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- Who?

- Your pi..kindness!

Boris leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms. His face was on fire from the balaclava.

– What is under the building of your office in Moscow? - He asked.

- I have no idea. Look, you won't find them anyway. All your questions show that you have the brain of a chicken. I understand why we are here. You don't know anything about your work. I mean in what you are obliged to do there according to your position. It's all boring to me. Let's better go ahead, what's on your schedule. I won't say anything more.

Vindman took off his balaclava. The mustachioed man frowned, and Makarov smiled his dismissive smile - they say, well, I told you he was an idiot. He really did smile every now and then, especially when Stotsky insulted Boris.

“Stotsky, if you haven’t understood yet, I’ll repeat - I don’t give a damn about your bosses and my own, too,” Vindman began, not approaching the microphone, “even if they are really wet there, I’m not sure that the authorities will
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