Mishka
Chapter Seven: Relative Difficultiesnow edited for improved squeeability 
Natalya slowed down when she reached the block where the Ambassador Hotel stood. There were many people moving about, and she felt safer once she was among them. Turning to see if she had been followed, she saw no one who looked menacing or particularly intent on her.
There was a small but meticulously manicured garden in the midst of the courtyard near the front of the hotel. She found an empty bench next to a fountain and sat down. Suddenly tired now that the adrenaline had faded from her system, she laid her head on her knees and willed her heartbeat to return to normal.
She felt embarrassed that she had run away in such a fright. Jumping at shadows… running from strangers! Where was her dignity, her cool-headed Russian discipline? She drew several deep breaths and raised her head after her calm was restored.
When she looked up, however, her carefully reconstructed demeanor melted as she recognized the man that was walking toward her. There was a certain hesitance was in his step, but no mistaking the relief in his face when he met her eyes. He called out, “Natalya!”
“Uncle Mikhail!” She ran to him, letting herself be caught in his arms. He hugged her tightly as she buried her face in his shoulder; his eyes, however, scanned the area around them nervously, checking the faces of the people near them.
“My little Natasha! I have found you at last! You weren’t in your room...”
“What are you doing here? Surely you didn’t come all this long way to see me at Trials?” She made a playful fist and punished his arm. “Do you doubt that I’ll score high enough to make it to compete in the Games when they come to Moscow?”
“I am sure that you will triumph!” he said quickly, kissing both her cheeks. “But a chance to… to come to Helsinki! I wanted to lend you my support.”
“A chance to come to Helsinki? Or a chance to leave Moscow?” Natalya gave him a look that asked more questions. When he didn’t answer, she added in a low voice, “Do you still have trouble, Uncle Mikhail?”
“Not here, Tasha.” He took her elbow gently, but firmly, and began to steer her back toward the hotel.
Something was wrong. She let him guide her, but she could smell the fear coming from him, and she began to notice his appearance; his clothes were crumpled and not too fresh, the buttons of his waistcoat were uneven. His beard, usually neatly trimmed, was a little ragged. His coat was too heavy for Helsinki’s mild weather. Perhaps that was why he was sweating so much.
Pulling her arm from his grasp, she threaded it through his elbow and began talk lightly about her trip and the things she’d seen in Helsinki, to make appearances seem normal. She had her key ready by the time they reached her room, and she was relived that her roommate was gone, probably to dinner.
She let her uncle in and closed the door firmly. “Very well… now tell me what is going on,” she demanded.
Mikhail Stefanov Lavrin swept through the room first, making sure they were alone. “Natalya… I’m sorry to put you in this position! I had meant to go to Switzerland… but there were complications… they were waiting for me! They nearly stopped me in the airport, but I managed to get aboard a different flight at the last minute. I—I knew you were here, so I came—I’m sorry.” He hung his head, his anguish undisguised. “I did not want to put you in this position, my girl. But—I need your help.”
“
My help?”
He went to her and caught her hands in his, whispering fiercely, “I want to leave Russia… to defect!”
The word shocked Natalya into silence for a long moment. “Defect?! But why? You are a botanist, uncle. Your work is so important… think of the good you can do the people—”
“I do want to help my people! Russian people—blood of my blood! But I cannot work in here anymore! My research… they mean to take my work and use it to… to create such suffering!” He pulled away from her and began to pace the room anxiously.
“Uncle, you’re not making any sense.”
Since she’d been a little girl, barely tall enough to peer over the top of his worktable, Natalya had been her Uncle Mikhail’s pet. She remembered helping him wash out his test tubes and bottles, her smaller hands fitting inside the narrow necks more easily than his. He always encouraged her to ask questions, to chase the answers until they were found.
Brother to her mother, Mikhail Lavrin was a dedicated student in the study of plants, for their nutritional and medicinal value. He’d gone to school to learn botanical pharmacology, but had changed the direction of his career to pursue research. He had already contributed to the enhancement of agriculture, increasing the yield and quality of food production within the Soviet Union. His accomplishments had earned him a private laboratory with an adequate budget, and his name was once spoken of in relation to a future Nobel Prize.
Now he was disheveled, uprooted like one of his plants, and the look in his eyes touched Natalya with cold fear. He began to explain to her what had happened, why he was come so far without luggage or papers, to beg for any help he could find.
His dedication to his work, and his abhorrence for politics, had made his life complicated. Approached by the Soviet War Department, he had been appalled to learn that the process he had designed to improve the world was to be twisted into a way to cripple the resources of a given country—any target designated as an ‘enemy’.
“I refused instantly, but they—the KGB are very persistent.” He let a sigh shudder out, and Natalya was further alarmed to feel him trembling. “If I can reach Switzerland… or any other country where I can find asylum, they won’t be able to touch me. And you and your mother will be safe. They wouldn’t dare to try anything against the wife and daughter of Leonev Vistkaya—a respectable administrator.” He caught her hands again, squeezing her fingers tightly. “Please, little Natasha! Please help me.”
“Of—of course, Uncle Mikhail.” Natalya felt tears burning her eyes to see her favorite uncle so reduced and frightened. “I will help in any way I can—but honestly I haven’t the slightest idea what I can do!”
A knock on the door send both of them spinning in alarm. But it wasn’t a menacing sound; only the normal tapping plea for attention.
“Are you expecting someone?” Mikhail whispered.
“No—yes! Oh dear,” Natalya raised a hand to her mouth, speaking softly through her fingers. “I had forgotten… my dinner date!”
“Tell them to go away, please, Natasha. We have much to talk about.”
“All right.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. Before she turned the lock, she called out. “Who is it, please?”
“It’s MacGyver.”
She turned the lock, glancing back at her uncle. He had backed into the shadows of the closet, pulling the doors closed to hide himself completely.
The door opened slowly. MacGyver stood back, sensing her nervousness and suddenly wondered if he had mistaken her invitation. She did seem distracted, but she was wearing a smile and seemed glad to see him.
“MacGyver. I had—I forgot that I had—other plans for dinner tonight.” She dropped her eyes, glancing away before adding, “I-I have to meet my teammates. The Trials start tomorrow…”
MacGyver nodded, disappointed but understanding. “I get it… and I should probably be doing the same. But please say that I can take you to dinner another time. Maybe tomorrow?”
“I—I don’t know.” She was flushed with some emotion already, and MacGyver could tell that she was extremely anxious. But she seemed genuine when she added, “I hope so.”
As she began to push the door shut, MacGyver raised his hand, not quite catching the door, but she stayed her movement long enough for him to ask, “Wait! What's your name?”
She smiled at him, remembering why she had so boldly invited him after knowing him for only a few moments; there was a kind of gentleness about him that didn't fit with his obvious strength and confidence--yet at the same time, it seemed quite perfect. “I am Natalya," she said softly. "Natalya Leonevka Vistkaya.”
“A pleasure.” He leaned forward, cocking his head to look at her through the narrow opening. “Until… until I see you again. Good night.”
The door closed softly, and MacGyver heard a firm click as the door was locked.
As he made his way back to the elevator, he passed a man standing near the vending machines. He was pushing a one of the buttons, frowning when nothing happened. MacGyver nearly stopped to offer to help… but before he could say anything, the man balled up his fist and whacked the corner of the machine. A can of soda rolled into the slot. MacGyver continued on his way, thinking about Natalya.
The man beside the vending machine watched him until the elevator swallowed him up. He picked up the can of soda and dropped it in the trash can before returning to his surveillance of the door to Natalya’s room.
~~~tbc
Everyone, sometimes, needs a camel.
Old troubleshooters never die...
They just wait til the last moment and then rescue themselves!
