Dumbfounded, I went back to the lobby. I found out from the security guard where Assol's own post office was located and set off. The post office was open: there were three young female employees sitting behind the counter in the cosy little shop, and the postbox where the letter had been sent was standing right there.
The glass eyes of video cameras glittered just below the ceiling.
We could certainly use some professional investigators. They would have come up with this idea straight away.
I bought a postcard of a young chick jumping up and down in the tray of an incubator with the printed message 'I miss my family!' Not very amusing, but in any case I couldn't remember the mailing address of the village where my family was on holiday, so, with a mischievous smile, I sent the postcard to Gesar at home – I did know his address.
I chatted to the girls for a while – working in such an elite residential complex, they had to be polite, but on top of that they were bored – then left the post office and went to the security department on the first floor.
If I'd been able to use my abilities as an Other, I would have simply implanted in the security guards' minds the idea that they liked me – then I'd have been given access to all the video recordings. But I couldn't reveal who I was. And so I decided to employ the most universal motive for liking anyone – money.
Out of the money I'd been given I put together a hundred dollars in roubles– well, no one could expect more than that, could they? I entered the duty office, and there was a young guy in a formal suit, looking bored.
'Good day!' I greeted him, smiling radiantly.
The security man's expression indicated complete solidarity with my opinion concerning the quality of the day. I cast a quick sideways glance at the monitors in front of him – they showed images from at least ten television cameras. And he had to be able to call up a repeat run of any particular moment. If the images were saved to a hard disk (where else could they be saved?), then a recording from three days earlier might not have been transferred to the archive yet.
'I have a problem,' I said. 'Yesterday I received a rather amusing letter . . .' – I winked at him – 'from some girl. She lives here too, as far as I can tell.'
'A threatening letter?' the security man asked, pricking up his ears.
'No, no!' I protested. 'On the contrary . . . But my mysterious stranger is trying to remain incognito. Could I take a look to see who posted letters at the post office three days ago?'
The security man started thinking about it.
And then I spoiled everything. I put the money on the desk and said with a smile:
'I'd be very grateful to you . . .'
The young guy instantly turned to stone. I think he pressed something with his foot.
And ten seconds later two of his colleagues appeared, both extremely polite – which looked pretty funny, given their impressive dimensions – and insistently invited me to come in and see their boss.
There is after all a difference, and a serious one, between dealing with state officials and a private security firm.
It would have been interesting to see if they would have taken me to their boss by force. After all, they weren't the militia. But I thought it best not to aggravate the situation any further and did as my suited escorts asked.
The head of security looked at me reproachfully. He was already advanced in years and had clearly come from the agencies of state security.
'What were you thinking of, Mr Gorodetsky,' he said, holding up my pass to the Assol grounds, 'behaving as if you were in a state institution – if you'll pardon the expression?'
I got the impression that what he really wanted to do was snap my pass in two, call the guards and order them to throw me out of the elite complex.
I felt like saying I was sorry and I wouldn't do it again. Especially since I really was feeling ashamed.
Only that was the desire of the Light Magician Anton Gorodetsky, not of Mr A. Gorodetsky, the owner of a small firm trading in milk products.