Mist swirled all around, in the dark, dreary, dead Moscow night, as I huddled at my post. I, the premier KGB espionage agent, a man with powers far above and beyond any other humans, was ordered to one of the most degrading jobs possible, watchman. Standing all night in Red Square, watching for ghosts that would never appear, I shivered in the cold. My plainclothes "undercover" uniform was peasant's wear, simple faded clothing, heavily patched, built not for style or comfort, but purely for the functional purpose of warmth. But the night was long and biting, and it was worsened by my burning heart. My pride affronted, I imagined I must have grievously annoyed some petty bureaucrat to merit such a low and tedious task. I couldn't help thinking that whichever assignment officer had put me on this duty must be contentedly sitting at home, drinking alcohol with his wife in front of a warm fire, enjoying his power over me. I took to my own flask.
The lights were dim, and passersby were few. I could see little, felt numb, and began to drift in and out of sleep. Time passed by, unimportant and unnoticed.
Lights suddenly shone in from everywhere. My eyes, adjusted for murky night viewing, were instantly blinded. I could see nothing but the wisps of fog alternatively cascading and descending through the square. I was paralyzed, and utterly confused. A loud immaterial voice appeared from somewhere beyond.
"Comrade Petrov, surrender. For the good of the Soviet people, give yourself up to the authorities. Throw yourself on our mercy. Your crimes were horrendous, your punishment may be inevitable, but you can still give honor and respect to your motherland by showing dutiful remorse. Our country watches and hears you live, on television and radio. Our open media and free society await your decision. You can still be a good citizen in your final public acts, obtain some absolution. What do you say, Petrov, traitor."
I stood motionless, mustering myself, still half-asleep, freezing, and a little tipsy.
I tried to analyze the situation. This was obviously a rehearsed speech, for official or public consumption, not mine. As the monologue proceeded, my eyes began adjusting to the light. I could vaguely make out many grim soldiers encircling me, guns armed and ready. I also saw many flashes of light, and men carrying video cameras. This was actually being photographed and taped by the supposed "open and free" news media. I was being wrongfully accused of national crimes, in a public forum, for the country to see. I was to be an example, a sacrifice of the old guard to the new gods of perestroika and glasnost. After such a public stunt, there would be no chance of mercy for me. No trial would let loose a man already determined guilty. I had to do it.
If I did it though, everything I'd ever known would be lost. My invaluable reputation would be dismissed as both freakish happenstance and willful duplicity. My privileges and glories would vanish like they'd never existed. My very existence would be one of eternal flight and fear, at best. At worst I'd be an animal, tested and tortured to suit the wishes of the State. I would live, but it would be a pale shadow of life, regardless. Petrov Kuznetsov would be demeaned throughout the histories, in a category well beyond even the standard repudiation of whichever prior regime.
I am human though, and was taught how to act in crisis situations. Survival instincts are hard to overcome. Any survival, however pitiful, beats annihilation. I showed the world who I really was.
In front of the cameras, in the swirling mists of Red Square, I disappeared. Ignoring the shouts of amazement and disbelief, I carefully worked my way through the crowd, until I was safely alone in the back streets.
My “invisibility” is of a fool's sort. People's minds are easily misdirected. They are so used to seeing everything, that if you hide just a little, they see nothing. Those who are discerning will see the truth, and amateurish movement would reveal it to even the most clueless. Still, for a man such as I, in my business, the added benefit of being difficult to notice is of great advantage.
