The icy wind bit at Johannes's face as he climbed the final rung of the ladder, the weight of his briefcase dragging on his arm like an anchor. The moment he emerged, the metallic clicks of rifle safeties being disengaged filled the air. A dozen Ruthenian soldiers stood in a semicircle around him, their weapons leveled at his chest.
"Climb up! Slowly!" barked the officer in charge, a burly man with a thick mustache and piercing gray eyes.
Johannes raised his hands, palms open, signaling compliance. Each movement felt like it was being scrutinized, every breath weighed against the barrels pointed at him. He carefully placed his foot on the cobblestone street, his briefcase dangling from his left hand.
"Drop the case," the officer ordered, his voice sharp, his finger resting firmly on the trigger.
