The atmosphere in this attic of an old high-rise building was special. There were cigarette butts and empty bottles on the spattered floor, some dilapidated mattresses resembling here and there. On the mattresses sat and lay a decent-looking people who found here what they could not find in ordinary life. Almost in the center, on an elaborate chair in front of an elaborate table, the brittle-looking girl used to be bored, ready to open a small hatch in the floor for a conventional knock.
And here they knocked below.
The knock was the same, two blows - a pause - three blows, so the girl lazily got up from her fussy chair, clicked the latch and lightly kicked the hatch. At first, one police cap came out of the hatch, then another. The girl recoiled from the hatch and was about to raise a commotion, but police officer Petrenko gestured: quietly, they say. The girl obeyed. None of the visitors even moved.
Policemen of this size have not yet seen the police. Now, at the height of the working day, at least thirty people have connected their laptops, or perhaps rented right here, to an illegal access point of the Internet banned in the Russian Federation. Twisted pair cables — gray, white, blue, red — stretched to a small server rack connected to an even smaller satellite dish. Policeman Ivanov opened the door of the rack, looked into it and whistled: “They live well, they don’t even have a D-Link here, but a real Tsisk of forty-eight ports”.
- And who is the master of all this good? - affectionately, fatherly, policeman Petrenko addressed the girl.
- I! I am the mistress! - proudly blurted out the girl.
- Oh well. We look around here for now. If you are not going to do anything stupid, then we will disperse and pick up the good.
For some reason, for a moment, the police officer Petrenko felt ashamed and disgusted that in the era of the prosperity of the Motherland, he earns bribes from Internet hangouts. Maybe he was embarrassed by the desire of people at any cost to get into the forbidden Internet, or maybe just the thought of the illegality of bribery flashed through my head. From the embryo of his reflections distracted his waving policeman Ivanov.
- What is it? - Policeman Petrenko gestured at a woman in headphones and a white helmet covering her eyes.
- Relax, she does not hear us. This is Vive.
- Vive. Stuck such a virtual reality. Let's see what she has there. “Ivanov turned on a small monitor lying near a woman.”
The bottomless blue sky and the seagulls in it, the snow-capped peaks of the mountains and green meadows, small houses with tiled roofs and the peak of the Catholic cathedral - all this was reflected in the mirror smooth surface of the beautiful lake. Through the dim screen of the monitor, life locked in it escaped.
- Well, no ... well yourself! - broke out from the policeman Petrenko.
Policeman Ivanov touched the woman on the shoulder, took one earpiece off of her and asked, as neutral as possible:
- What have you got?
- Oh, this is Switzerland. I love to wander around this lake.
Policeman Ivanov, who had turned gray in the face, pulled handcuffs from his belt and began to tighten them on the woman's wrists. Policeman Petrenko's heart sank. There will be no bribe today. There will be protocols, interrogations and other investigative activities. The woman with whom they broke the wive-helmet, listened frightenedly to poisonous words:
- Police officer Ivanov. You are detained for illegally crossing the state border of the Russian Federation.