May 29, 2016
A month ago, an acquaintance invited me to his house.
“I want to tell you a story,” he wrote.
We met. We left the kitchen, where there were a lot of people, and went to an empty room. He stood by the window and told his story.
“Recently, I met a guy at this party. We had some drinks, and he tells me he used to work in the security organs. So, in February 2012, they were called to an emergency meeting. Meetings like this are rare thing. They have them when there is a terrorist attack or something like that. So they called them to the meeting and said that some girls had danced in a church, and the patriarch was furious and had rung up Kolokoltsev, who was then the [Moscow Police Commissioner], and demanded to find them.”
To find us.
“‘And I found the blonde,’ he told me.”
“‘Yeah. When I realized it was her, that it was her IP address, I thought for a moment about what to do next.’”
“‘Did you know she had a kid?’”
“‘I knew. But I did my job.’”
“And then he tells me,” my acquaintance went on, “that during the trial, they got them together and showed them a special speech that the patriarch had videotaped for them in gratitude. Like, you guys are doing important work.”
“How did he decide to resign?” I asked.
“That was how he decided to resign,” my acquaintance replied.
“Does he have a name?” I asked.
“Yes. It’s Alexander.”
That was the story.
Translated by the Russian Reader