She took a step back, and suddenly Delia Asia Vieira saw a huge poster on the wall. It caught her attention because of its absurdity. It showed a figure in a white coat, with the face of Joseph Stalin, whose eyes were looking straight at the robotess, and a whistle was sticking out of his mouth. She couldn't understand what this strange, grotesque image was, but underneath it was the inscription: "MOVE IMMEDIATELY TO A NEW STAGE OF HISTORY."
Delia Asia Vieira stopped, looking at it in confusion. The word "new stage" sounded somehow familiar, but not in this context. It was too... ridiculous, almost threatening. Her intuition screamed that something was wrong here. She felt a chill run down her spine. But her curiosity, which always pushed her to explore unknown paths, got the better of her.
She wasted no time in moving closer, pulling the knife out of her pocket. In her hands, the blade was as hard and sure as her determination. With one swift movement, she cut the edge of the poster. The sheet tore off, revealing, to her surprise, a completely unexpected tunnel.
The black passage led downwards into the darkness, and Delia Asia Vieira, despite all her doubts, stepped into it. The feeling of unease did not leave her, but she was already too deeply involved in what was happening. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she began to move forward, at first cautiously, then faster. Under her feet she heard the dull sound of footsteps, and from time to time she felt a strange echo, as if something was following her.
She crawled through the tunnel, her breathing quickening. Time seemed to be nonexistent in this place. She could have been here for hours or just a few minutes, she didn't know. When the tunnel finally became more spacious, Delia Asia Vieira stood up and looked around. A corridor opened up in front of her, and it was surprisingly crowded. Young people in leather jackets, with chains and dark glasses, wandered from side to side, talking, laughing. Some of them seemed completely different from the people she would meet on the streets of the city – they resembled rockers, but with an overly rebellious look, as if they were trying to resist everything in this world.
"What is this? Some kind of underground society?" Delia Asia Vieira thought, her mind trying to catch any signs of normality in what was happening.
She approached one of the groups, watching their conversations, but no one paid attention to her. They walked silently down the corridor, creating the feeling that everything that was happening here was part of some strange performance.
She noticed that they were not just rockers, but people who seemed to be lost in their thoughts. Maybe they were here by chance too? Or was it all part of some secret experiment? Delia Asia Vieira felt her doubts growing, but she decided not to stop and move on.
And then she heard a conversation that caught her attention.
"I heard they started preparing a new stage in the dungeon," said one of the guys with long hair and a leather bracelet on his wrist.
"Yes, there will be something serious," the other answered. "They say it will all start with us all becoming part of something bigger."
These words, simple at first glance, made robotess freeze. Everything seemed strange, but now she understood that she had ended up in a place where there were no random encounters. Everything in her life was becoming connected and scary. What kind of place was this? Who were they all, and what was this "new stage"?
Delia Asia Vieira took a step towards them and approached the turn in the corridor. A wide hall opened up before her, as if it had been pulled out of another time, a place where time seemed to have stood still. Several people were sitting at tables, absorbed in their own thoughts, while soft music played in the background, creating a strange atmosphere of detachment. The tables were covered with simple tablecloths, on which lay glasses with half-drunk beer and empty plates. But what caught her attention was one man sitting at a distant table.
He was middle-aged, his face serious, almost marble-like, and he was wearing a formal suit that resembled the uniform of an old Chekist – black, almost blending into the darkness of this dungeon. His gaze was fixed on his plate, but as Delia Asia Vieira came closer, his eyes lifted and met hers. It was a look that was impossible to ignore – sharp, piercing, as if he saw right through her. Alien emotions filled that look: curiosity, wariness, or perhaps something much deeper and more mysterious.
Delia Asia Vieira felt her body as if it had given in to that gaze on its own and sat down at the table. She didn't understand why it happened, but her instincts made her wait. She waited for him to say something, but he remained silent, and his eyes continued to study her with such a cold attention that it was almost unpleasant.
Finally, as if it had been planned in advance, a fat man, obviously under great stress, approached their table. He was completely clumsy, his face was red from the heat, and he was dragging a huge suitcase behind him, which he could barely move across the floor. The fat man sat down opposite them, breathing heavily, and immediately laid out several recent issues of magazines on the table, wasting no time in ordering a beer.
"I need to pull myself together a little," he said, lifting the glass to his lips and leaning back in his chair.
He was clearly exhausted, as if he had been on a long journey, and was now trying to relax. His hands were shaking as he unfolded the pages of one of the magazines, but his gaze was focused.
The man in the suit, the one sitting opposite Delia Asia Vieira, remained silent, his face expressing a cold reserve, and it seemed that he did not intend to interfere in what was happening. He continued to study the robotess with the same gaze, as if her presence here was only part of some prepared plan.
When the fat man finally finished his beer and put the glass on the edge of the table, he sighed with relief and, wiping the sweat from his forehead, leaned forward slightly and began to tell the man in the Chekist's clothes about his successes.
"I did everything as we were ordered," he said, his voice heavy and confident. "I published the article as you ordered. Young people must move forward despite the difficulties. Difficulties are not obstacles, they are steps. The article is about this. I called on them not to be afraid, but to look to the future with their heads held high. To a bright future, do you understand? To a bright one! We are all moving towards the light, towards a new era, and if someone did not understand, then I tried to explain how it should be.
He let out a sigh of relief, as if he had just lifted a huge weight off his body. Delia Asia Vieira sat opposite, watching this strange conversation, and could not understand what was happening. The man in the Chekist suit listened silently, without showing the slightest interest. His face remained cold and impenetrable, and his gaze was focused on the plate with food.
As soon as the fat man finished his report, the man in the Chekist's clothes winced, as if everything he had just heard did not satisfy him. He did not say a word, but continued eating, carefully putting pieces of food into his mouth, as if the whole world around him did not exist. It seemed that his attention was somewhere else, in some other reality.
Delia Asia Vieira felt something strange inside her. This whole conversation, this strange atmosphere, this unfriendly silence – all of it made her feel incredibly lonely. She looked at these two men, at their closed faces and rough manners, and suddenly felt like she was the only living being in this underground place. As if she was just a spectator watching what was happening, deprived of the opportunity to participate in this strange spectacle. There were so many people around, but at the same time everything was empty and cold.
She swallowed nervously, trying to find something that would bring her back to reality, but the sounds, the smells, everything around her seemed alien, as if the world around her had warped and lost its shape. Even the bright lights of the lamps seemed dim, and the air in the room was heavy, almost unclean. She looked around, but no one noticed her inner state.
"Why are you so silent?" she asked, unable to contain her feeling of unease. "Why is all this happening? What is going on here anyway?"
But the man in the Chekist suit didn't answer. He continued chewing as if nothing had happened, as if everything was fine, and she and her questions were completely unimportant to him.
The fat man, seeing her bewilderment, turned his gaze to Delia and sighed again.
"Don't pay attention," he said, as if he were frankly tired of all this. "We're all waiting for things to change, you know? But honestly, no one knows what's going to happen. We're just doing our job, and the rest of us... well, the rest of us are just waiting for things to become clear. But there's no time for talking."
His words sounded hollow, like a tired attempt to reassure himself. But Delia Asia Vieira could find no reassurance. She felt that this world she had entered was not only alien, but completely isolated from what she knew, and that everything that was happening was part of something much larger and more dangerous than she could have imagined.
Suddenly, a detail caught her attention: on the wall opposite her desk, there was a large painting – an image of some kind of light, from which a man in a long white robe was emerging. On the painting was a vague phrase, as if from some ancient text that no one had tried to decipher. Delia Asia Vieira tried to read it, but the words, like everything around her, seemed unclear and distant.
She clenched her fists, deciding that she would not stay here for another minute. This environment, these people, all of it was weighing on her, and she felt her inner world crumbling, like sand was slipping away from under her feet. Deciding that she could no longer sit in this cold silence, she wanted to leave this place, but then a sharp sound came from the loudspeaker, breaking the silence of the hall, in which a strange tension had reigned just now. In a slight anticipation, as if everyone was on the threshold of some important event, a dull, mechanical voice declared:
"Attention! Evacuation immediately. I repeat, evacuation!"
The man in the Chekist's clothes, who had been sitting absorbedly in his chair, stood up abruptly, quickly straightening his suit. His eyes, calm until then, were now full of some kind of tension, as if he was waiting for this command.
The fat man didn't even seem surprised, his movements were so quick and precise, as if he was ready to evacuate even before the order was given. He grabbed his heavy suitcase, still breathing heavily, and began to head for the exit.
Delia Asia Vieira, although somewhat surprised, did not hesitate. She followed them, feeling a certain uneasiness in the air, like a premonition of things to come. The sounds of the evacuation seemed more unnatural than normal, as if there was something about this place that could not be understood or explained.
They ran across the entire hall, past the tables where people were still sitting, although the atmosphere had already changed. Everything that was happening looked like some old, forgotten phantasmagoric game, and now they had all become participants in it, unwittingly.
A few minutes later they found themselves at the elevator, an old, weathered building with corrosion along the edges of the doors. It was clearly not designed for emergency evacuation. It was cramped and enclosed, with dim lighting that only emphasized its neglect.
The fat man tried to squeeze into the cabin first with his suitcase. He got stuck. The cabin was so small that it could barely fit three people, and his suitcase, huge and heavy, just wouldn't fit. The fat man cursed ominously, trying to do the impossible, but he couldn't move anywhere.
"Damn!" he muttered, pulling the suitcase a little to the side, but trying unsuccessfully to shove it in. "I don't remember the elevators being this small here! That can't happen!"
The man in the Chekist suit stood silently next to him, looking at the fat man impatiently, as if he was not surprised by the whole situation. He clenched his fists, but did not help. His face remained cool, even calm, as if he were part of some pre-planned scenario.
Delia Asia Vieira moved a little into the corner of the elevator, clearly smelling the fat man's heavy sweat and the cold air that became even more cramped in the enclosed space. The three of them were somehow incredibly close, and despite the strange rush, she could not help but think that this scene was something theatrical. They were not moving towards salvation, but rather into some dark future in which there was little light and many unclear dangers.
Finally, after several agonizing seconds, the fat man pulled out the suitcase, trying to twist it so that he was inside. He squeezed it between himself and the security officer, almost hitting them both, but finally managed to close the door.
With a loud, grinding sound, the elevator began to move downward, and although it was only a moment, it seemed like an eternity. Down below, in the dungeon, there was complete darkness. Only the flickering of the dim lights of the elevator allowed them to discern that they were descending lower and lower, and this uncertainty weighed more and more on their chests. The elevator swayed, making mechanical sounds, as if the entire structure was about to fail.
With each descent, the darkness grew thicker and the air heavier. Delia Asia Vieira felt something squeezing in her chest, as if she was being bound by invisible chains. She looked around at the fat man and the man in the Chekist suit. Both were silent, as if lost in their own thoughts. Only cold silence surrounded them, and it seemed that they could stay in this elevator forever - in eternal darkness.
The elevator skidded to a stop, and all three of them jumped in surprise. The doors swung open with a dull thud. A corridor opened up before them, long and dreary, with dim lights on the ceiling that barely illuminated it. On either side were door signs with titles that seemed as standard and ordinary as this place - "Deputy Director", "Research Director", "Secretary"... But nothing told her what they were doing here. With every step she took, she felt more and more alien to this world.
The fat man with the suitcase seemed to be completely unremarkable for this place. He walked first, with a certain calm confidence, like a person who was here all the time. Each time he came across another door on the wall, he did not look at it, he simply walked on, as if all this was long familiar.
When they came to a door that had no nameplate, the fat man stopped. He knocked three times loudly and twice softly. A strange, almost ritualistic knock. Delia Asia Vieira froze in place. For some reason, she felt a strange tension in the air when he did it. She quietly stepped closer, her gaze sliding over his face. He was so focused, as if he knew what was happening behind that door, as if he was sure that everything would go according to a predetermined plan.
There was a click behind the door, a sound like an ancient lock being unlocked. The door opened just enough to let them in. Delia Asia Vieira held her breath, but watched with some trepidation nonetheless.
The fat man, wasting no time, went inside first. The man in the Chekist suit followed him with confident steps. Delia Asia Vieira hesitated, feeling something inside her pulling her back. The unknown clouded her thoughts, but perhaps even more disconcerting was the fact that she was again in this strange, sinister place where something was wrong. However, her curiosity got the better of her. She stepped after them.
Behind the door was a small vestibule. There was nothing superfluous in the room - only a table with a chair by the window, several chairs around, and an old coat rack in the corner on which one could hang a coat, if one of them was burdened enough with it. But there was no room for simple things. The coat rack seemed as unnecessary as this whole world. Coats remained unhung, and their owners remained unable to recover from everything they had been through.
The fat man put the suitcase down on the floor with a characteristic heavy sound. He sighed with relief and looked around the room.
"Well then," he said, "here we go."
His words were simple, but perhaps there was some hidden meaning behind them. He looked around as if he was expecting someone or something. Delia Asia Vieira felt that her place here was not entirely clear. She was not quite sure why she had come here, but she felt that her presence was important. Perhaps she was the variable that was supposed to change something.
"Okay," said the man in the Chekist suit, "now let's not waste any time. Is everything ready?"
With these words, he motioned for the fat man to open the suitcase. The fat man, without thinking, set to work. He took his time, carefully and methodically opened the lid of the suitcase, and the first thing that caught his eye were two neatly folded pairs of new leather shoes. The bright shine of the patent leather contrasted with the dull gray walls of the room. Next to the shoes lay several pairs of socks of different colors - from classic black to bright red and striped. The fat man moved the socks to the side and pulled out three packs of American cigarettes. He opened one and shook it, as if preparing to treat someone, but then changed his mind, carefully hiding them back in the suitcase.
"I can offer you something to smoke, if you need it," the fat man said with a smug smile, but then added, "Although it's not for you, of course. Candy is much better."
He took out a box of expensive French chocolates and, despite their obvious sophistication, offered Delia Asia Vieira one. She nodded silently in agreement and took the candy without saying a word. The fat man looked at her with satisfaction, as if he himself were her personal guide to the world of these blessings.
After Delia Asia Vieira took the candy, the fat man continued to unpack the contents of the suitcase. He pulled out a small shiny object that caught her attention. It was a cigarette case. He opened it with the dexterity of a magician, smoothly and confidently. Delia Asia Vieira could not help but notice how he manipulated this object as if it were part of his identity, a symbol of something big and important.
Inside the cigarette case, instead of cigars, there was a folded piece of paper. The fat man took it out, unfolded it and looked at the text for a second. What was written was strange: "I don't smoke." It was so absurd and at the same time mysterious that Delia Asia Vieira couldn't help but ask herself: why did this man carry such a note with him? But the question remained unanswered.
A little awkwardly, as if oblivious to the people around him, the fat man put the sheet of paper back into the cigarette case, and then took out a needle and a skein of thread. Why did he need them? Robotess couldn't understand it. The fat man deftly dropped these items into the Chekist's hand, then closed the lid of the cigarette case with the same speed and dexterity as he had opened it, and hid it in his jacket pocket. The movements were so practiced that Delia Asia Vieira felt the tension in the room growing. As if everything that was happening was part of some grand plan in which she played the role of a simple spectator.
"That's it," said the fat man, his face once again taking on a carefree expression. He wiped his hands and returned to his chair. "We can continue. What next?"
The Chekist said nothing, his face remained impassive. He carefully examined the objects laid out on the table before putting them back in the suitcase. The fat man looked around the room, and his gaze flickered past Delia Asia Vieira, but she could not understand what this look meant. Was it interest or something else?
At this time, the Chekist slowly approached the coat rack standing by the wall and, without looking back, slightly moved it aside. There, hidden from prying eyes, was a small button, barely noticeable against the gray wall.
It's hard to say why Delia Asia Vieira didn't notice her right away – but as soon as the security officer pressed the button with his thumb, something strange happened in the room. The moment he touched it, the space around them seemed to shrink, and then – as if by magic – the whole world around them changed. All three of them found themselves in a completely new place.
Exchanging the dull interior with its stale air and gloomy shadows for a sunny space, they found themselves in a wide green meadow. The garden that opened up before them was endless and eclipsed everything they had left behind. The sun's rays illuminated it, but a strange sense of desolation still remained in the air. In the distance, tall trees stretched, with rays of light shining through here and there.
The silence was deafening. There were no birds, no people, no sounds that you would normally hear in such places. However, despite this, there was a certain energy in the air that was impossible to describe in words. Suddenly, three lawn mowers appeared from over the horizon and began to drive around the garden, their engines humming, creating a light noise that seemed completely out of place in this strange calm.
The fat man looked around, rubbing his forehead from the sweat, and, hesitating slightly, said:
"But this... I haven't been here before." His voice sounded almost confused, as if he hadn't expected to find himself in such a place.
The Chekist looked at him silently, then turned his gaze to Delia Asia Vieira. His face was expressionless, as always, but there was a barely perceptible spark in his eyes. He took a step to the side and looked around the garden, as if searching for something hidden from view.
"You have to be careful here," he said finally, as if breaking the silence. "This isn't just a garden. And it's not just a place to walk."
Delia Asia Vieira couldn't shake the feeling that everything that was happening was just an illusion. It was as if this garden was part of some other reality, unrelated to ordinary life. She watched the lawn mowers, which, despite their ordinary appearance, moved with some hidden intention. Their hum, which did not seem so loud, suddenly acquired a certain significance. As if it were part of some ritual.
"Why here?" she asked, trying not to show her displeasure. The whole place was not what she expected, and the silence only made it all the more strange.
The Chekist was silent for a moment, as if considering whether to reveal all his cards.
"This garden is here for a reason," he said finally. "It is a place for reflection and testing. Not only are there mysteries hidden here, but there are also answers you will not get in ordinary life.
The fat man chuckled, sniffing the air, and looked somewhat dissatisfied. He would clearly have preferred something more tangible and obvious than this abstract game with space. But apparently other rules were in force here.
Delia Asia Vieira looked around. The garden was indeed beautiful, but her anxiety did not subside. The place felt alien, as if she was not supposed to be here. And even though the lawn mowers continued their work, their motors humming, it still could not drown out her inner feeling of unease.
"What are we doing here?" she asked, involuntarily clasping her hands. "Why did we come here?"
The Chekist looked at her, his gaze becoming a little more intent.
"Everything in due time," he replied. "We've only just begun."
Delia Asia Vieira stood in the shadow of the tall trees, carefully examining the surrounding area. The strange silence that had been hanging in the air all this time now seemed even more unnatural. But then, at the end of the garden, her gaze caught on something even more unusual: a luxurious mansion standing on a hill, illuminated by bright light that penetrated through the windows. The voices coming from inside created a strange atmosphere, as if something important, even sinister, was happening here.
The Chekist, without saying a word, strode forward, heading towards the massive gates of the mansion. They were wide open, inviting them in, and his figure, in a formal suit, seemed part of this mysterious world. Delia Asia Vieira hesitated for a few seconds, but then followed him anyway.
As they entered through the gate, they looked out onto a manicured lawn lined with neat rows of benches. On the first bench, on the left, sat elderly people, their figures bent by the weight of years. Some held canes, which served as both support and parasols, but many sat without them, enjoying what remained of the last warmth and light. Their faces were covered not only by time, but also by some indescribable calm in which there was no room for either anxiety or joy.
On the other side, closer to the horizon, there were young people, about twenty-five or thirty years old, clearly standing out from the old men. They all wore black Adidas berets, as if it were part of some ritual. They looked strong, determined, and had bags hanging from their shoulders, and their hands were holding some hidden objects. Everything in their behavior showed that they were there for some important purpose, but what exactly that purpose was, Delia Asia Vieira could not understand. She felt her heart beat faster, as if something important was about to happen.
The Chekist, continuing to walk forward casually, stopped in front of one of the young men. The latter, barely looking at him, stood up and, without saying a word, took a step back. Delia Asia Vieira noticed that these guys, despite their youth, showed no interest in anything or anyone around them. Their gaze was focused on something far away, hidden from prying eyes, and they were clearly not expecting guests. Silently, but with some invisible harmony, they moved in one direction, as if controlled by some force that defied awareness.
The Chekist, not paying attention to what was happening, walked on and suddenly turned to Delia Asia Vieira. His face, as always, remained neutral, but his eyes spoke of something important.
"We didn't come here by chance," he said, his voice calm but with a hidden threat. "You must understand that every step in this place is not just a stroll. It is a test."
Delia Asia Vieira stopped, straightening up slightly. She had never been able to understand what motivated this man. His strange actions, his silent behavior, all seemed part of a more complex game. And despite all her attempts to find answers, unclear circumstances continued to surround her.
When she looked back at the mansion before them, she saw the light in its windows flicker and then brighten again, but now there was something strange about it. The dim shadows that had seemed indistinguishable from the surrounding landscape were now moving. There was someone—or something—inside the mansion.
"We're approaching," said the security officer, turning once more to Delia Asia Vieira. His steps became more confident. "We must be ready for anything."
When Delia Asia Vieira and her companions, a security officer and a fat man with a suitcase, approached the huge mansion, her attention was immediately drawn to the young man standing on the threshold. He was dressed in a Roman legionary costume, with a bright red cloak, and a spear was clutched in his hands. The legionary stood with a confident posture, but at the same time his face was shining with a smile, which created a strange combination of toughness and good nature. Delia Asia Vieira looked at him more closely, and her heart made a small leap. She recognized this man - it was Alexander York.
He was the same boy she had once briefly spoken to in a completely different place and time. Back then, he had been part of a project that Delia Asia Vieira could not take too seriously. But now she was surprised to find that his face was familiar, and something about it was strangely unwelcome. He obviously knew her, but for some reason he pretended not to notice.
"Why is he behaving like this?" Delia Asia Vieira thought, but before she could ask this question, the security officer and the fat man were already greeting the young man, calling him by name.
They exchanged brief phrases, and he was fine, as if they had met often, and Delia Asia Vieira was left out of the discussion. The young man nodded back, smiling, but his gaze was somewhat superficial, as if he was preoccupied with his own thoughts.
The Chekist, without slowing his steps, motioned for the robotess to follow him. She gave in and stepped into the dark entrance after them. Soon they found themselves in a spacious hall with marble columns that surrounded majestic ceilings. There were several people here, and Delia Asia Vieira, although surprised, immediately realized that all these people were not just guests. This was not just a reception hall, but something much more important.
From somewhere, as if in the world she had been led to, a sense of the importance of every glance and gesture flared up. Delia Asia Vieira peered at the people, trying to understand what was going on here. And then her gaze stopped on several faces. She recognized the French ambassador, standing pompously in the corner with an intent expression on his face. Next to him stood the US ambassador, reserved and stern, and a little further she noticed the English ambassador, his manner more relaxed, but still attentive.
However, in the midst of this entourage she suddenly saw a figure she had not expected to see. It was Anatoly Ivanovich Antonov, the Russian Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary to the United States. He stood in the corner of the room, watching the proceedings, but his presence was as sudden as it was heavy.
Surprised and somewhat stunned, Delia Asia Vieira did not have time to think for long, as the security officer, noticing him, suddenly broke into a smile - which surprised her greatly, because his face usually remained motionless, without any expression of emotion.
Then, to her complete surprise, he took her hand. Delia Asia Vieira froze for a moment, feeling his grip tighten. She tried to pull away, but his hand was so sure and firm that she had no choice but to follow him.
"Come on, I'll introduce you," he said in an unexpectedly soft tone, which up until that moment had been completely alien to him.
Delia Asia Vieira, a little taken aback by the unexpected turn of events, followed him silently, her steps a little more cautious, her mind in chaos. Something about this place was very wrong. Everything seemed too complicated, too tense, and in this multinational circle of diplomacy she felt like an outsider, even though her presence was clearly something important.
The Chekist led her to Anatoly Antonov, who stood in the center of the hall among other high-ranking guests. A spark of interest flickered in his eyes, and he radiated the confidence that is characteristic of people accustomed to big politics. He looked at her carefully, as if measuring her every feature, and, after a short pause, said:
"Dear colleagues," his voice sounded official and confident, "let me introduce you to an American citizen who has chosen the path of truth.
The moment her name was called out, all conversation in the room died down. All eyes immediately turned to robotess, and she felt her heart beat faster. Her hands began to tremble slightly, and something in her stomach began to twist unpleasantly. It was obvious that she was the object of everyone's attention, and this was far from what she was used to.
She glanced sideways and saw that even the French and American ambassadors, standing on the opposite side of the hall, had turned their heads to look at her. There was nothing overtly hostile in their gazes, rather, they were simply studying her, assessing her as an unknown and interesting phenomenon. Delia Asia Vieira, feeling herself the center of attention, blushed a little, but soon pulled herself together and decided to ignore it. What could she do? This situation was beyond her control, and her role had already been determined.
"This is not just a citizen," Antonov continued, "this is a person who radiates a light that can illuminate the path, and her choice will be significant for all of us."
Delia Asia Vieira felt her face turn even redder. Who would have thought that she would be introduced like this? She felt a little awkward, but her intuition told her to just stand firm and not show weakness. She stood up straight, with a small smile, trying to concentrate on what was happening around her.
Antonov continued introducing her to the others, and Delia Asia Vieira noticed the effect his words had on the audience. Now everyone was looking at her with much more interest than she had expected. The French ambassador, who had been standing reservedly to the side, bowed his head slightly, and the American ambassador was more accommodating, smiling slightly, but his gaze was not exactly friendly - rather, it was a little wary.
When it was her turn to be introduced to the English ambassador, who seemed to be the calmest and most relaxed of the group, Delia Asia Vieira felt her face relax a little. He looked at her curiously and said:
"America, huh? I wonder what brought you here."
His words sounded like a slight mockery, but there was something frankly curious about them. There was a strange feeling that she had become part of a game in which her real voice would not be heard. And the fat man with the suitcase, who had been standing next to Delia Asia Vieira all this time, suddenly grabbed her arm and, without giving her time to think, led her to a man in uniform standing to the side. It was the police commissioner, a man with a uniform embroidered with gold braid and a heavy sabre at his side. His calm, almost lazy demeanor contrasted with the tension in the air - as if everything that was happening here was an ordinary matter for him.
The commissioner lazily blew a stream of smoke from his cigar, then turned his head towards the fat man and, noticing that he was approaching with the robotess, slightly raised his eyebrows, without losing his peaceful smile.
"What do you want, fatso?" he asked, without slowing down the pace of his smoking.
The fat man bowed his head and said respectfully:
"Please, Mr. Commissioner, tell me what this strange business with Gene York is? Why was he arrested?"
The commissioner shrugged, continued smoking unceremoniously, and exhaled another cloud of smoke towards the ceiling. He apparently did not worry about his words and spoke with such a calm intonation that the whole situation seemed to him to be nothing more than a minor misunderstanding.
"Oh, Gene York," he said, drawing out the words, "well, it's just a misunderstanding, let's say. At one banquet, or something" he waved his hand to the side "well, in honor of the U.S. ambassador to Africa, as I'm told, he said that if he'd lived in the days of Ancient Rome or even the Renaissance, he wouldn't have agreed to be ambassador for any amount of money. He just said it like that, you know? Like, this job isn't for him."
Delia Asia Vieira, standing next to them, narrowed her eyes skeptically and tilted her head, trying to comprehend what was said.
"Is that the whole reason for the arrest?" she asked, not hiding her bewilderment. "They won't put you in jail for that, unless they think it's a joke."
The Commissioner chewed his cigar, as if enjoying the moment, before answering.
"A joke or not - it doesn't matter. It wasn't just like that. As it turned out, Gene York, this... what's his name, the stepfather of the current US President," the commissioner sighed and shook his head, "and such a last name - you know, it's better to check just in case. You never know. Well, so they decided that since he was ranting like that, maybe he had some hidden political ambitions. Well, of course, they arrested him, put him in jail for a couple of hours. But don't worry, he'll be out as soon as everything calms down."
Delia Asia Vieira, hearing all this, felt her eyebrows move together in surprise.
"But why was he arrested at all? Just for words at a banquet?"
The Commissioner smiled, clearly enjoying his importance in the situation.
"A word is not a sparrow," he said, winking slightly. "Sometimes words can mean more than people think. Gene York has influence one way or another, and such statements can be perceived in different ways. And, you must admit, it is better to be on the safe side. What if his words were not so innocent?"
Delia Asia Vieira thought about it. It all seemed so absurd that she felt uneasy. She could hardly imagine that someone would arrest a person for such absurd statements, especially in connection with the political situation.
The fat man, noticing her confusion, put his hand on her shoulder and quietly said:
"Don't worry. It's all because of his connections. Everything will be fine."
The commissioner, watching this exchange, nodded and took out his cigar again, expecting the situation to end soon. Time passed and nothing changed - everything remained within the permissible limits.
"Well," he said finally, putting down his cigar, "if you're so interested, you can figure out what's going on with this Gene yourself. We've got everything under control here, and you do your own thing."