That was a year ago. Today the world is a different place. Tikhomirov is president of Russia, and in Europe a new cohort of nationalist leaders has arisen, an advance guard of the new world order, all of them bearing the mark of the Twelve. Oxana and I have new identities and live in one of the outer suburbs of St. Petersburg. Our apartment is quiet, with views over a park, which is pretty in summertime and beautiful, if melancholy, in winter. Oxana is at university in the city, studying for her linguistics degree. She is a few years older than the other students, and I suspect that they find her a little strange (on the single occasion that I met her there, two of the young men on the course looked actively scared of her), but she promises me that she is making friends. I divide my time between reading, walking and working for an online translation bureau. Next year, I hope to start a distance-learning course in psychology. There's so much I want to understand.

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