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The old man allows himself the ghost of a smile as he slowly turns his chair away from the desk. He stops and looks out over the city that stretches out like a gray shroud a dozen stories below his smoky window. That was entirely too easy, he thinks. You want someone to help you, so you plant a rumor, you make him believe that he needs your help. Soon, he comes to you and begs you to accept his help. Much too easy. No challenge at all. Still, there is the troubling matter of finding events for Dimitri's students, and that could be a problem. Inserting even one of them into the Olympic marathon could certainly be done, but it would involve calling in many favors. Perhaps too many. If only there were some other event... And then, in a moment of stunning clarity, all of the pieces fall neatly into place. He spins back around to his desk and snatches the phone from its cradle. "Has Dr. Boronov left the building? No? Good! Send him back upstairs..." By the time a puzzled Dimitri Boronov taps lightly on the door and walks cautiously back into the Commissioner's office, the old man appears to be engrossed in a mountain of paperwork. "Commissioner?" Dimitri seems to be reluctant to risk a return, now that he has so nearly effected such a promising escape. "Excuse me, Commissioner, but the receptionist said..." "Bicycles," the old man barks, without looking up. "Bicycles?" "Yes, bicycles. You know, two wheels, pedals..." "I know what a bicycle is, Commissioner. But I do not understand..." The old man sighs and looks up from his work. "Your students, Dimitri – do they ride bicycles?" "I... I suppose they do. But we have no bicycles at the Institute, so I..." "Get some," the old man commands. He turns his attention back to his work. "Get some, and soon." Dimitri starts to reply, but the old man dismisses him with an imperious wave of his cigar. And for the second time in just a few minutes, Dimitri Boronov makes an uncertain exit from the Commissioner's office. Once again, the door swings solidly shut behind him. Only then does Dr. Ivan Petronovich, Director of the Russian Athletic Commission, look up from his paperwork. He leans back in his chair and nods thoughtfully. He puffs contentedly on the remains of his cigar. A satisfied smile creases his face as a halo of smoke circles his head. So, he thinks, it appears that this just might be a challenge after all...
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