He had gotten caught in an armed robbery and was serving eight years. So Boris started working with different men—older, smarter ones. Before long he met Valera Sedoy, a respected figure from a neighboring industrial city.
Valera was fifteen years older than Boris and had already done three prison terms. He didn’t hold the highest rank, but in that world he carried real weight. He noticed Boris at a large gathering of local criminals.
“You’re a solid young man,” Valera said after Boris calmly settled a dispute between two groups. “You’ve got a head on your shoulders, and you don’t run hot. Not many like that left.”
Boris answered with a modest nod. He knew how to keep quiet at the right moment, and that too was valued. Valera brought him into his crew.
They specialized in large warehouses, jewelry stores, and sometimes the apartments of well-connected officials. Their jobs went smoothly. The money was divided honestly.
Boris saved his share but kept living simply. He rented a small room in a worn-out communal apartment on the edge of town. He dressed plainly and never rushed to buy a car. He didn’t like attention.
Still, in 1976 he was caught again. This time it was at a steel warehouse on the outskirts of the city. The job had been planned well, but the night watchman turned out to be sober, despite what their informant had promised.
The guard raised the alarm. Boris got away that night, but a week later the police came straight to his room. Somebody from their own side had sold him out.
The court gave him five years in a general-regime colony. He was sent north to serve the sentence. Boris made the trip without panic.
He knew there would be people there who understood who he was. And there were. He was received with respect. In that harsh camp, one of the top old authorities was serving time there too—Georgy Konstantinovich Bazhenov, known as the Thinker.
He was close to sixty, a dry, gray-haired man whose sharp eyes still looked like a hawk’s. The Thinker controlled the colony with a steady hand, quietly, without showmanship.
His influence was so strong even the administration had to reckon with him. He noticed Boris right away and called him in for a serious talk on the second day.
“I’ve heard about you,” the old man said, sitting on his neatly made bunk in a separate cell. “Valera Sedoy speaks well of you. Says you’re smart and you know how to keep your mouth shut.”
Boris nodded respectfully. “Here, you live by our rules,” the Thinker continued. “No drifting. No weakness. You understand?”
“I understand,” Boris answered.
The next five years became a real education. The Thinker taught him more than rules—he taught him the philosophy behind them. He explained why a respected man in their world never worked for the state.
He explained why cooperation with prison officials or police was forbidden. He taught him why a man’s word had to hold, no matter the cost. Boris listened, remembered, and took it all in…
