It's not far, thankfully. The door with all the signs you don't need even a word of Russian to read is just ahead, and there's a stool close to hand just inside. "Thank you," says Tsybenko, and lowers his head almost to his knees.

Apalkov growls something and moves forward on his own, eyes gleaming. Tsybenko translates without looking up. "He says five minutes. Maybe ten. Then we run like scared baby ponies." The visible part of his mouth quirks. "Is not good time for showing of indomitable Russian spirit, for any of us."