Yuri had not been long in giving his answer and for over six months now had been a joint shareholder of Leningrad 176, unofficially dubbed Russian United Industries. But something was up. Yuri had been summoned to Moscow. He had downplayed it and rarely discussed the military but this time she sensed it was different. She hoped it wasn’t curtains for Yuri or Smolensk.
Besides, she had a new problem. Leningrad Freight seemed to have reached a ceiling on requisitioning more fuel. Perhaps someone in Moscow had done their sums and calculated that it was impossible for Leningrad Freight to consume so much, or maybe her director’s contact was not lying and supply shortages were real.
A truck started to reverse into the bay she was standing in, forcing her to step down into the yard.
She looked at her watch as Misha, in a convoy of three cars, pulled into the depot. Ivan was first out and Misha last. How things had changed, she thought, from that time not so long ago when he drove around so proudly in his red Zhiguli. She wondered affectionately what had happened to it.
‘Vika,’ he said, grabbing her by the hands, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘Where is our comrade director?’
The comrade director appeared in the doorway to the main building and forced a nervous smile.
‘Maxim,’ Misha almost shouted. She saw him flinch as Misha gave him a hug. ‘Relax… we are going to work this out.’
They walked to his office and seated themselves around a table.
‘So what are we up to at the moment… diesel… deliveries?’ Misha asked.
‘Eight tankers per day, six days a week, thirty-two thousand litres per tanker,’ said Viktoriya reeling off familiar numbers.
‘A million and a half litres a week,’ threw in the director.
‘And no let-up in demand?’ said Viktoriya.
‘None. Ilaria could place three times that with Eastern European customers. We are only scratching the surface.’
Viktoriya thought about the millions of US dollars pouring into the company’s Swiss bank account. It was hard to get over how simple an operation it was. Buy at the domestic price and sell for four times as much on the international market.
‘So supply…?’ Misha continued.
‘Moscow can’t supply us any more fuel, more than we have at the moment, that is,’ replied the director. ‘They are having their own delivery problems. I offered him more money, as you suggested, but my contact says it is out of his hands. When I pressed him, he suggested I take it higher.’
‘Namely?’
‘The Ministry of Oil and Gas.’
‘Do you have any connections there?’
‘No… not my area – transport, yes,’ said Maxim.
‘Well, where there is a will, and a dollar to be made, there’s a way. Let’s all think on it. We need to get this right.’
Chapter 25
MOSCOW
A tired-looking General Ghukov entered the general staff meeting room. Yuri snapped to attention and was bid to take a seat by the colonel general, who placed a wad of papers wearily on the table. Yuri had seen the colonel general six months before, when he had visited his command, but he seemed to have aged ten years in the intervening period. His normally round face looked gaunt, and there were dark bags under his eyes. Yuri speculated on the pressure he must be under.
That morning, Yuri had boarded the military flight to Moscow with some apprehension. His orders had not come via his own commanding officer but directly from the chief of staff, Colonel General Andrei Ghukov. He had summoned him to general staff headquarters on Znamenka Street in the Arbat district. There had been no hint of its significance, only a brief order to report.
Yuri had wracked his brain for possible explanations. Were the army suspicious of his connections with Misha Revnik? Did they judge his loyalties divided? Or was it his radical views on reorganising the Soviet Army into a smaller, better-equipped regular force?
The gulags may have disappeared, but there was always some forlorn military outpost as an alternative. It would be a disgrace, money or no money, if he were reassigned to some backwater.
‘Colonel Marov,’ the colonel general began, ‘how aware are you of the talks going on in Geneva?’
Yuri felt a wave of relief and hoped it didn’t show.
‘Very little, sir… bilateral talks between Afghanistan and Pakistan with the United States and us present… to end the conflict… and that the mujahideen will not take part.’
‘Well summed up, Colonel. The pace has of late been glacial, but there seems to be a thaw underway. What I am about to discuss, Colonel, you will appreciate is top secret and not to be discussed with other staff. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Your views on the reorganisation of Soviet forces are well known. I reread your subversive academy paper on this recently to refresh my memory. You are to be complimented, Colonel. As you know, these ideas are not welcome in many quarters but the fact of the matter is that virtue has become a necessity in our present economic predicament.
‘It is likely that a Russian pull-out of Afghanistan will be announced shortly, maybe within days, of uniformed troops anyway, but in parallel, and to come to the point, we have been quietly sounding out the Americans on a withdrawal of Soviet troops from Eastern Europe. Our retired generals have been in discussion with theirs… all hypothetical of course. Privately, the general secretary has made it abundantly clear to me that he will not have Soviet troops suppress an East European uprising, not like in Hungary.’
The colonel general turned over the top page of the pile on the table and handed it to Yuri.
‘Read, Colonel, Eastern European military dispositions.’
Yuri was finding it hard to take in. It was not what he had been expecting; the end of his career it wasn’t. He began to read. Twenty-four divisions, forty-seven airfields, four thousand tanks, six hundred and ninety aircraft, six hundred and eighty helicopters… he continued down the page… in total just under three hundred and sixty thousand soldiers and two hundred and eight thousand civilians, relatives and employees, in three hundred locations.
‘I can also tell you we have one hundred and eight thousand military personnel in Afghanistan,’ Ghukov added when Yuri had put down the sheet.
‘I see,’ said Yuri, dropping the sir, stunned.
‘A reorganisational nightmare.’
‘Or opportunity, sir,’ followed Yuri, finding his second wind.
‘I thought you of all people might see it like that, Colonel. This will be a pull-out on a different scale, perhaps the largest anywhere in peacetime history. The general secretary is looking for a half-million troop reduction. I need someone to chair the committee of district generals and evolve a plan. Someone who is not part of the current group… I think that person is you, Colonel Marov.’
For a moment Yuri was speechless. Each district general commanded several armies. This was not just about downsizing, it would be about generals unwilling to surrender their fiefdoms – their parallel economic and political interests.
Yuri thought of the main military groupings and what he knew of their district commanders. The North-West under Vdovin would oppose, as would Volkov of the Western Group of Forces in Germany; the same went for Southern; the others – Central – he didn’t know.
‘Thoughts, Colonel?’
He was being placed directly in the firing line. If he succeeded, all well and good; if he failed or the government faltered or failed to gain sufficient support, he would be the first to go.