Mr. Leonov

 

By Richard Hardenburg

British Salmoa Times Correspondent: Bureau – Ottawa, Ontario

The flight from Norport to Ottawa was uneventful—first class, thanks to my editor’s good efforts—which gave me time to prepare for my meeting with the First Secretary of the Russian Federation Embassy in Canada, Mr. Anatoly Leonov.

Autumn in Ottawa is vibrant yet fickle; the air had already turned sharp and restless by the time I stepped outside the terminal. “Toto,” I muttered, “we’re not in Norport anymore.”

A taxi carried me to the Fairmont Château Laurier, not far from the Russian embassy. After a quick refresh and a tie adjustment, I set off to meet Mr. Leonov.

At the embassy, I was greeted by a poised young woman.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hardenburg,” she said. “My name is Natalia Korsakova. Mr. Leonov is expecting you in the library. Welcome to the Embassy of the Russian Federation.”

I thanked her and followed through a well-lit corridor adorned with tasteful Russian art.

“The library is just ahead,” she added. “Please make yourself comfortable. Mr. Leonov will join you shortly.”

The library was magnificent—oak shelves, Persian rugs, and at its heart, a large painting of Peter the Great astride a white horse. The Tsar’s gaze seemed to follow me with regal intensity.

“A gift from Catherine I,” came a voice behind me. “It’s an original.”

I turned. “Ah! Mr. Leonov, I presume.”

“Welcome,” he said warmly, extending a firm hand. “To this humble Russian sanctuary of diplomacy. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Mr. Anatoly Leonov appeared to be in his mid-thirties—fit, perfectly groomed, with the posture of someone guarding a mausoleum, and possessed of the polished English of an Oxford man. As we sat across from one another, he smiled and said:

“Mr. Hardenburg, you must realize that you could have been interviewed by a lower-ranking official to process your visa. Instead, we are meeting here.” He reached for a maroon leather folder, opened it, and handed me my passport. “Your visa is approved.”

“Thank you, Mr. Leonov. It’s an honor to be here.”

“You are very welcome,” he replied, leaning back with an amused glint. “You may call me Tolya... but not quite yet. For now, Mr. Leonov will do.” He paused, then added, “Mr. Hardenburg, your dedication to your craft is noted. To travel so far, into such… primitive conditions, simply to observe. You understand, of course, that RAMSD’s primary concern is scientific integrity. The data must be pure.”

“I understand, Mr. Leonov. My intention is to document the process transparently for the public—a human perspective on groundbreaking science.”

“Of course. A human perspective. A noble goal. But the Arctic is a difficult mistress. It offers clarity—and distortion. When the cold tests endurance, the mind can… see things. As a journalist, you must rely entirely on facts verified by the Scientific Review Board, yes? Not on instinct or prior belief.”

I thought carefully before answering. “I rely only on what I can verify and what the data supports. My editors expect nothing less.”

“Excellent. Accountability is key. And speaking of accountability… I see you report to Ms. Marin and Ms. Hátszeghy at the British Salmoa Times. Very good. No other parties hold claim to your findings? No private consortia? No competing interests from other nations—perhaps the United States or Germany?”

“Only to my readers,” I replied with a smile.

“Excellent!” His expression brightened. After a pause, he continued, “Regarding the NDA—we are also interested in your species of study, Sasquatchus anonymus, though we name it differently…”

“Almasty, Chuchunaa, Leshy…” I said.

“Exactly. You know your subject.” His tone deepened. “We also have our own Colonel James Williams, and the expedition will visit a sensitive site. I hope you understand, Richard... May I call you Richard? Can we shake on that, as you Americans say?”

“Of course!” I said, shaking his hand. “But I’m Canadian—”

He cut in smoothly, “Born in Kansas City, to American parents. Your mother is Presbyterian, your father Jewish Orthodox - not practicing - married to a beautiful Canadian woman, and you have two daughters... Shall I go on?”

I paused, half amused, half unsettled. “I think we’re on the same page, Tolya.”

“Yes...” he said, looking into my eyes, “I believe we do. See you in Moscow, Richard.”

Visiting the Embassy of the Russian Federation in Ottawa was an experience in itself. What awaits in Moscow—and beyond—I can only imagine. But at that moment, I had no inkling that Mr. Leonov would accompany us.  But one thing my readers can be sure of: I remain pledged to the truth.