‘It is when you’re lying in the arms of a KGB officer.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘But I do know there’s no one called Gerald working at the British Embassy. If the story was to get into the hands of the press, I’d be finished.’
‘Perhaps not finished,’ said Sasha, ‘although it might put off the much-heralded promotion that the press keep hinting at. But only until the Blessed Margaret is finally deposed, which I confess doesn’t look too imminent. But why tell me all this?’
‘Oh, come on, Sasha. Everyone knows you have excellent contacts in the Soviet Union. Do you imagine for one moment that your meeting last night went unnoticed? You must have some influential friends in the KGB.’
‘Sadly not. You may not have noticed, Fiona, but they’re the bad guys.’
‘Minister?’ said the voice of a civil servant, hovering over them.
‘I’ll be with you in a minute, Gus,’ said Fiona. Turning back to Sasha, she whispered, ‘If you could do anything to help, I’d be eternally grateful.’
And we all know what your idea of eternity is, thought Sasha as the bus came to a halt in Red Square.
Fiona led her little troop out to be greeted by her opposite number, who would never have guessed from the minister’s demeanour that anything was troubling her. Impressive, thought Sasha as he followed in her wake.
The delegation was accompanied through a set of vast iron doors sculpted with images of the Siege of Moscow. Two uniformed guards sprang to attention as they passed. The delegation was then led up a wide red-carpeted staircase to the second floor, where they were ushered into a huge, ornately decorated room that was dominated by a long oak table surrounded by high-backed red leather chairs that would have graced a palace, and probably once had. They were invited to take their places along one side of the table, where Sasha found his name card three from the far end. Once the British delegation were seated, they were kept waiting for some time before the Russians made their entrance, taking their places on the opposite side of the table.
Their host made a long and predictable speech, which didn’t need translating. Sasha felt that Fiona’s reply was not up to her usual standard. Not that it mattered much. The final communiqués had already been drafted by the mandarins, and would be released on the last afternoon of the conference, whatever anyone said during the next couple of days.
For the morning session they broke up into smaller groups to discuss student exchanges, visa restrictions and the loan of the Walpole Collection from the Hermitage that was to be exhibited at Houghton Hall. The Russians only seemed to be worried about whether they’d get their paintings back.
It was during the lunch break that Sasha spotted him standing alone on the other side of the room. He was dressed in a bottle-green uniform that boasted a row of campaign medals, while his gold epaulettes suggested that he had risen swiftly through the ranks. Sasha would have known those calculating cold blue eyes anywhere. Vladimir smiled and walked purposefully across to join him. When he was a couple of feet away he came to a halt, not unlike a boxer facing his opponent in the middle of the ring, waiting to see which one of them would throw the first punch.
Sasha had already prepared his opening gambit, although he suspected Vladimir had been working on his for some time, as the meeting clearly wasn’t taking place by chance.
‘I must say, Vladimir,’ he said in Russian, ‘I’m surprised you found the time to attend such an unimportant gathering.’
‘I wouldn’t normally bother,’ said Vladimir, ‘but I’ve been looking forward to seeing you for some time, Sasha.’
‘I’m touched that Ares found time to come down from Olympus.’
‘First, allow me to congratulate you on your success since you fled our country,’ said Vladimir, ignoring the allusion. ‘However, I must advise you not to visit Leningrad. Your old friend Colonel Polyakov just might be waiting for you. Not a man who believes in forgiving and forgetting.’
‘So what dizzy heights have you reached, Vladimir?’ asked Sasha, trying to land a blow of his own.
‘I’m a lowly colonel with the KGB, stationed in Dresden.’
‘A staging post no doubt on the way to higher things.’
‘Which is why I wanted to see you. Some of my men were at your meeting last night. It seems that if you were to return and stand for president, you could be a serious contender, which is, after all, what you’ve always wanted.’
‘But Mr Gorbachev has already beaten me to the punch, so there’s no reason to return. In any case, I’m an Englishman now.’
Vladimir laughed. ‘You’re Russian, Alexander, and you always will be. Just as you told your adoring public last night. And in any case, Gorbachev won’t last forever. In fact he may be going far sooner than he realizes.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘That we should keep in touch. No one knows better than you that timing is everything in politics. All I ask in return is to be appointed head of the KGB. Which is no more than you promised me all those years ago.’
‘I made no such promise, Vladimir, as you well know. And in any case, my views on nepotism haven’t changed since the last time we discussed the subject,’ said Sasha. ‘And that was when we were still friends.’
‘We may no longer be friends, Alexander, but that doesn’t stop us having mutual interests.’
‘I’ll take you at your word,’ said Sasha, ‘and even give you a chance to prove it.’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘Your boys taped my minister last night.’
‘Yes, the stupid bitch was very indiscreet.’
‘She’s only a junior minister, and she might be much more useful at a later date.’
‘But she’s not even a member of your party.’
‘I realize, Vladimir, that’s a concept you must find difficult to come to terms with.’
Vladimir didn’t reply immediately, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘The tape will be in your hotel room within the hour.’
‘Thank you. And do tell your operatives to get their files up to date. I’ve never cared for redheads.’
‘I told them they were wasting their time with you. You’re incorruptible, which will make my job so much easier when you appoint me as head of the KGB.’ Vladimir walked away without the suggestion of a goodbye, and Sasha would have returned to his little group, if someone else hadn’t walked across to join him.
‘You don’t know me, Mr Karpenko,’ said a man who must have been about his own age, and was wearing a suit that hadn’t been tailored in Moscow, ‘but I’ve been following your career with some considerable interest.’
In England, Sasha would have smiled and taken the man at his word, but in Russia... he remained silent, and suspicious.
‘My name is Boris Nemtsov, and I think you’ll find we have several things in common.’ Sasha still didn’t respond. ‘I am a member of the Duma, and I believe we both share the same high opinion of one particular man,’ said Nemtsov, glancing in the direction of Vladimir.
‘My enemy’s enemy is my friend,’ said Sasha, shaking Nemtsov by the hand.
‘I hope in time we will be friends. After all, there will be other conferences and official meetings where we can casually meet and exchange confidences, without someone opening a file.’
‘I think you will find that someone’s already opened a file,’ said Sasha. ‘So let’s give him the first entry. I don’t agree with you,’ he shouted, loudly enough to ensure that all those around him turned to listen to the exchange.
‘Then there’s nothing more to discuss,’ said Nemtsov, who stormed off without another word.
Sasha would like to have smiled as Nemtsov marched away, but resisted the temptation.