Free Cold Blood by Alex Shaw

come from, the left bank, was littered with high rise blocks; the right was covered with thick green trees. Several gold onion shaped domes poked out between them reflecting the summer sun like mirrors. Arnaud recognised the Pechersk Lavra Monastery from his Lonely Planet guide book and remembered that it contained more mummies than all the pyramids and temples of Egypt. Next to the monastery was a tall metal statue of a woman. In one hand she held a dagger and in the other a shield. He couldn’t remember what it was. Snow anticipated Arnaud’s question. “That’s Brezhnev’s mother.”
    “What?”
    “That’s what they call it. Brezhnev ordered it built as a symbol of Mother Russia.”
    “That’s right.” He started to remember.
    “You see the dagger? That was originally a sword but after it was completed the planners realised that it was actually taller than the grand church tower at the Lavra Monastery. So it was made shorter. Brezhnev wasn’t happy but in this case the Church beat the mighty Soviet State. It’s still allegedly taller than the Statue of Liberty, but don’t let the Yanks know! The statue is on top of the military museum. I’ll take you there if you like; they’ve got loads of Soviet-era tanks, planes and helicopters.”
    Arnaud stared. “Cool. I’m into all that. You know, military stuff.”
    Snow tried not to smile. “Yeah?”
    “Yeah. I was in the TA for a while at uni, even thought about becoming an officer.”
    “What stopped you?”
    “I’m not a fan of green. No; I met this girl and anyway, I didn’t in the end. I’m not a meat head. I’d rather not get shot by an Arab.”
    “I used to be in the army.”
    Arnaud blushed. Had he offended his fellow teacher? “Oh?”
    Snow paused to maximise Arnaud’s potential embarrassment. “The Salvation Army. I had to give it up though; I got repetitive strain injury from banging my tambourine.” Snow held Arnold’s gaze for a second before both men started to laugh.
    They reached the right bank of the river and took a road which suddenly became cobbled and wound its way between the trees and up towards the city centre. As they did Snow pointed out the city barracks, ‘Arsenalna’, before they arrived at Khreshatik. Snow described it as a mixture of Bond and Oxford Street, but four times as wide. Two minutes later, after fighting the traffic, the Lada mounted the pavement and parked in the front of the arched gates of the apartment block. Victor opened the boot and handed Snow and Arnaud the bags. He then extended his hand and shook Arnaud’s. “Good day.”
    “Good day,” replied Arnaud with a smile.
    The Lada pulled back into the road and headed back down to Khreshatik. Arnaud looked around. Pushkinskaya ran parallel to Kyiv’s main boulevard – Khreshatik. It was lined with six storied apartment blocks at this end and a couple of government buildings at the other. On the ground floor of most of the blocks were restaurants, bars, a travel agent and a shoe shop. The road itself was just wide enough for two way traffic. The pavement on both sides was almost as wide as the road.
    “Not a bad street eh? The architecture is a lot better here in the centre than in the outskirts.”
    Arnaud agreed. From what he had seen so far, Kyiv’s city centre reminded him of a much cleaner version of Paris, although his part-Gallic blood would not allow him to vocalise this. “So where’s the school?”
    “Twenty minutes away by car on the other side of the river I’m afraid, even though it’s named after an area ten minutes’ walk away. Come on, let’s get inside. The quicker we dump your bags the quicker I can show you the bars. Unless you’re tired?”
    “What, and miss out on a beer? Nah.” Arnaud looked at his watch. The flight had landed at ten thirty, it had taken forty minutes to get his bags and clear customs and about the same time to get here. It was almost midday. They walked through the door in the three meter high