those brothers, who are fraught with improper optimism, waiting for papacy’s soon downfall, seem to know nothing about Saint Malachy’s manuscript. It was a hundred years ago when he foretold that there would be 112 popes sitting enthroned in Rome, starting with Celestine II. So, there would be many centuries to end the papacy, and the Apocalypse as John the Evangelist foretold would begin. In the manuscript that was written under heavenly spirit’s guidance in the papal library Saint Malachy gave each of the future pontifices a short aphoristic datum. He mentioned no names, just outlined some qualities of each Pope and put us wise about what should bring the Christian world his reign. Popes hide this manuscript in their library, but our spy in Rome succeeded in bribing the librarian and rewriting the document.”
“So, what are we to do with our knowledge, Brother Keeper? Chaldean sages made us know about the way the Prince of Darkness will come to the world. Saint Malachy unfolded the time people have till the Day of the Judgment. But whom can we discover ourselves to?”
“No one on earth. We must keep our knowledge under wraps from everyone. Neither mortals are able to prevent the coming of Antichrist, nor can they intervene into his succinct reign on the Earth. But we must do all that lies in our powers to hinder the birth of Antichrist in his terrestrial body. All the Order’s possessions — wealth, power, fame — all this is needed just for our secret mission to be fulfilled. So, now we shall overcome our arrogance and bow before the Pope,” answered the Keeper wanly.
“What does Saint Malachy says of the last Pope, Brother Keeper?”
“He will be a servant to the Prince of Darkness, and bear the name of the first Pope, Saint Peter the Apostle. Hold on brother, I will bring the manuscript’s copy and read you this fragment...”
The Keeper disappeared in the darkness to return after a while, carrying a vellum roll. He moved the lamp closer to himself and read solemnly in Latin:
“In per secutione extrema S.R.E. sedebit Petrus Romanus, qui pacet oues in multis tribulationibus: quibus transactis civitas septicollis diruetur, and Judex tremedus judicabit populum suum. Finis.” *
The two companions remained silent for a while, thinking this over. Then the Keeper finalized sullenly:
“We shall keep the Cross with the Holy Blood in secret until there’s need in it. There are still centuries till that day, but the Order shall forever remain on its guard.”
* During the final persecution of the Holy Roman Church, the Holy See will be occupied by Peter the Roman, who will feed his sheep in many tribulations: and when these things are finished, the seven-hilled city will be destroyed, and the Formidable Judge will judge his people. The End.
Chapter 1
CYBER SUTRA
This morning turtle-like traffic of the Nevsky prospect definitely provided the most favorable conditions for philosophic wonderings. When Alexander’s old Mercedes came to a halt in the dead jam of cars right in front of a shining ‘Baskin Robbins’ outdoor sign, it seemed to him that the center of Saint Petersburg looked somewhat unreal, almost like virtual. As if an old black-and-white photo that had been heavily treated in the Photoshop. And now pretentious, too much artificial images kept flashing on car windows like they were computer screens. Nobody remembered about the real life anymore, everyone was just childishly happy with newly painted pictures.
While turning from the Nevsky prospect to the right to the Ligovsky prospect, Alexander noticed that the retouching started to fade, and Saint Petersburg’s facade was turning into more and more realistic one. Show-windows of expensive stores gave way to democratic snack bars and groceries. After one more turn to the right he saw the gray building with the flaked archway, leading to the well-yard. Alexander drove into the archway and parked his car beside trashcans. At this place the reality has presented itself at full swing: brick walls with remains of plaster and rusty metal entrance doors. Alexander pressed an Intercom button and soon he heard: “Who’s there?” In answer he barked:
“As if you don’t know! Open up.”
Alexander climbed dented steps almost in full darkness, heard the click of an opening electronic lock, and entered the apartment. It didn’t actually look like an apartment in usual sense. A kitchen he entered was equipped with a single normal device that was a coffee machine, while the rest of the place was occupied by a desk with two computers lacking towers and boxes, from which cables were meandering all over the rooms. The interior of the kitchen was in perfect harmony with the yard where Alexander had parked his car. It seemed that the last time when the kitchen had been refurbished was a century ago or so.
A man, who was sat by the desk half-rose from his chair, shook hands with Alexander and said with clownish cringe:
“Greetings, boss! Reporting: everything is calm on the board.”
The optimism and humor of his partner, even in moments when there was no real reason for them, always cheered Alexander up. Ivan was just the partner to rely on. He sweated out all the studio routine the most important part of which was managing of models. Actually, Ivan became his partner right at the moment when Alexander had an idea to make this studio. Mostly, Alexander was used to work with computers than with people, and he needed a helper. However, he needed no a hired manager, punching a time clock, but a person he could trust like himself. Especially, in their business where no one trust no one.
“At ease, pal!” Alexander played along then continued in serious tone. “Any new models coming for casting?”
“Two girls are supposed to come at 11 a.m.”
“What do you think of them?”
“Oooh!” Ivan exhaled voluptuously, licking his lips and rolling eyes vividly.
He was kidding again. Ivan strictly adhered to the main commandment of their business: “Thou not to love your content”, meaning that there could be no personal attitude to their models. He was always keeping a necessary distance with the girls.
“And seriously?” asked Alexander.
“You’ll see for yourself,” answered Ivan. “Everything is set in the second room: web camera, the lights... You can tell them what to do from here, via microphone, and see the model at this computer screen.”
“What about the first room?”
“Natasha is pleasing a client there now. Check this out...”
An image of a girl appeared on the monitor. The girl was reclining on a sofa, wearing nothing but black lacy panties, while other pieces of her clothing were littered all over the sofa. At that moment the girl reached to the keyboard, perched on the sofa’s arm pad, and started typing with one finger: “I want you... fuck me”.
She wrinkled her forehead: this task seemed to require much intellectual efforts from her.
“Meh, she’s no match for a translation agency,” mentioned Alexander.
“Thanks God she came to work for us, not for some agency! Our card account is receiving ten bucks per minute now, and she’s been keeping that guy in private for ten minutes already!”
“If earning a yard in a video chat is all we can dream of...”
“Oh come on, Sasha! It’s a real business, and if only our models knew English a bit better, we’d be kings of the haircut! Almost all our clients are from the USA and Canada.”
“They’re not the type of girls to know English better. They’re such... specific girls. Even back at school they were interested in the science of love more than in any other science... Anyway, it’s not my point. You see, Ivan, today anyone is making such video chats. Therefore income decreases while risk grows. If you want to make serious money in adult, you need some new ideas and new models.”
Intercom rang. Ivan reached to the button to open the door and said:
“Here, look at our new chums, the first one is already here. I’ll go show her into the room.”
In several minutes he came back and reported:
“She’s ready; please turn on the camera and microphone.”
Alexander did it. An image appeared on the screen. A beam of light illuminated the center of the room with a lonely chair standing there. Another piece of furniture was a hanger made of a nickel-plated tube, standing in the far end of the room, about five meters from the chair. The girl, tall and slim, was standing in the middle of the room. Alexander noticed that she seemed to be confident enough in spite of Spartan ambience. He took the microphone and set a task:
“You’ll need to come up to the hanger, take your clothes off, then come back to the chair and sit down.”
The girl nodded in understanding, then graciously, as a model on a catwalk, defiled along the room up to the hanger and started to undress. She took off her skirt, blouse, and then her slip and placed them accurately on the hanger. She hesitated for a moment, pulled off her bra and panties, and placing them onto the clothes. Then she walked back to the chair. Now her pace seemed to be not so confident. After having sat down onto the very edge of the chair, she attempted to adopt an easy pose by crossing her legs.
“Bah, it’s clear with this one... She’s not a joy therapist.. She’s a hanger for clothes,” Alexander thought. However, he asked gently in the microphone:
“Would you kindly tell me how does it feel to be without clothes?”
She didn’t expect such a question. The girl hesitated, and then said with a kind of a daring tone:
“Excellent.”
Alexander saw; however, that this was far from reality. The challenge was hard for her and being naked made her feel like at a medical examination.
“Thank you, you can dress now,” he said wanly into the microphone.
Intercom rang. Ivan reached to the receiver and said lazily:
“Here goes the second one.”
Alas, he was wrong. A formal voice sounded from the receiver:
“Open up, please. Police.”
The two companions exchanged sharp looks, silently stating the fact that it was not the best moment for a policeman visit. However, can a good moment for such a visit possibly exist? There was no point in playing for time, so Ivan pressed the lock button. They went to the corridor to intercept the uninvited guests right on the threshold. There was actually only one guest, a uniformed policeman.
“Neighborhood police inspector, lieutenant Troshkin,” he introduced himself while looking into the open kitchen door with uncovered interest of a snoop.
“Please, come in!” Ivan said with false hospitality.
At that moment the room door flew open and the model that has just been tested appeared in the doorway. Thanks God she was already fully dressed. When the girl saw the policeman, her eyes rounded, and she quickly made for exit without saying goodbye. Smart Ivan flung off after her:
“Thank you so much, we shall test your program and call you back.”
“Recruiting?” the policeman asked shrewdly, gazing after the girl. “What kind of business do you have here?”
“High technologies in the Internet,” said Alexander.
“High technologies... Hmmm...” the policeman doubtfully looked around the tatty kitchen.
“Yeah,” took up Ivan. “System programming. We’re going to hire specialists, bring computers and start working at full power.”
“Programming... I see,” said the policeman, side-glancing at the companions. “We’ve received a report saying that some people rent apartments and turn them into brothels, take photos of naked bimbos... So I have to walk around and inspect every new renter.”
“I see,” said Alexander. “But that’s not about us.”
The inspector nodded in agreement but he wasn’t going to take leave yet. Intercom beeped. Alexander said joyfully, addressing to everyone present:
“Here we go, the second programmer came!”
Then he said to Ivan, meaning business:
“I’m gonna check her programming skills, and you... set everything up here.”
The programmer that appeared on the threshold enthralled the policeman’s eyes. She was blond with long straight hair, a bit fleshy. A very short leather skirt and a tight white t-shirt made her an image that was quite far from the programming. She wore no bra and pink nipples of her teasingly protruding bust could be seen through the woven t-shirt. “Size D, just the thing”, evaluated Alexander precisely. Even though this girl wasn’t the one of Alexander’s kind, her proportions were indeed ‘just the thing’ for the video chat. Due to policeman’s visit they couldn’t use the system of remote viewing, so Alexander went to the room with the girl, planning to buy some time, while Ivan was getting rid of the unwanted guest. He closed the door, met the girl’s quizzical eye and explained:
“I will now explain you what we’re doing here.”
“I know what you’re doing here,” parried the blond. “Let’s get down to business.”
Alexander realized that he would have to watch the process ‘in flesh’ and that his guest was not a bit embarrassed with it.
“The task is easy: you need to go to the hanger, take all your clothes off, and then sit on the chair over there...”
“Got it. Ain’t no rocket science,” snorted the girl and went to the hanger.
With an effort she pulled of her tight skirt, then t-shirt, under which she indeed had nothing, and nominal panties. She carelessly tossed all her clothing onto the base of the hanger and afterwards placed her shoes there as well. Once she got naked, she twisted her wrists, as if warming up, and took hold of the hanger’s vertical tube. At that moment, in such a pose, the girl looked exactly like a classic strip-dancer from old American movies, and no doubt she knew it. Preventing her intention to perform a strip-dance at the pole, Alexander said curtly:
“Now, please, go to the chair and sit down. Just suit yourself.”
The girl walked up to the chair, turned its seat towards her and put her foot on it. She remained in this position for a while, swaying her knee, as if performing an erotic dance. Then she moved her leg over the chair and mounted it, placing her breasts on the back of the chair. Alexander noticed that her nipples were connected with a very thin, almost invisible metal chain. Metal was also gleaming in her navel and even in a place where Alexander didn’t expect to see it at all. She leisurely watched him observing the metal details on her body and after asked idly:
“What’s next?”
“Would you kindly demonstrate me your reaction to a proposal of... um... virtual sex?” asked Alexander.
“Virtual?” she asked, with some show of puzzlement.
Alexander could have sworn that she’d have a normal reaction even to a proposal of some quite real sex. The girl arched her back like a cat and started moaning, caressing her breasts and licking lips. He was just hoping that the police inspector won’t come in to check out his guess about the brothel. Alexander thought that this model with her size-D breast, piercing and easy manners was just a real treasure for Ivan. By now our video chat is considered to be staffed.
“Enough. Very well. You can take your clothes on now,” he said tersely.
“So I’m accepted?” asked the girl.
“I would assume so. The project you’ll be working for is under my partner’s command, so he’ll call you.”
Alexander waited for her to dress, and then they walked out the room. In the corridor they bumped into the inspector, who was finally leaving. Looking at her bust in close-up he fell into trance. While the girl was walking out of the apartment she gave him an indifferent look and mentioned:
“Gee, you even have a security here...”
Insulted by such an assumption, the inspector coldly made farewell and immediately disappeared behind the door.
Alexander returned to the kitchen and asked Ivan:
“How was our guest’s visit?”
“Cost us five grand.”
“Not too bad.”
“However, he now knows the way here and will come regularly.”
“I know, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles... At least we can consider that we have a backing now.”
“We don’t need such a backing, but indeed, there’s nothing we can do about it now...” said Ivan. “Anyway, how was the second model?”
“I say, let’s go whacks with the inspector and open a brothel here right tomorrow.”
“I see. That’s exactly what I thought the moment I saw her.”
“Well, if we take it seriously... She is a hell of a catch for a usual video chat, but we need something different for the new project... I don’t even know how to explain it to you,” said Alexander.
“I understand that Cyber Sutra is our future, but we need to eat right today...”
“You better make up your mind on what you’re doing: eating to live or living to eat. Oh, by the way, have you solved the problem with the hosting?”
“Yeah, I’ve already paid for the hosting in the USA. The provider warned me and said there should not be anything like... you know... children or goats on our website. They’ve become very strict about such things now. I swore that we shall have only some light erotic there and uploaded the test version of the website to the server. I’m waiting just for your command.”
Alexander sat to the keyboard, typed www.cyber-sutra.com and looked at the screen. There was now a Hindu temple atop of the hill, which was illuminated by the setting sun. At the distance there was a river and jungle that reached up to the very horizon. There was a writing engraved in stone above the entrance: “IN LOVE YOU SHALL FIND LIBERATION”. Strange sounds flowed from the speakers.
“What’s noise?” asked Ivan.
“Binaural beats. They are sounds that are not heard by the ear, but detected by the brain. You can use stereo headphones for full result. This melody called as Virtual World. It will affect clients’ brainwaves to create relaxation and ultra-happy mood.”
“Some kind of tuning?”
“Sure,” agreed Alexander and kept on commenting:
“Before entering, the client is to choose his appearance... That’s how it’s done... You choose a hairstyle, eyes, nose, eyebrows, lips... now clothes... When the client comes for the second time, he will be able to use his ready-to-use outfit.”
Ivan thoroughly studied the newly created image and exclaimed:
“By God, it’s me!”
“Of course it’s you. We can’t let just anyone hang around here,” Alexander answered in all seriousness.
Ivan gave him a speculative look to make sure his partner wasn’t kidding, then murmured:
“I see.”
The doors opened to relieve a wide stair leading down. Alexander went on with the excursion:
“Now we go downstairs to the dungeon and here we are in the main hall of the temple.”
The walls of the hall, adorned with rough statues of copulating couples, were illuminated by torches.
“There it is, a goat,” said Ivan, noticing the images of animals. “Hope the provider won’t see it.”
“Never mind that. The graphic design was based on real Kama Sutra, and that’s isn’t some porn but a literary heritage.”
“Thanks, now I feel better.”
In the middle of the hall, atop a high perch, three dancers swayed in an erotic dance.
“Nice graphics,” Ivan said approvingly.
“What we fought for... Now the client can pick any dancer by clicking her with a mouse. After that she moves to a private room. Of course, to follow her into that room one will have to pay with a credit card. See that?”
The image of the dancer began to fade, then focused again and suddenly turned into a video with the girl whom they have already seen in the video chat. She was dressed in the same ephemeral outfit as the virtual dancer.
“It’s a recording of Natasha, but it’s temporal... Afterwards a program with our new virtual model is supposed to run here,” clarified Alexander.
“Featuring today’s sex bomb as a prototype?” asked Ivan.
“No, no, bless you... that model shall work in our regular video chat, she fits there just fine. The prototype for Cyber Sutra is still to be found.”
“I don’t get you... The girl is good enough for the video chat, but not good enough for Cyber Sutra? What kind of model do you seek? A film star or something?” grumbled Ivan.
Alexander thought that he was unable to explain his partner what kind of model did he need. He could feel it, but could not express that feeling in words.
“She has to be... different. I will find this model. You will see for yourself... Now, let’s talk about the techniques. When we find our prototype, we’ll use the motion capture technology, which allows imitating even the face mimics. We’ll need to place miniature sensors onto the prototype girl, and their positions will be located by several web cameras. The data from the web cameras shall be processed by the motion capture software and that’s how a virtual image is created.”
“What shall this virtual model do?” asked Ivan.
“Anything the client wants.”
“How realistic will it be?”
“That simulation will be undistinguishable from a live image.”
“I’m not talking about the graphics quality; I’m talking about making the client’s wishes come true.”
“You mean sexual sensations?”
“Yeah.”
“To do that some special effects will be applied during the show: morphing software for overflowing images, specially picked music and color compositions. In short, we shall create every condition the client needs for total immersion into the virtual world of sexual daydreaming. After that his own imagination will take over.”
“If that imagination really works, we gonna have some hard time with booting the clients out of this love temple,” said Ivan.
“No longer than they have money on their cards. Of course, our regular customers will be offered some other means of payment, for example, a year or half-year subscription. When we start our project’s promotion, we shall set the payment system too.”
“Looks pretty solid,” Ivan hummed pensively.
“Sure thing... We see the virtual reality in a new light, and we’re creating it ourselves too. We’re the gods of the cyberspace.”
“And we shall offer them a paradise in the Internet?” asked Ivan.
“Kafka once said about the paradise: “There are two cardinal human sins from which all the others spring: impatience and indolence. It was because of impatience that they were expelled from Paradise, it is because of indolence that they do not return”. Look what’s going on in the web now. Every day hackers upload tons of viruses, Microsoft attempts to stake the entire Internet for itself, and secret services want providers to give them channels for the Internet’s total interception. Everyone tries to turn the Internet into a copy of the real world... according to his own degeneracy of course. I’m afraid, what they want to create will be nothing like the paradise.”
“What about what we’re creating? I mean Cyber Sutra,” asked Ivan.
“Let’s call it a virtual paradise.”
“Aiming high!”
“Why not? Enter any word into a search engine and it will give you from ten to several thousands web pages. If you enter the word “sex”, you will get more than three million web pages. So we can surely say that Cyber Sutra is a big chunk of a virtual paradise. What they offer in video chats today is just a baby-talk comparing to this.”
Ivan was digesting this saying, his eyes on the ceiling. Alexander lifted his eyes as well, as if offering prayers in the temple of Cyber Sutra. In his imagination this tatty ceiling in stains of dirt turned into a temple’s vaulting, covered in frescoes, melodic tune sounded in his ears. A misty image of a virtual dancer started to materialize. Even though her features remained obscure, the eyes of this dancer, black and abysmal, seemed to gaze right into Alexander’s soul. It was a strange sensation, coming from somewhere within. A new project, completely raw and undeveloped, was emerging in his mind so elaborately, as if he had already been there. Like an old program was installed on a hard drive long ago. You can forget about it completely, but when the time comes it will run its operations once again.
Sudden ring of Alexander’s cell interrupted his meditation. The caller introduced himself as Alexander’s father. On hearing such claim Alexander answered that he had no father. He said it automatically, with no hesitation. He realized at once that he, in fact, did have a father, at least before. It had been a long time since he had left Alexander and his mother on some unclear reason, and they’ve heard nothing from him since. Alexander; however, suspected his mother to have some contacts with his father but she never mentioned anything like that and he never bothered to ask. Besides, Alexander was living on his own now. He payed his mother just some occasional visits. Once his mother said that his father was doing fine, but Alexander didn’t give a damn about it at that moment and didn’t support that conversation.
“We were separated by the will of the fate, but now I would like to meet you,” said the caller.
Alexander didn’t like that “will of fate”. Besides, he had no idea how to address to his new-sprung dad. He decided it was best to call him ‘sir’, which sounded official and allowed to keep a distance. He asked father about where he had got his phone number. Father said that he had got it from Alexander’s mother, and that he had some work for him.
Alexander was quickly thinking about how to get rid of this unexpected caller.
“Work? I need no work,” he said.
“A decently paid work. Do you need some money?” asked the father.
Alexander did not need to be asked if he needed money. It was; however, still unclear what his father meant talking “decently paid”.
“What work... and what money?” asked Alexander.
“Concerning Internet... You work with this, don’t you?”
“Who doesn’t now?”
“I mean that you work with the Internet professionally and can be considered as an expert.”
“Tell me exactly what you need, and I’ll tell you if I can be of any use.”
Alexander waited for an answer to bring this conversation to an end. His father felt his intentions as well. He remained silent for a moment and then said by carefully picking words:
“Actually, it’s not a phone conversation... I’m talking about decrypting.”
“Decrypting... What kind of info?” asked Alexander.
“We shall discuss this later. So, do you work with it?”
“In some way, though I do not understand the task yet. What about the payment?”
“If you’re an expert indeed, you shall be paid as a specialist: 500 dollars for taking the job and 200 dollars per hour after. Of course a result must be achieved.”
Alexander figured out he could be an expert for such money and said:
“I think I can try this. When and where can I get the technical task?”
“Let’s say, tomorrow, at... 11 a.m., in my office. ‘Cultural Heritage Foundation’, Moyka Border Levee.”
“Office number?”
“It is a mansion. Tell them you came to me and they will let you in. See you tomorrow,” said father.
In the last phrase Alexander heard the tone that every freelancer hated so much: a commander’s one. He was about to say that he didn’t really need that meeting but heard only short beeps.
Chapter 2
CULTURAL HERITAGE
The route to the Cultural Heritage was uneventful. Father’s words kept coming back to Alexander, “We were separated by the will of fate.” His recent displeasure with himself, his acquiescence and scarcely disguised wish to knock down some money faded away little by little. Now he was really curious about the matter, of which his father wouldn’t even talk over the phone. Alexander knew the importance of the conspiracy in one’s business very well. Adult content masters used to say: You can accidentally forget about the Criminal Code, but it always remembers about you. Alexander got so lost in his thoughts that while turning to Moyka Border Levee he missed the building he was heading to and had to drive back. Alexander reached the splendid refurbished mansion, hiding behind a forged grating. It was indeed the address he needed: the non showy but imposing copper plate on the door reads Cultural Heritage Foundation. A uniformed security guard appeared from a cabin, enquired for whom had the guest came, and then took out a walkie-talkie. Alexander foreboded of some inevitable hassle and lighted up a cigarette. However a permission to let him in came almost immediately and the gates flew open hospitably. It was a fine testimony of his father’s status.
Alexander parked his car at the parking lot beside the mansion entrance and let the engine die. His old Mercedes here looked like a poor cousin in the vicinity of Lincoln Navigator and Porsche Cayenne. Alexander thought that if those were cars of the personnel, the “Cultural Heritage” must have been doing quite well. He passed by an entrance hall with antique looking vases and jugs, and came into a reception room. A secretary, meager and colorless with her hair twisted in a bun, raised her eyes magnified by thick lenses, made a social smile, and anticipating Alexander’s explanations, said in a well-trained voice:
“Hello. Constantine Pavlovich is waiting for you in his office. Please, come in.”
Alexander opened the door and entered the office, which in fact deserved to be named ‘a lesser hall’. He passed along an extremely lengthy conference table, finally reaching a man who was sitting in a deep ancient armchair with a cigar in his hand. The man had a very typical executive’s appearance: high balding forehead, thin-rimmed glasses, and formal office suit close-fitting his chubby figure.
Alexander noticed that the beginning of their talk, which he prepared beforehand, had disappeared from his mind while he was coming up to the owner of this enormous office. It must have been a special trick thought up by some designer or office’s owner. Pictures in gilded frames were hanging on the walls, emphasizing up the feeling of being in a museum hall. However, Alexander’s eyes weren’t stroke by the pictures but by the astray, which stood in front of his father on a low table with featuring legs in form of lion paws. It was an agate egg adorned with golden plated emperor crests.
“You’ve got antiques all around here... Just like in Hermitage. It’s a genuine Faberge. Isn’t it?” Alexander asked, bitterly sarcastic, nodding to the ashtray.
Farther looked at him sharply to see if he was joking, rose from his seat, painted a smile on his face, shook hands with Alexander and motioned him to have a seat in a nearby armchair.
“I’m not wishing to put you on... You really see no difference. Aren’t you?” Farther asked, a little dubious.
Alexander nodded and his father continued:
“Sure not. Today the starting price of a Faberge piece at Sotheby’s is about five million dollars. Not necessary a genuine Faberge though. As for this one, it is a trinket made by our compatriots who moved to the USA. They even have a special new term for it — ‘Brooklyn Faberge’. We actually don’t have any real valuables here. In such an uneasy time we cut back on our budget. So it’s quite modest now.”
“Yeah, your little house just stroke me as modest...” Alexander murmured demurely. “Was that your Lincoln at the entrance?”
“The house is granted by Saint Petersburg government, and Lincoln is our representative car. We often have foreign guests here, and they’re mostly prominent people: politicians, diplomats and such... If we drive them by a worn car, they won’t just understand that,” answered his father with a slight tone of annoyance.
“Then,” Alexander raised his eyes to the sky. “Lemme guess: you drive a Porsche?”
“Yes,” his father answered dryly, showing that the automobile subject had been talked out.
“Can I ask you then, how are you getting by here? What is that brings you money in our uneasy time? If it’s not a secret, of course,” Alexander pushed on.
“We support cultural researches, organize arts exhibitions, search for rarities and evaluate them,” answered his father evenly.
He interrupted this well-oiled phrase of his for a split second, and then went on:
“And we deal with the placement as well. As for money, we’re sponsored by UNESCO and receive grants from international charity organizations. The cultural heritage of the past belongs to all the humanity.”
Alexander noticed not only the circularity of his answer, but also the strange interruption his father made when speaking of the rarities placement. He could feel the mercury rising, but dared to ask one more question:
“Placement... You mean, exportation of the rarities abroad?”
His father’s eyebrows rose, as if the question was absolutely improper or tactless. He took a deep breath, either showing sorrow or trying to keep down his irritation, and then started explaining in a completely calm, but a little acrid tone:
“Ah, that’s what you mean. Every ordinary commoner is just so deeply convinced that loads of historical values are being exported from Russia every day. But have you ever bothered to think of where do they come from? If they have been exported from here for almost a century, could they possibly come to an end? Or maybe we have a factory producing rarities?” He suddenly stopped short, as if having said something wrong then continued. “Indeed, they have been exported for a long time, the Bolsheviks organized mass exportation of Russian cultural rarities right after the revolution. A famous ‘friend of the Soviet power’, an American millionaire Hummer — don’t confuse his last name with just as famous car — was not only a supplier of field engines, but also a middleman in passing rarities out to the West. Today, however, there’s another process going: historical rarities are not being exported from Russia, but, on the contrary, are being imported here.”