Dead Meat

Grushko walked along the corridor and reflected that even now, after the demise of the Party, things were still more comfortable for the KGB than for their poor cousins downstairs. There were fresh towels, soap and lavatory paper in the washrooms. The floors were covered with thick blue carpets instead of dirty brown linoleum, while in every office were computers, fax machines and photocopiers.

He entered one office where a woman in her forties with neatly cut auburn hair and wearing a smart blue two-piece suit was taking books down from her shelves and packing them into cardboard boxes. Vera Andreyeva seemed more like someone who read the news on television than a major in the KGB.

What's this?' said Grushko. Are you moving into better offices?'

Andreyeva smiled at Grushko's little irony.

As a matter of fact I am,' she said. I'm leaving the Department, Yevgeni. What's left of it, anyway.'

Leaving? Surely they're not getting rid of you as well, Vera Fyodorovna? I thought that the Department was going to use its best resources to fight organised crime and economic corruption.'

Oh, they are,' she said. But then so is the army. And the navy. And for all I know the air force as well. All of us looking for a new role in life. And stepping on your toes.' She shook her head. Wasn't it Chekhov who said that when a lot of remedies are suggested for a disease, then it can't be cured?'

I never liked Chekhov much,' said Grushko. He picked up a book from her desk. Reforming the Soviet Economy: Equality versus Efficiency.' He inspected another. The Nature and Logic of Capitalism. You are on the move, Vera. What will you do?'

I've been offered a job with a Russo-American joint-venture company,' she said happily. They're planning to open a chain of real hamburger restaurants throughout Russia. I'm in charge of recruitment.'

An ex-KGB major in charge of recruitment? It figures.'

Vera turned towards Grushko and gave him a look, as if she were measuring him up.

I wonder,' she said thoughtfully.

What?' he said.

You, Yevgeni? How would you fancy handling security for us? We could use a man like you. The price of meat being what it is, security will be one of our most important considerations.'

Oh, I don't doubt it,' smiled Grushko. But you're serious, aren't you?'

Why not? Just think of the pay. You know what the Department were going to retire me on? Seven hundred and fifty roubles a month. You know how much I earn with the joint-venture?'

Please don't tell me,' said Grushko.

Thirty thousand roubles a month. That's forty times as much.'

Grushko smiled weakly. The same as a miner,' he joked, knowing that the joke was on him: since the miners had settled their strike, 30,000 roubles was indeed what one of them earned in a month.

Someone with your background could very probably pick up the same.'

What use would I have for that kind of money?'

Knowing you, Yevgeni Ivanovich, none at all. But your wife now she's a different story. I don't doubt she'd find plenty to spend it on. Even in the state shops.'

The riddle of the money fetish is therefore the riddle of the commodity fetish now become visible and dazzling to our eyes.

Vera looked taken aback.

I never thought I'd live to hear it,' she said. Of all the people to quote Marx.'

I couldn't remember any Chekhov,' said Grushko. Look, Vera, thanks for the offer but I'm not here to talk about myself.'

You want to know about your Georgians, don't you? Well, I've had a word with our friends in the seventh CD and the surveillance is in place. So you can relax.'

And the information about Mikhail Milyukin?'

Vera Andreyeva lifted another cardboard box on to the desk.

Tapes, transcripts, files, everything, like you asked.'

Grushko peered curiously into the box.

But why was his phone tapped at all?' he said. I mean, why now?'

She shrugged. Oh, I dare say it always had been and nobody thought to have it removed. Things are a bit like that these days: we're a plane on automatic pilot, only the captain's already baled out.' She lifted an armful of books and dropped them into another box. Well, now it's my turn.'

And does that mean you can talk freely?' Grushko's tone was cautious.

Andreyeva lit a cigarette and sat on the edge of her desk.

Try me.

Your colleagues.'

Correction: my former colleagues.'

Would you say that many of them are anti-Semitic?'

The Department has its fair share of prejudice, Yevgeni. Just like everywhere else.'

All right then, let me ask you this: is there anyone here who might have had it in for Mikhail Milyukin?'

Enough to kill him? No, I don't think so.'

Enough to scare and harass him maybe?'

She thought carefully for a minute.

I couldn't ever repeat this,' said Vera. At least, not before an investigator.'

Grushko shook his head. Between you and me then,' he said.

All right,' she said. I believe there was someone in the second CD who tried to persuade Milyukin to spy on a couple of English journalists. I think he probably tried to squeeze him a little.' She shrugged. Well, that's the way they work, of course. But not what you're suggesting. Anyway, they've left now. The officer and the two journalists.'

Vera Andreyeva picked up a smart new pigskin briefcase and took out a copy of Ogonyok. On the front cover was a picture of Milyukin.

You know, a lot of people in this Department admired Milyukin,' she said. Myself included.'

But you're leaving,' said Grushko. It wouldn't be the first time that this Department has got rid of its liberals.'

Half the KGB is going to be looking for a new job,' she said insistently. It's not politics that runs the system now. It's the International Monetary Fund.'

You'd know more about that than I do.' He picked up the box containing the information on Mikhail Milyukin and walked to the door.

Thanks for this,' he said. And good luck with the hamburgers.'

Promise me you'll think it over,' she said.

Grushko nodded.

I promise,' he said. But if unemployment is set for a big rise then that's good news for the Mafia. The way things are shaping up Petersburg will be just like Chicago in the twenties.' He grinned. And it's not much of a story if there's no Elliot Ness.'

It was while I was leaving the synagogue on Lermontovsky Prospekt after the service for her husband that I first saw the beauty of Nina Milyukin. Taller by a head than the friends and relations surrounding her, she stood waiting for the cars to take us down to Volkov Cemetery, without tears but with such a look of sadness as I had never seen. Before I had thought her face merely clever. Now she struck me as something more distinguished, aristocratic even, like some long-lost Romanov princess from that old tragedy. These are odd words for a lawyer but they must be said, for this is not only Grushko's story, it is also mine.

I do not know whether Grushko made it to the synagogue or not, as I did not actually see him until the funeral party arrived at the cemetery, which was not surprising given the large number of people, many of them Milyukin's readers, who had turned up to pay their respects to him. Even the Mayor of St Petersburg was there, his office having given permission for Milyukin's burial in one of the city's oldest and most exclusive cemeteries, where some of the country's best writers Belinsky, Blok, Turgenev and Kupin were buried.

The funeral could not have been more different from the Georgian's. The State's contribution of 100 roubles was as nothing compared to the cost of the cheapest coffin: at 2,000 roubles apiece these were hard to find and, but for a whip-round in the Big House organised by Grushko, Nina Milyukin might easily have been forced to hire a coffin for the trip to Volkov Cemetery and then to transfer her husband's body to a plastic bag for the actual burial. None of the cars, with the possible exception of the mayor's Zil, would have excited much interest. Nor were there any enormous wreaths, only single carnations. But there was no mistaking the sense of real grief that affected everyone who was there that warm June afternoon.