Ian and Dima under the Santorini Sun
Torture and grief — Moon over Berlin, B3C24
Now that he’d arrived in Tripoli, Borin didn’t know how to talk to Ahmed, how to begin. The Soviet Union and Libya were still allies, but they didn’t share the same close ties as when he and Ahmed had been teenage cadets together. Plus, the opulent surroundings didn’t just intimidate him, they offended his Leninist esthetic.
He wasn’t certain candor was wise.
As they strolled up the manicured lawn toward the house, he remembered the first day they’d met as 18-year-old cadets.
“Are they putting anyone in the third bed, do you think?” he’d asked Arkady.
His roommate’s voice cracked as he answered. “I don’t know, but I hope they leave us alone!”
The corridor outside was filled with shouts and echoes of fear as upperclassmen barked orders at new cadets. “Don’t worry about those overbearing donkeys,” Fyodor said. “I know ALL about how it works. They can’t really hurt us.”
He made an exaggerated show of flexing a muscle toward his much smaller new friend. “You stick with me, and we’ll be fine. Your brains and my muscles? Nobody can stop us!”
He puffed out his chest and repeated all the rumors about how rough the Academy treated new…
