Vera, springing up, seizes her gun and again points it straight at the door. Rudi, amused, says, “At four in the morning? What a busy bee you are. But of course, that is the usual hour for security forces to grab a government’s political enemies. I hear that the British police now arrest asylum seekers at this hour.”
Grolsh says, “Please! I am not here to arrest you but please, we must now talk.”
“I will call you in when I have adjusted my clothing,” says Rudi merrily. Switching off the phone he tells Vera, “You can hide in bed with me or under it. I suggest in, on the far side.”
He pulls his long legs up to make a tent-like bulge under his duvet, then flings them back on the side opposite the bedside table. Vera frowns grimly for a moment, nods, goes round the bed and slips in with him. He covers her small body with the duvet without straightening his legs, then warbles in a loud sing-song, “Enter, Comrade Grolsh.”
The door is opened by someone who enters and closes it carefully behind him. He looks like any European or American businessman, in an expensive suit that does not fit him very well. He approaches the bed and, sitting in the chair where Vera sat, clasps his hands between his knees and stares gloomily at the floor. Rudi, pleased to see him like this, says, “Care for a drink?”
Grolsh nods.
“Then help yourself.”
Grolsh fills a tumbler near to the rim with vodka, swigs from it and says, “This building has been the President of Fredonia’s residence since the time of Looper Firefly in 1933. Even then this was the President’s bedroom. Did it never occur to you that State Security would have this room bugged?”
Rudi, chuckling, says, “Strange as it may seem, it never did.”
Grolsh, sighing, says, “I know that Vera Zazulich, leader of the Decembrist group, is somewhere near with a gun she will shortly point at my head.”
Vera, uncovering, sits up gun in hand as he predicted and tells him, “Yes, Comrade Grolsh, I have just learned that you are mainly responsible for the present state of Fredonia. If you call in your henchmen I will certainly put a bullet in your brain.”
Grolsh shrugs and says, “Had I feared that I would have sent them in before me. A sudden clean death by bullet is the least I fear nowadays.”
Laughing heartily, Rudi says, “The poor fellow must be in serious trouble, Vera. Who is after you, Grolsh? Will they attach electrodes to your genitals? Or work all over you with pliers and a blowtorch?”
“Don’t joke!” says Grolsh, wincing. “Yes, I am in trouble, and a deal with you two may be my only way out of it. And I promise both of you will benefit hugely by playing ball with me because Grolsh is a man of his word.”
“I am past playing ball games Grolsh, but go on! Go on! You are beginning to interest us. To your health Comrade!”
Rudi, stretching out, clinks his glass against that of Grolsh who glumly swigs from it, sighs and says, “I wish I had left Fredonia in 1989 but it was never easy to take currency out of a Communist nation. In the rest of the world any corrupt politician or businessman can open a big account in a Zurich bank, but left-wing regimes were notoriously stingy. Then came the Liberal Revolution that made you President, Rudi, and everything in Fredonia was for sale! I admit that went to my head. It was an intoxicating time. Never, in the history of Capitalism, has so much been sold to so few by so few. I sold land, factories, coal, tin and copper mines, power stations, reservoirs, schools, drugs, justice, everything. I lost count of what I sold and now alas, now it appears I sold some things more than once to different global companies.”
Again Grolsh sighs. Rudi says cheerfully, “But Grolsh is a man of his word! He must know some way to compensate two or three world-wide companies for buying the same mines and power stations.”
“It can be done,” says Grolsh nodding solemnly. “There is a way of doing it that will delight you Rudi, and you too, Vera Zazulich. The Liberal Revolution, my friends, has now obviously gone too far. It hugely enriched a new middle class at the expense of the workers and the poor, but a trade recession is starting to hurt professional people too, so it is time for everyone to enjoy a New Deal. And working together we three can achieve this by seizing the reins of government and forming a new political party — the New Dealers Party!”
“What will it do?” asks Rudi merrily.
“It will make you more than a mere figurehead. You will be able to keep some promises you made in your greatest speeches. You will at last achieve the Socialist Democracy you suffered by defending.”
“He remembers my sufferings Vera! How kind he is!” snarls Rudi with a venom Grolsh ignores, jubilantly urging Vera, “While you! — leader of the Decembrists! — will openly represent all those young idealists who still have faith in liberty, equality, fraternity. We will put you in charge of education, broadcasting, culture, fashion, anything you like. You can be home secretary and create a Ministry of Feminism. And at last I will emerge into the limelight and manage boring economic matters that no high-souled people ever understand — things like trade and finance.”
“And you think such an alliance will save your soul?” demands Vera scornfully.
“To hell with my soul!” cries Grolsh violently. “I fear for my body. I want to die painlessly of old age.”
Rudi asks, “And what will our splendid new government do?”
“We will give Fredonia back to the Fredonian people!”
“How?” cry Rudi and Vera simultaneously.
“We three left-wingers understand Marxist historical logic do we not?” says Grolsh with a strained enthusiasm he obviously hopes will infect them. “Thesis! Antithesis! Synthesis! The state Communism that collapsed in 1990 was our thesis. It provoked the state Capitalism that is also starting to crumble. Our New Deal will renew Fredonia by synthesising both systems.”
“Into Capitalist Communism?” asks Rudi, grinning, and “No! Communist Capitalism!” says Vera, also amused. Grolsh says, “Exactly, exactly, exactly! We will renationalise all industry and public services that do not profit the present owners.”
“Wonderful,” says Rudi, “so the Fredonian tax payers will compensate the global corporations for the mines and railways you sold them, including those who paid simultaneously for the same ones.”
“That must certainly happen,” Grolsh tells them solemnly. “Our new government will not last a week if it is distrusted by the International Monetary Fund.”
The other two laugh heartily. Vera says, “Rudi, give me that glass — I’ll have a drink after all.”
He hands it to her and fills another for himself.
“What is this big joke you laugh at?” asks Grolsh grumpily. “You,” says Rudi.
“We don’t believe in you,” says Vera and Rudi adds, “You have lurked so long in the shadows, Grolsh, that you have become one. You are no longer solid but a phantom — a ghost of a mirage of an illusion.”
“You are both terribly wrong!” cries Grolsh. “I still wield power, terrible power, and can prove it.”
“Do you mean that the outré harpooners still trust you?” says Rudi.
“Yes! Because I am one of them. Also, I have international contacts of immense strength and intelligence…”
Grolsh is interrupted by the first six chords of a famous national anthem.
Rudi and Vera, astonished, look around and see no source of the noise then notice Grolsh is cowering and that his face has gone very white. The chords are followed by an implacable voice saying: “This is the U.S.A. talking to European agent pee cue zero six nine otherwise known as Vladimir Grolsh. Agent Grolsh, you are in breach of the contract forbidding you to form new political alliances without previous C.I.A. clearance.” In feeble tones Grolsh cries, “I had no time to inform you of the useful alliance I have just proposed — I only conceived it half an hour ago — but I am delirious with joy that you know all about it now. Please congratulate the C.I.A. for wiring this room without my knowledge.” “We have not wired it. You are being addressed over a new satellite system which gives us total powers of surveillance and interference anywhere at any time. Ours is the only operating system of its kind in the world.”