Warning: The following is a work of fiction and does not relate to any real person or event. It describes explicit sexual activities between adult men and young boys. If this is not what you are looking for, you have no excuse for reading any further. If it is, then enjoy!

THE PORN BOYS

by

Cosmo

Chapter 19: Hello Ivan

It was a little way across town that I had to deliver Vladik to the foster carers. He was very brave and stoical on the way there. He didn't cry, and said nothing in the car. He had done all his crying already. He had protested and pleaded, but now seemed sadly resigned to his fate, finally defeated, recognizing that he was powerless to determine any of the circumstances of his life. I knew he was scared and apprehensive. My heart was filled with sympathy for him and I feared he would feel lonely and abandoned at the foster home. But there was nothing I could do.

The foster carers lived in a very suburban neighborhood in one of the more salubrious parts of town. It had plenty of green fields and open space. Ideal for some kids. But Vladik didn't seem impressed. He was essentially an inner city boy. When we arrived, the foster carers were at their porch waiting. They seemed like nice people. We didn't have time for anything more than a cursory discussion, and it was probably best that I didn't hang around. I gave Vladik a big hug and reassured him that I would still be seeing him regularly, and that he would be reunited with Yura as soon as he returned from Saint Petersburg. Vladik was very quiet and held himself well, and I could detect that he was trying to retain his composure in front of these people whom he had never met. Having said our farewells, they took him inside and closed the door, and as I walked back up the drive towards the car, I heard the loud plaintive wail of Vladik bursting into tears. I could hear the foster carers reassuring him and trying to comfort him, probably hugging him and holding him close in much the same way as I would have done. I knew they would look after him, but hearing Vladik's plaintive cry, even as I was walking away from him, made me feel that I had betrayed him. He probably felt I had abandoned him. It damn near broke my heart.

On the drive home I thought of how lonely I was going to be. Yura was in Saint Petersburg. Vladik was no longer with me. Even Anton was busy with his studies. I had called him to let him know that Vladik was going to the foster home, but Anton was concentrating on finishing an imminent assignment. So when I returned from the foster home, I found myself alone in the house for the first time in a very long while. That was something of a revelation to me. I didn't know what to do with myself. My evenings would usually be taken up in cooking for the boys, feeding them, making sure they got ready for bed, maybe playing with them on the games console for a bit, or just sitting and watching TV with them. Now I had nothing to do. It almost felt like my assignment had ended and that my unit had no further use for me. I was redundant and useless. I wondered how it would be for Vladik, lying in a strange bed in a strange house with new people and unfamiliar surroundings. I questioned why circumstances dictated that there should be this cruel and unnecessary distance between us. I only hoped that Vladik wasn't lying awake at this precise moment, tearful and with his heart hurting because he missed me so much.

I found myself falling asleep in front of the TV. I was so low that I could only think of going to bed. Perhaps all I needed was to tuck myself up in bed early. It was the only way to staunch the misery of the day.

No sooner had that thought crossed my mind, the doorbell chimed. It was a little way past nine o'clock and a worrying hour for anybody to be calling around unannounced. I only hoped it wasn't something unwelcome. Curious, and more than a little apprehensive, I went to the front door bracing myself for something unexpected.

I needn't have worried. It was unexpected, but a welcome surprise. It was Anton! He was standing there with a grin of mock sadness, his head tilted to one side and in his hand he was clutching a bottle of wine by its neck. It was probably the nicest surprise I could have hoped for, and one of the most welcome sights I had ever set eyes on.

Anton broke into a smile.

`Hi!'

`Hi!' I said, genuinely pleased to see him.

I stood there holding the door open, still a little taken aback. Anton held up the bottle of wine.

`I was going to have a drink to celebrate finishing my assignment,' he said, `but then I realized I didn't have a corkscrew.'

I held out my arms and he stepped into them. He hugged me tightly, still holding the bottle of wine behind my back. His long hair was brushing against my face. The frames of his wire-rimmed spectacles were pressing coldly into the side of my head. I held him for a few moments longer than usual, clinging to him in a welcome embrace and almost saying a silent prayer of thanks. I think he realized that I was thankful for this, and he didn't question it or even try to prize himself loose. He just waited until I was ready to let him go.

Eventually we stepped apart and he flashed me that affectionate smile again.

`So do you have one?' he asked.

`One what?'

`A corkscrew?'

I laughed.

`You know I have,' I said, with a mocking tone, `We've got a complete cocktail bar downstairs, don't you remember?'

So we went in. I got two wine glasses, and we shared the wine, talking intimately in the drawing room for a good long time. We sipped the wine and we chatted about Vladik and Yura and shared our thoughts on how much we both loved those boys. We laughed about the things they said and their funny little ways.

Then Anton started asking me about Boyscape and why I had given it up to become a police officer. Of course he knew all about Boyscape and John's role in setting it up. Anton knew pretty much everything about me.

`I guess it wasn't very well paid,' I said, with a laugh, `But after John died, I lost the enthusiasm for it.'

`Would you ever think about doing something like that again?'

`Why?' I asked, with suspicion.

He shrugged.

`I think you'd be good at it, that's all.'

`So would you,' I said, returning the compliment.

`I know,' he replied, with a touch of arrogance, `That's why I think we should do it together.'

`What, start up another Boyscape?' I said, almost laughing it off.

He looked at me slightly hurt.

`Why not?'

`You want to?'

He nodded emphatically.

`I've been thinking about it for a while now,' he said, `Getting to know Yura and Vladik just confirmed it.'

`I don't know,' I said, with deep misgivings, `It's a lot of work and emotionally very demanding.'

`But worth it,' he said, with utter conviction in his voice.

I looked at him sitting across from me on the sofa and I was suddenly full of admiration for this young man. It struck me that he was at about the same age I was when John decided to set up Boyscape all those years ago. In fact, the age difference between us was almost exactly the same as that between John and I. Coupled with the fact that I saw a lot of myself in Anton, as well as many things that reminded me of John, the similarities and parallels were uncanny.

`Maybe,' I said, not willing to commit myself at this stage, `Let's see how things work out with Yura and Vladik and then we'll talk about it some more.'

He didn't reply. He watched me for a moment, then probably decided that was as much as I was prepared to concede at this stage. But he knew he had definitely done enough to sow the seeds of the idea in my mind. He seemed satisfied with that.

We carried on chatting idly for the rest of the evening. It was good talking to Anton. He sat there on the big sofa, giggling flatteringly at my little witticisms, and sipping his wine very slowly, smiling and nodding and cocking his head with interest. I talked a lot more than he did. I chatted away and probably drank more wine than he did. I didn't usually drink wine. It went straight to my head. It got late. By then I was tipsy and drowsy. Anton agreed to stay the night and before I knew it, he was putting me to bed. What a wonderful friend he was. The last thing I remember was Anton turning out the light and walking out. And as he closed the bedroom door behind him, I wondered just how it had come to be that on this, one of the lowest nights of my life, this wonderful young man had appeared unbidden, bearing a token of companionship to share with me, to cheer me up and save me from my loneliness. I closed my eyes and snuggled under the comforter totally in awe of this boy and I felt the stirrings of something deep and profound towards him. And I knew just what it was too. I was falling in love with this beautiful young man.

******

The very next day Yura arrived back from Saint Petersburg. It was late when his flight landed. I couldn't understand why the flights from Moscow always landed early in the morning, but from Saint Petersburg they were always late at night. My unit had sent a car to collect Yura and Elena from the airport. It seemed that even my role as a chauffeur had been usurped. The car brought Yura back to the house, then took Elena home. By the time he arrived from the airport it was getting so late that there was no time to do anything with Yura other than feed him and get him to bed.

We sat by the central island in the kitchen and I watched Yura eagerly shoveling big spoonfuls of steaming tomato soup into his mouth, holding his spoon in a little fist in that inimitable way that children have. As he did so, he was yammering away eagerly. Yura was hyper and excitable after returning from his trip, and I knew it was going to be a challenge to calm him down.

`It's wonderful Mark!' he enthused, `The best news ever!'

`What news?'

`We're going to be brothers!' he announced.

I frowned. I didn't know what he was talking about.

`My dad is going to adopt Vladik!' he proclaimed, happily.

`What?'

He nodded, bobbing his head rapidly and widening his eyes in sheer euphoria at the news, his announcement interrupted by another big spoonful of soup. He swallowed it, then he blurted out an almost incomprehensible effusion of words in one breath that came out so fast they nearly merged into each other.

`I told my dad all about Vladik because Vladik's got nowhere to go and we've been friends since we were six years old and I don't want Vladik to be all alone and he said it wasn't fair so he's going to adopt Vladik and we're going to be brothers and be together forever!'

I blinked, almost taken aback by the barrage of words, but also assimilating the meaning of what he had just postulated.

`You mean...?'

Yura nodded enthusiastically once again.

`Isn't it wonderful?'

`Of course,' I said, a little overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.

`Can I phone Vladik and tell him? Please Mark huh?'

I looked at my watch. It was gone eleven.

`No,' I said, `It's late. He'll be asleep.'

Yura was disappointed.

`Oh Mark, I want to talk to him!'

`Not now,' I reiterated, `Phone him in the morning.'

Yura was crestfallen, but to my relief he didn't insist. Reluctantly, he seemed to accept it. Then, almost immediately he brightened up again, apparently with something else he had just remembered to tell me.

`Oh, guess what?'

`What?'

`I've got a new name!' said Yura.

`How come?' I asked him.

`My dad asked me what I would like to be called by my new family,' Yura explained, `And I decided to have a new name.'

He seemed very resolute. Not a hint of doubt or hesitation.

`So from now on I want to be called Ivan,' he said.

`You're sure?'

He nodded.

`Yes. I want to forget about my old life. I want to start again, with a new name and a new family.'

What a brave and mature statement.

`Goodbye Yura,' he said, prophetically.

`Hello Ivan,' I said, with a dip of my chin, acknowledging his new identity, and admiring the way he was so positive and optimistic about it.

For my part, I was sorry he had decided to adopt his alias. Of course, his reasoning was sound, but I couldn't help thinking that in discarding his old name, he was also discarding the persona of the boy I had fallen in love with. It was as though the boy I loved had now somehow transmogrified into this new boy. No longer the damaged, dejected and needy boy who had cried in my arms the first night he arrived, and who suffered from nightmares and wet the bed. That boy was no more. Now he was Ivan, the boy who had overcome his adversities and was reborn as a confident, well-adjusted and happy boy, the boy who was no longer a victim but was in control of his own destiny; a boy who was no longer forgotten and abandoned, but who was now valued and loved and was someone else's brother and son.

`So I take it the trip was a success?' I said.

He nodded vigorously with a satisfied smile.

`We're all going to live together and it's going to be wonderful,' he concluded.

It seemed that wonderful was his favorite superlative this evening.

`Is it what you really want?' I asked him, with a serious tone, `Tell me the truth little buddy. Do you want to go and live with your new family?'

He looked at me with a regretful, almost apologetic expression. Suddenly, his little boy exuberance dissolved. His childish yammering relented and he appeared to take on a more thoughtful, more mature demeanor.

`Mark? Don't be angry with me...'

`I won't be angry little buddy. I only want you to be happy. Tell me honestly. Do you want to go and live with them?'

He sighed regretfully and nodded his head slowly, biting his lip.

`Yes,' he said, `It's what I've always wanted.'

`I think that's what your dad wants too,' I replied.

He smiled, almost relieved that I was not bitter and was able to accept his wishes without rancor. He was grateful for that. But then another, deeper thought seemed to strike him, and he looked puzzled for a moment.

`But what will happen to you?' he asked, looking up.

`I'll be okay,' I said with a reassuring laugh, `I'll find some other boy who needs looking after.'

He smiled and let out a little giggle. But no sooner had the words left my mouth, I could hardly stop myself from tearing up a little. For the first time I actually elicited a little tear and let myself cry in front of him. He saw that and put down his spoon, smearing tomato soup all over the counter, and he got up. He came over to where I was sat on my stool and leaned in between my knees. He put his arms around me comfortingly, laying his head against my chest. It was a tender and well-meaning gesture. He seemed to understand that these momentous and decisive events meant that our time together was soon coming to an end.

Despite his revelation, it was good to feel Yura in my arms again. He was warm and substantial in my embrace, and I was glad to have him back safely. But even as I held him there, his beautiful head pressed against my chest, I knew that something had changed. There was something different about Yura – something in his spirit, his demeanor that was not the same. It was something very subtle, almost subliminal, but it was definitely there.

For his part, after visiting his father, Yura was so full of anticipation of his new life that he was yammering away almost continuously. I sat and watched him whilst he finished the remainder of his soup. He was still overawed from his trip to Saint Petersburg. He was chattering away all the time he was getting ready for bed. I didn't usually help him get ready, but tonight I wanted to. I felt I should. I was not only pleased to have him back, but he was also distracted and I had to prompt him on what to do. So, while I was busy taking care of what needed to be done, he was absently talking away in wonderment at the exhaustively exciting trip he had just returned from. He talked about his dad's big house which had a big yard and how he rode his new bike all over the lawn, the bike his dad had bought him as a belated birthday gift. He talked about his `new' brother Nikita, and told me how funny he was, and how much fun they had playing video games together, how they had swum in the pool and shot basketball hoops on the back porch. Then he told me about his `new' mom Natalya, who had made boortsog for them, apparently a type of deep fried Mongolian sweet. And as he was talking, I listened and humored him, gave him a few encouraging and positive murmurs of approval, and let him yammer away. At the same time I toweled off his hair after his shower, and held his pajama bottoms out for him to step into, and I nodded positively as he carried on talking, intermittently taking the odd sip of his hot chocolate. When he was dry and warmed by the milky drink, I rolled back the bedclothes for him to get into bed. Finally he was under the comforter, snuggled up with only his head above the covers, and he was quiet. I tousled his thick black hair and gave him a reassuring grin. He closed his eyes ready for sleep, with a contented smile on his face, and I knew he was going to go to sleep dreaming about his new life. Meanwhile, I bade him goodnight, turned out the light and gently closed the door. I slipped forlornly down to the drawing room and huddled up on the sofa alone, thinking about the changes I detected in Yura. The primary focus in his life had shifted. He had new distractions now. His new life was what he had always wanted. And the most difficult thing to have to come to terms with was that I knew it was right. It was right for him. His new life had no role for me in it. There was nothing more I could contribute. Other people would take care of him now. I had listened to him talking about them all evening. They represented his future. I knew that I had already started to lose him, and there was nothing I could do about it. I thought about how Yura's new life was now such a reality for him, that it felt almost like he no longer cared for me. That was when I finally worked out what it was that was different about him. The childish affection he once had for me, was starting to wane. The love light which used to shine so brightly in those beautiful eyes of his, had now dimmed. He had changed beyond redress. Secretly and painfully, I knew that our relationship had entered its endgame and that these were now the last precious days we would ever spend together. That was when I huddled up on the sofa, drew my legs up as tightly as I could, lowered my head to my knees and cried my heart out.

******

Elena looked awful. I could tell that she had been awakened from that curious kind of dead sleep that always follows a long flight. Her well-earned rest prematurely curtailed. Now here she was, sitting resentfully in Nikolayev's office. Her eyes were red, her skin was greasy and her hair was disheveled and hastily tied back off her face. Her ruffled appearance was accentuated by the fact that she had no makeup on. Usually she was immaculately made up. I had never seen her looking so bare and raw.

Nikolayev was pacing up and down the room anxiously, grappling with his cellphone, as though he was willing it to ring. Even he was not his usual well-groomed self. His shirt was crumpled. He had no tie and no belt. We had all been assembled rather hastily. I sat on the sofa in the seating area watching him pass back and forth before me. Next to me, Yura was propped against my shoulder. I had an arm around the sleepy boy, his head tilted into my armpit. Anton stood nearby, looking lost and confused, not quite knowing what to do with himself.

`I can't believe he's gone,' said Yura, piping up with a tiny, almost inaudible voice, his head still propped against my shoulder.

There was a tone of incredulity and disappointment in Yura's voice.

Vladik had been missing for nearly an hour now. At any rate, it had been over an hour since the foster carers had called their link worker at children's services to report him missing. They had found his room empty and the back door ajar. His bed hadn't even been slept in. But it didn't surprise me that Vladik had fled. As I recalled, he had done that once before.

`Let's think carefully,' said Nikolayev, trying to get a handle on the situation, `Where would he go?'

`He doesn't know anywhere,' said Anton, `He doesn't even speak the language.'

Nikolayev flashed him a look of annoyance, as though that particular piece of information, though true, was unwelcome.

`We should really be out there looking,' I said, with a tone of frustration.

`Where are you going to look?' said Nikolayev, with an expansive gesture, and he jerked his head towards the windows, `It's a big city. Where are you going to start?'

`We can't just sit here,' I replied.

`We're doing everything we can,' said Nikolayev, as though that was the only possible solution.

It was odd being in Nikolayev's office at this late hour. Through the windows the sky was a forbidding midnight blue. I had only ever been here during daytime. I thought of Vladik, just a tiny boy who was at this moment out there somewhere, lost and alone. Frightened and confused probably. Vulnerable and in danger certainly. I hugged Yura who, despite his sleepiness, had insisted on coming with me to HQ even though it was well past two in the morning. Not that he would have slept. He was concerned for his little buddy. I regretted having barred Yura from calling Vladik earlier. Perhaps if I had, Vladik would have been more positive about what was in store for him and wouldn't have taken flight like this.

Eventually the shrill chirruping tones of Nikolayev's cellphone sounded off, startling us all. At that moment it sounded awfully loud, instantaneously heightening the tension in the room.

`Yes?' Nikolayev answered, discarding his usual well-mannered formalities, `When...? Are you sure...? Okay, we're on our way.'

Nikolayev ended the call and surveyed the room.

`He's been spotted.'

`Where?' I asked.

`Downtown,' said Nikolayev.

`Where downtown?'

`The Midway Plaza Hotel,' said Nikolayev.

Anton and I looked at each other. Of course. Vladik knew the hotel from our meeting with Roman. It was probably the only downtown venue he might recognize. Though I did wonder how he got there. At that precise moment, I was sure the same thing was going through Anton's mind.

As we left the building it had started raining. Not a good night for anybody to be outside, and even more forbidding for a little boy lost in a big city on his own. We all climbed into the car. Nikolayev drove. Elena sat in the passenger seat and I sat in the back with Anton holding Yura between us. Yura was cold, so I put my jacket around him as Nikolayev threw the Constellation erratically around the darkened, rain-lashed streets. The roads were pretty quiet, so it didn't require the skills of a racing driver to speed through the empty streets to the Midway Plaza, which was only a few blocks away. On the short drive I did wonder how we all came to be on this miserable, unforeseen errand that we suddenly found ourselves engaged on at this ungodly hour of the night. I only hoped we were going to get there in time and that Vladik was alright.

When we arrived at the Midway Plaza, the scene that greeted us outside the hotel was far more alarming than I feared. There were police interceptors all over the road, LEDs flashing like strobe lights and uniformed officers standing around in clusters not really doing anything. There were lines of curious bystanders behind the police cordon standing there spectating, morbidly waiting for some unfortunate event to transpire.

Nikolayev braked sharply, not being used to the characteristics of the big SUV, and brought it to a halt with a short screech, jolting us all in our seats. He left the car skewed awkwardly across the centre of the road and jumped out, leaving the engine running and the door open. Yura rose up in the back seat, visibly disturbed by the gravity of the scene.

`What's going on Mark?'

`I don't know little buddy, let me find out.'

The rest of us all followed Nikolayev out into the driving rain.

I turned to Anton and pushed Yura back towards him, squinting through the heavy raindrops.

`Stay with Anton,' I said, and Anton took Yura into his arms, drawing my jacket up over Yura's head like a hood so that he was protected from the rain.

Anton stood behind Yura and wrapped his arms around the boy. Elena stood nearby, braving the rain.

Nikolayev and I ducked under the police cordon and went over to the little knot of officers that were standing on the forecourt of the hotel. Some had umbrellas, others had polythene shrouds on their caps. All of them had their coat collars turned up against the rain. We showed them our badges and they escorted us over to the main entrance of the hotel. At this point, one of the hotel staff approached us, just inside the lobby. He was the hotel's doorman.

`I tried to stop him,' he was saying, `But the boy was too fast for me.'

The doorman sounded Eastern European, but I couldn't quite trace his accent. He looked a little agitated, standing there in his long braided commissionaires coat, with double rows of buttons down the front. He was a big man, very tall and bull-chested. Nikolayev managed to elicit the whole story from him. It turned out that the doorman was Polish. Coincidentally, and conveniently, he understood a little Russian, and was the first one to spot Vladik when he came into the hotel. Of course, a little boy on his own at this time of night was very conspicuous. Vladik had come into the hotel lobby looking cold and tired and frightened and said he was lost. So the doorman had taken Vladik into a little side room just off the main lobby, where he had sat him down and given him a glass of milk.

At this point the doorman took us inside and showed us into the side room and pointed out where Vladik had sat. It was a type of mess room which was reserved for the bellhops and doormen. It was a small and windowless little space, more of a closet, and there was a fragile looking wooden table in the corner with two rickety chairs. Vladik's half finished glass of milk was still sitting on the table. The doorman said he had managed to elicit from the boy that he was looking for a police officer called Mark and didn't know where to find him. So, whilst Vladik sat there drinking his glass of milk, he had called the police, thinking that this was what the boy wanted. At the sight of uniformed police officers, Vladik had panicked and shouted `I'm not going back!' and fled the room, running out into the hotel lobby and disappearing up the main stairs. No one had seen where he went. But the window on the mezzanine floor was found open, and it was assumed that Vladik had climbed out and was hiding somewhere on the second floor roof.

My heart sank. I feared for Vladik. As if that little boy hadn't suffered enough. I couldn't imagine the turmoil he must have gone through just getting here, negotiating the city streets alone in the darkness. Now he was probably cowering somewhere, frightened and alone. I knew we had to find him. I wanted to get to him. Quickly.

I ran back outside into the driving rain. It wasn't until then that I realized that the assembled bystanders behind the police cordon were looking up at the building, but there was nothing apparent. Just the giant illuminated letters of the hotel's name, secured to the façade, at this moment looking redundant and garish. Along the front of the hotel, there was a decorative ledge which ran the entire length of the building. It was very narrow, probably only three feet wide, and was intermittently bisected by decorative cornices. Above the ledge was the window that had been swung wide open, so that the curtains were billowing out into the wind and rain, but there was no sign of Vladik.

The shower had intensified and it was coming down in bucketfuls now. The cold, hard pellets of rain drummed relentlessly against my face, disintegrating into large splashes as they hit. To my dismay, the fire department had now arrived with an enormous rescue tender. Quite what they were hoping to achieve at this stage was unclear, though of course I understood that their presence was routine at such incidents. There was also the unmistakable glare of media cameras, with their interrogatory arc lights and reporters yammering into microphones. I could see their OB trucks with those enormous dishes on their roofs, pointing skywards at some unseen orbiting satellite, already beaming back live pictures. I could even detect the mechanical whir of helicopter rotors somewhere up above. Trust the media to turn up when they were least welcome. Goddamn vultures.

The firefighters then switched on a powerful spotlight on the rescue tender, and they turned the beam up at the façade of the hotel. Just then, a little murmur went up amongst the assembled onlookers and they were all pointing up at the building. Turning back towards the hotel, I looked up, and saw what the commotion was all about. The powerful beam of the spotlight cast an illuminated disc onto the ledge just below the open window. Through it's beam, the concentration of falling raindrops was clearly visible. And there, on the narrow ledge, the searchlight had lit up the spot where we could clearly see the tiny, forlorn figure of Vladik, precariously clinging to one of the ornate cornices on the narrow ledge. My heart jumped at the sight of that little boy crouching there, so high up. Vladik had somehow climbed out onto the ledge and had worked a little way along. He was clinging on in fear, huddled into his jacket. He was soaked through and looked very scared. He was turned towards the wall, afraid to loosen his grip, and unable to turn around to survey the commotion going on in the street below him.

`Jesus Christ!'

I realized that the refrain came from Nikolayev who was standing beside me, looking up. He was not usually given to even the mildest of expletives. But this was evidently a departure in the type of events he was accustomed to dealing with.

`I'm going up there,' I said.

Nikolayev turned to me.

`No Mark! Let the fire department deal with it.'

`I must,' I said, `I can't leave that boy up there on his own.'

I ran back inside the hotel. The doorman was still standing there and he instantly knew my purpose. He said something in Polish and pointed up the stairs to the mezzanine floor, so I ran up and quickly located the opened window. Leaning out, I could see there was a drop of a few feet down onto the narrow ledge. Beyond the ledge, I could see down into the street where all the vehicles and flashing lights were littering the road. And there, a few feet along, I could see Vladik. He was crouched down, clinging on, and crying softly.

I was aware that by this time Nikolayev was behind me.

`I've got to go to him,' I said.

Nikolayev knew he wasn't able to stop me.

`Be careful Mark, I can't afford to lose you.'

I looked at him slightly taken aback. Was that a compliment? Nikolayev had never before hinted at how valuable I might be to him.

I climbed out onto the broad window sill and laid down flat. I swung my legs out over the edge, still clinging on with my fingers, then dropped down onto the ledge. It was extremely narrow, just wide enough to crawl along, but not much else. I worked my way along the precipice, assimilating just how high up it was. The sheer distance down onto the ground below was dizzying and scary and I remembered exactly why I had decided to become a police officer instead of a firefighter.

Looking along the narrow ledge, the tiny figure of Vladik was pressed against the wall just a few feet away, clinging on, afraid to move. I worked my way towards him slowly, inching along, little by little. As I neared, I could hear his quiet sobs more distinctly. His little body shuddered intermittently. He was sniffling and emitting tiny little keening sounds – a sure sign of distress.

The rain was coming down even harder now, making the ledge shiny and slippery. As I gradually crawled towards him, Vladik heard me. He seemed startled for a moment, and twisted his head half around. He was visibly tearful as he huddled there.

`It's okay little buddy,' I reassured him.

On realizing it was me, he burst into a renewed fit of crying.

`Oh Mark! I thought you would never come!'

And he cried even louder, still clinging onto the ledge, afraid to let go.

`I'm coming little buddy. Hold on.'

I edged closer and closer on my knees until I was within touching distance. Vladik was twisting his head, watching me and the fear was apparent in his tear-filled eyes. He waited for me to get close enough, then quickly, in one swift movement, let go of the ledge and turned to grab onto me. I threw myself across him and quickly swooped him into my embrace. He screamed into my shoulder in fear and relief. There was an audible gasp from the assembled onlookers down below, and I was aware that we were very much in the glare of the fire department's spotlight.

`I've got you little buddy. I'm here now. You're safe.'

He cried for a few moments and I cried with him, barely able to distinguish my tears of relief from the incessant rain. Vladik felt sodden and bedraggled in my arms. His clothes were wet through. Beneath the saturated layers of fabric, his little body was cold and shivering with fear and hypothermia.

`What are you doing up here little buddy?'

`I didn't want them to take me back!' he sobbed, `I ran and ran and didn't know where to go! Oh Mark, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to find you!'

`It's okay little buddy,' I said, stroking his blond head, `I'm here now.'

I squeezed his little frame. The feel of his anxious, vulnerable, trembling little body against me was exquisite. It was good to have him in my arms again.

`Why did you do it, little buddy? Why did you run?'

`I missed you. I missed Yura. I couldn't stay in that place. Please don't make me go back!'

`You don't have to, little buddy,' I murmured softly, rubbing his back, `You don't have to do anything you don't want to.'

He looked up.

`You promise?'

`I promise.'

Vladik threw himself back onto me and started sobbing again.

`Why do these things happen to me Mark? What did I do wrong?'

`You didn't do anything little buddy,' I said, still rubbing his back, `Life is like that sometimes.'

`Yura is going to go and live in Saint Petersburg and I'm going to be left all alone.'

`You won't be all alone. Yura has some good news for you.'

He was quieted for a moment. But was still clinging to me tightly.

`What news?'

`I'm going to let him tell you,' I said, `But first we have to get down from here.'

I went to pull away. He grabbed me even tighter.

`Don't leave me Mark!'

`I'm not going to leave you little buddy.'

He cried some more, and I could feel him shuddering into me. He went on sobbing gently into my shoulder and I noticed, as his little hands were clutching at my sodden shirtsleeves that his knuckles were bleeding.

I took his little hand and looked closely at his injury. He had grazed his knuckles quite badly, and the skin on the back of his fingers was torn and bloody. Some of the blood had started to congeal in dark globs, and there were little curled flaps of skin where it was torn open on the loose folds of his knuckles. The rain had smeared little trickles of pink blood across the back of his tiny hand.

`You're bleeding little buddy.'

He seemed to stop crying for a moment, and pulled away to look down at his hand, as though he wasn't even aware of it. He seemed confused for a moment, as though not sure how to react to his injury. He sniffled a bit and looked back at me, not knowing what to do.

I took his little hand and he watched me, strangely silent for a moment, as I stuck his four fingers into my mouth. I warmly massaged them with my tongue, sucking his little digits clean. When his hand was clean of the dried blood, I dug my hand into my pocket and whipped out my handkerchief. I wrapped it around his knuckles, securing it with an expert knot. His hand was so small and frail in my grip. Once it was safely bandaged, he admired the knot that stuck up like two little rabbits ears. He stared at me, even through the driving rain, with a look of relief and wonderment in his pretty green eyes, as though asking `Why do you care about me so much?'

For a moment my ministrations seemed to soothe and calm him, and he was quiet. But then he remembered where we were, and was suddenly shocked back into reality when he looked about him and realized we were sitting precariously on that ledge in the pouring rain, isolated and vulnerable and very wet.

He was very quiet and still for a few moments.

`Mark...? I'm scared.'

`Don't be scared little buddy. Everything's going to be alright.'

At this point we could hear the rescue tender power up and the fire department were deploying their hydraulic platform. They had one firefighter in the platform and it was slowly elevating towards us. It was noisy, but a welcome sight. I knew I could not carry Vladik back along the ledge. There wasn't enough room to turn around and I wasn't sure I could coax him back into the window backwards. It was safer for us to stay put and let the fire department bring us down.

I held onto Vladik as the hydraulic platform rose towards us like some giant mechanical arm, and we could clearly see the firefighter in his reflective overalls and his oversized helmet. The platform then began closing in towards us and when the firefighter reached in and grabbed Vladik, he seemed to lift the little boy with consummate ease, plucking him from the ledge and dropping him safely into the platform. I grabbed the rails of the platform and swung in after him. When we were both aboard, I held onto Vladik tightly for the brief minutes it took to lower us down to the ground.

As soon as we were back down on the ground, I slapped the firefighter on the back by way of thanks and we clambered out. Yura and Anton ran towards us. I could see Elena binging up the rear. Beyond the police cordon the media cameras were rolling and there was a whole bank of flashguns firing from both sides. Overhead the helicopter was whining and fluttering its rotors. Although tired and wet, Vladik was still able to run to Yura and they crashed into each other in an emotional embrace, simultaneously bursting into tears. Two little friends, reunited in the most dramatic of circumstances, saturated with the rain and emotionally exhausted.

`It's going to be alright!' Yura was saying as they held each other, through tears of happiness and relief, `You're going to come and live with us!'

Vladik pulled back and looked at Yura, then looked up at me, blinking through the relentless rain.

`It's true little buddy,' I said.

`Mark's right,' said Yura, `You can come and live with me and my dad in Saint Petersburg. Everything's going to be alright.'

Vladik smiled, then his face transfigured into a look of confusion, as though he detected an unfamiliar sensation. He seemed to go blank for a moment. He was weakening. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and I knew he was about to faint. The fear. The emotion. The physical exhaustion. The lights. The rain. The helicopter overhead. It was just too much for this little boy. I quickly grabbed him, taking hold of him in a bear-hug as his knees buckled. I picked him up and lifted him, cradling him with one arm under his back and one under his knees. I carried him over to the car, with his arms dangling limply. I gently laid him down on the rear seat of the Constellation, out of the rain, and put him on his side in the recovery position. I brushed the raindrops from his pretty face. I huddled over him in the back of the car, shielding him from the rain that was lashing the leather upholstery through the open door.

Vladik came to a few seconds later. He opened his eyes and tried to smile. His exhaustion showed in the way he could barely keep his eyes open. The trauma of the night's events had finally overwhelmed him, and he looked up at me with a weak little smile. It was a smile that took all the energy he had left, but a smile of recognition. At that moment Vladik let go. He finally succumbed completely, allowing himself to give in to his childish exhaustion and to slip into a welcome sleep. But at least he fell asleep knowing that his fears were all assuaged. He was able to slip into his childish slumber knowing that it was all going to end well for him. All his problems were over. Everything WAS going to be alright.

******

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