Blagonravov, his dying eyes registering unbelieving shock, fell back into his heavy swivel chair.
Simonov worked quickly. He gathered up his reports, checked quickly to see they were all there. Struck a match, lit one of the reports and dropped it into the large ashtray on the desk. One by one he lit them all and when all were consumed, stirred the ashes until they were completely pulverized.
He poured himself another vodka, downed it, stiff wristed, then without turning to look at the dead man again, made his way to the door.
He slipped out and said to the lieutenant, "The Minister says that he is under no circumstances to be disturbed for the next hour."
The lieutenant frowned at him. "But he has an appointment."
Colonel Ilya Simonov shrugged. "Those were his instructions. Not to be bothered under any circumstances."
"But it was an appointment with Number One!"
That was bad. And unforeseen. Ilya Simonov said, "It's probably been canceled. All I'm saying is that Minister Blagonravov instructs you not to bother him under any circumstances for the next hour."
He left the other and strode down the corridor, keeping himself from too obvious, a quickened pace.