He handed her a tissue and a pot of make-up remover someone had left in his desk. ‘This was probably your friend’s; you might as well keep it.’
‘She wasn’t my friend really… we just watched out for each other in the club…you know…’
‘I do, I do.’ Konstantin grabbed the tissue from her hand and roughly rubbed off her make-up.
‘Careful…what are you doing?’ She flinched and pulled away. ‘That hurts,’ she protested.
Konstantin looked at her. She was exactly what he was looking for…ordinary, unremarkable…unrecognisable as the girl in the club.
‘I’ve got a job for you. Do it right and Dimitri here will keep you in coke for a year. How does that sound?’
He held out a small bag of white powder and snatched it away when she reached for it.
‘And what is it you want me to do?’ she said, not taking her eyes off the polythene bag Konstantin held between his fingers.
‘Deliver something, that’s all.’
‘Have I got a choice?’
Konstantin shook his head. ‘Dimitri, do you think you can organise a nurse’s uniform for Cezanne and a hospital ID tag.’
‘No problem, boss,’ said Bazhukov.
‘That will be all, Dimitri, and close the door behind you. No, not you, Cezanne.’ He handed her the small bag. ‘Why don’t you make yourself comfortable on the sofa?’ He wondered if she would be as uninhibited as her friend.
Chapter 55
MOSCOW, LUBYANKA
Yuri came to with his head pounding. Where was he? A bare light bulb illuminated grey walls and a cell door. Was he back at Cherepovets? A stabbing pain made him reach his hand up to a spot just above his right ear. It was sticky with semi-congealed blood. Prodding around, he tried to determine whether his skull was broken and decided he was still, at least externally, in one piece.
Slowly, he righted himself on the bed. How long had he been here? He looked at his wrist where his Rolex had been and tried to remember. The thump, thump, the MTV, the military airbase at Migalovo – it all started to flood back. Where were the others?
He struggled to his feet and sat back down again as the room began to swim. Something had hit him hard. Gathering himself again, he stood up slowly and walked ten feet to the cell door and banged on the viewing hatch. There was no response.
Yuri sat back down again and poured himself a glass of water from a jug. At least he was alive, for the moment anyway. He fell back on the rough woollen blanket and tucked the pillow under his head. If only the throbbing would stop.
The sound of the lock being turned and the bolts sliding back made him sit back up. General Volkov walked into the room and ordered the guard to close the door behind him.
‘For your head,’ he said sympathetically. Yuri swallowed the offered painkillers and looked up at Volkov over the edge of his glass. He looked every inch the colonel general in full dress uniform.
‘Where am I?’
‘Lubyanka.’
Moscow, the KGB prison; at least he now had a geographical reference point.
‘How long have I been out?’
‘A few hours.’
Volkov pulled up a chair and sat down opposite.
‘And my friends?’
‘They no longer need trouble you… You have been leading us a merry jaunt, General. Quite resourceful… but then that is to be expected. But stopping at Migalovo… that was a mistake. You should have known better.’
‘I seem to remember somebody else pointing that out.’
Yuri wondered what had befallen his companions and what it was that Volkov wanted that was so important for him to come in person. By the looks of Migalovo, he had enough on his plate.
‘And General Ghukov?’
‘Under house arrest.’ Volkov looked around the windowless room. ‘His quarters are a lot more luxurious than yours. Do you know the old joke, General?’ Volkov continued. ‘The basement of Lubyanka is the tallest building in Moscow… you can see all the way to Siberia.’ Volkov laughed. Yuri looked at him stonily.
‘And under what authority am I being held?’
‘Military, Article 58,’ replied Volkov, deadpan. ‘Conspiring with the Western powers to assassinate Soviet leaders, dismember the Soviet Union, and restore capitalism.’
‘Bringing back show trials, General?’
‘I am hoping that will be entirely unnecessary. Indeed it is my fervent wish that you return to the comforts of your luxurious apartment… at the earliest opportunity.’
‘I have to say I’m confused, General. There I was thinking you were preparing for World War Three. I’m touched by your concern.’
‘Marov, I don’t doubt your military talents,’ replied Volkov, clearly annoyed. ‘Despite our past differences. The Soviet Union needs them right now.’
‘Which Soviet Union is the question… yours or the general secretary’s?’
Volkov extracted an envelope from his pocket, pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to him. Yuri glanced at it. Headed Declaration of the Emergency Committee, it was signed by the deputy secretary, defence minister, chairman of the KGB, Volkov and three others.
‘A declaration of martial law?’
‘I’d like your signature on this, General.’
‘Dignify your coup… I think not.’
Volkov looked irritated. Yuri could see him struggling to control his emotions.
‘Marov, in case you have failed to understand the crisis we are in, the Soviet Empire is on the brink of collapse. That would be a catastrophe of unparalleled proportions. East Germany will follow Poland and so will the rest. NATO will be on our doorstep, as will be their missile shield… that can’t be allowed to happen.’
‘The general secretary does not agree with you. He is not prepared to see Soviet troops bloodily repress Eastern Europe – not anymore.’
‘And the Americans… you are not concerned about them on our doorstep?’
Yuri shrugged. ‘General, we have to let go. We couldn’t hold Afghanistan, and if Eastern Europe rises against us, it will not be any different. We should learn from the British. They were smart, they had their last-ditch efforts too, but they knew when their time was up and withdrew gracefully.’
Volkov looked at him with undisguised disgust. He stood up and rapped on the door.
‘I’ll give you a little time to think about it… to reconsider your position… but not too long… or a headache might just be the least of your difficulties.’
Chapter 56
LENINGRAD
Misha blinked his eyes open. What was that noise, that flickering? His mouth was as parched as sandpaper. He looked about him, trying to focus. Everything seemed to be swimming around him. He closed his eyes, counted to ten and tried again. His eyes lighted on a plastic bottle mounted on a stand to the side of his bed. A tube with coffee-coloured liquid snaked its way into his nose and down the back of his throat. Another bag of clear fluid supplied a catheter to his arm. In the corner of the room a woman in a nurse’s uniform sat watching TV, the volume barely audible. Sleep was dragging him down again, like a heavy irresistible weight. He refocussed on the screen; a group of men sitting at a table faced the camera. Who was the man in the centre? He was sure he recognised him. The deputy secretary general, Gerasim Gerashchenko, that was it. He shut his eyes and started to gently drift.
The sound of the TV being turned up hauled him back. His eyes darted along the line of grim-looking men. The third one from the middle wore a military uniform; next to him was a man in thick glasses. Where had he seen him before? He closed his eyes and began to float off.