Yuri stripped off and changed into dry clothes. They were a good fit. He could almost have been off duty at home. He slumped down in the armchair and rotated his left arm above his head: whiplash, he was beginning to ache, he rubbed his neck. What was going on? he asked himself for the tenth time. And why was Ghukov unresponsive? None of it made sense. There was a knock on the door and the major entered. He looked perplexed. Yuri wondered what had brought him back so quickly; he had been gone for less than half an hour.
‘Have you managed to get hold of the GSHQ, and spoke with General Ghukov?’
‘General Marov… Colonel General Ghukov has been replaced.’
‘By whom?’
‘… General Volkov.’
‘Volkov!’ Yuri was stunned. He could see the major had something further to say. ‘And…?
‘The general secretary has been taken ill in his dacha outside Moscow and the deputy general secretary has temporarily assumed his responsibility… and there’s more, sir… the Western Army has been put on combat-ready alert.’
‘Major, if this is not a coup, I’m my uncle’s aunt. The air crash and now my arrest are just part of this. God knows what has befallen Ghukov. I’ll warrant there are detentions going on all over the Soviet Union as we speak. If the Western Army starts putting down the uprising in East Germany, I don’t think NATO or the Americans will stand by this time… Major, do you want to be on the wrong or right side of history?’
Chapter 46
LENINGRAD
Viktoriya felt completely numb. Seconds before, the medical team had rushed Misha into the operating theatre, and only the gently flapping doors marked his departure. In the faces around her she read failure and defeat: five men dead, one injured and the man they were paid to protect critical. They had been exposed as weak and unprepared. She had no doubt about who was responsible; it had Kostya’s hallmark. A liability inside a police cell, she was a target outside. And hadn’t he already threatened Misha? Besides, nothing happened in Leningrad without Kostya’s sanction.
Ivan reappeared, white and shaken. Viktoriya wiped the tears off her face.
‘I need to get a grip,’ she said to Ivan but really to herself. She had to bottle up her desperation and the feeling of helplessness. This was not the time nor place for either, not here.
‘How many men can you call on?’
‘Twenty, at most. Most of our men are covering Roslavi and the route to the border, and we have to cover the vault.’
‘Well I suggest you call them in now. We need to secure this hospital.’ A hundred would hardly do it, she thought. The Mariinsky was one gigantic warren of doors and corridors.
‘I blame myself for this. We should never have been so exposed,’ Ivan said, his voice cracking.
‘Misha knew the risks too. We all did. We all do.’
‘Still, it was my job…’
‘It still is, and Misha is still with us. You can’t turn back the clock, but you can stop them finishing the job.’
Ivan looked at her more calmly. ‘You know whose work this is?’
‘I do and he is going to pay for it… now go!’
A cough made her turn. A uniformed police officer introduced himself as Lieutenant Lagunov.
‘I’m sorry,’ he started, ‘this must be very difficult.’ He was mid-forties, with greying brown hair and a neat moustache. ‘Was Mikhail Dimitrivich your partner?’
‘Friend and business partner, yes.’
‘I need to take your statement and then I will leave you in peace.’
The fact that she was surrounded by armed bodyguards did not seem to concern him at all. Shootings had become commonplace. The last place law enforcement officers wanted to be was between two rival factions, particularly if Konstantin were involved. As far as they were concerned, money bought protection and the more money you had, the more protection you needed, which was why she was doubly surprised when he offered to leave two of his men on guard outside his wardroom.
Physically and emotionally exhausted and suffering from lack of sleep, Viktoriya lifted two metal tubular chairs from a stack she found in the waiting room, put her feet up and closed her eyes, opening them occasionally to check on the clock. As hard as she might she found it impossible to nod off; her mind would not stop racing. A gentle hand on her shoulder made her sit up. The surgeon stood over her, his mask pushed down around his neck and his blue theatre gown spotted with blood.
‘He’s still with us,’ the doctor smiled weakly. ‘He took a bullet to the lung and there has been trauma to the brain. We’ve removed all the shrapnel and stopped the bleeding. I’ve given a dose of barbiturates to reduce the intracranial pressure; he’ll be unconscious for some time. We’re just going to have to wait now.’
‘What are his chances, doctor?’ Viktoriya said, almost too afraid to ask.
‘Hard to say. He’s young. The body is a marvellous thing.’
There was a pause.
‘We are not mafia, doctor, if that’s what you’re thinking. The mafia is the reason my friend is here.’
‘I see this every day. Our new-found freedom comes at a price.’ The doctor wrote down his number on a pad he pulled from his white coat. ‘This is my telephone number. If you need to speak with me at any time, just call. They are moving him to a private ward. Someone will come and find you and let you know where. You can see him then.’
Twenty minutes later she followed a nurse to the fourth floor and a private room normally reserved for Communist Party members. Hooked up to an IV and monitor, Misha lay there serene in a clean white gown and fresh head bandage. Viktoriya gently squeezed his warm hand and lowered herself into the leatherette armchair by his bed. What should she do now? The one man she would have naturally turned to for the answer was fighting for his life. And where was Yuri? No one had heard from him. She had to come up with the answer herself. Through the open door, Viktoriya took stock of two of Ivan’s men, heavily armed, standing next to two police officers. She relaxed a little. Ivan brought her a bowl of goulash from the hospital kitchen.
‘I’ve just heard the radio,’ he said, ‘it may explain Yuri’s silence. The general secretary has been taken ill and Gerashchenko has temporarily stepped into the role.’
‘I wonder how many people are buying into that?’ she said. Did this spell the end of perestroika? Would they all soon be fleeing the country? She looked back down again at the face of her helpless friend and fought off the urge to cry.
‘Come on, eat. You haven’t eaten all day.’
Ivan was right. She was hungrier than she thought. After devouring the goulash, she pulled a spare blanket over her and fell instantly asleep.
Viktoriya woke with a start. At first she wondered where she was. Disorientated, it all came flooding back to her. She turned to look at Misha, unconscious in the hospital bed beside her. She got up and stretched her stiff limbs, rubbing her aching back and neck from sleeping awkwardly. Her watch said two in the morning. She walked to the open door.
‘Would you like me to get you a coffee, Vika,’ one of the two bodyguards asked.
‘No, thank you,’ she responded in a cracked voice, ‘a glass of water would be good though.’
The guard disappeared down the corridor towards the small ward kitchen. It was then, with only one man left, she noticed they were missing.
‘Where are the police?’ Viktoriya asked anxiously. ‘Weren’t they supposed to have been on duty?’
‘They left about fifteen minutes ago. They said their replacements would be here shortly,’ the bodyguard replied, sensing that he had missed something.