© Leon Malin, 2017
ISBN 978-5-4490-0730-8
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
I was arrested on April 24, 1999. It was in the morning, but not early, but closer to noon. I wrapped around the corner of the house, as I saw two young men walking slowly. Why did I pay attention to them? I do not know. Maybe because they were dressed as something poor, not in a modern way. I overtook them, opened the door to the entrance with the key. The guys followed. Climbing one flight of stairs, I noticed that they did not close the door behind them.
“The intercom was put on purpose to shut the door to the porch,” I tell them.
“And there are still people going,” they replied.
And indeed, two more ran into the entrance. I was pressed to the wall. And handcuffed. Five of us, a group, we left the entrance and headed for the car. It was “Moskvich”, where we hardly squeezed. I was put in the center in the back seat.
I was stunned and did not understand anything. Who is it? Police, bandits or whatever.
“Who are you, from the organs?” – I turned to their eldest.
– Yes.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Am I arrested?” Are you sure you took that person? You did not even ask for documents. I have my passport with me.