Luganov stared back at him without comment, without encouragement.
Oleg cleared his throat again and forced himself to press on. “The thing is, what I wanted to talk to you about, sir, is your daughter. As you know, as I’m sure she told you, we met in university almost five years ago. I was immediately drawn to her. She is, well, as you know, she’s brilliant, absolutely brilliant. Obviously you know that. I’m sorry. And she’s clever. And beautiful. And sophisticated and yet so kind and funny and such a great storyteller. So great with people—children, the elderly. She just has a way about her. And I just, I don’t know—well, actually, sir, I do know.… I—well, the thing is, I fell in love with her. Not right away. But we became acquainted. And then we became friends. And even though I was ahead of her in my studies, we continued to write letters to each other after I graduated, and in time I came to realize that I couldn’t imagine spending my life with anyone else. I was terrified to say that to her, because I didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize our friendship. But in the end, after much discussion with my parents, whom you, of course, know very well, I decided—well, I knew I had to come to you and ask you for your permission to marry her. That is why I’m here. And that’s my question to you, sir. Would you allow me to present Marina with an engagement ring and a proposal of marriage?”
Oleg was sick to his stomach. It was all he could do not to vomit on the prime minister’s desk. But at least he had said what he had come to say. He had gotten it all out. Not the way he had intended or how he had practiced it so often. But he’d done it. The question was on the table, and now he stared at his hands and waited for a reply.
There was none. Not for some time. The room was silent again, though Oleg could hear the muffled sounds of phones ringing and hushed voices talking in the anteroom. He could feel the eyes of two plainclothes officers standing behind him boring into him. He tried in vain to imagine the expression of the man behind the desk. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he heard his name.
“Oleg Stefanovich,” Luganov began, “do you love your country?”
Oleg looked up, wondering if his face registered the surprise he felt, hoping it did not. How many times in recent days had he practiced this conversation with his father? They had discussed his answers to dozens of questions. Did he feel he knew Marina well enough? How did he know he loved her? How many young women had he dated before Marina? Why had those relationships ended? What were his long-term intentions—for his career, for children, for where they would live? How could he support them, and her educational ambitions, if they were going to be living in one of the world’s most expensive cities and he was fresh out of law school and barely a year into his first job? They had carefully rehearsed and revised his answers to these and so many other queries. But Oleg had never imagined one so direct and yet so profound.
“With all my heart, sir,” Oleg replied, gaining confidence from the depth of his convictions on the matter and finally able to look his potential father-in-law in the eye without flinching. “Now more than ever.”
“And my daughter?” Luganov asked. “How will I be sure you will never betray her?”
“I have never loved another, sir,” Oleg replied. “She is the first and only woman I have ever felt this way about. Sir, you have my word, upon my family’s honor, that I will cherish and protect her, provide for her and nurture her, with all that I am and ever hope to be. I come from a good, honorable family. Still, I know that I don’t deserve to be Marina’s husband. I certainly don’t deserve to be your son-in-law. But I do promise to be faithful. If you will have me—if she will have me—I will never let either of you down.”
A phone on his desk rang. Luganov did not answer it.
There were two quick raps on the door. A general entered. “Mr. Prime Minister, your call with the White House is being placed now.”
Luganov nodded almost imperceptibly, then leaned forward in his seat.
“I believe you, Oleg Stefanovich,” he said. “Now I have one more question.”
Oleg swallowed hard.
“I am looking for a bright young lawyer to serve on my personal staff,” Luganov said quietly. “Someone hardworking. Discreet. Someone who can be trusted with sensitive information, especially now. And who can be trusted more than family?”
6
MOSCOW—16 SEPTEMBER 1999
Oleg Stefanovich Kraskin arrived at the Kremlin early.
He could still not believe his good fortune. He was not only engaged to the prime minister’s only daughter, he was now working as an aide on the prime minister’s personal staff. He had undergone no interview. He had submitted no curriculum vitae. He had offered no references. Then again, when a man who used to serve in the Russian intelligence services—indeed, who had once been head of the Federal Security Service, or FSB—hires you on the spot, you can be fairly confident you’ve been thoroughly vetted already.
As Oleg reflected upon the whirlwind of the past seventy-two hours, it dawned on him that the FSB had no doubt begun a meticulous investigation of him some five years earlier when he had first met Marina. He was embarrassed that the thought had never occurred to him before. But he knew he could rest assured that the background check had been thorough. Luganov was as protective a father as he was a skilled chief executive. He would protect his daughter as intently as he would protect the motherland. But he was also discreet. Not one of Oleg’s friends or teachers or colleagues from childhood up to the present had ever mentioned to him that they had been interviewed by the FSB. But surely they had been, because here he was with a provisional pass into the Kremlin dangling from around his neck.
It was just before six in the morning. He wasn’t due in before seven, but this was his first day on the job. The previous two days he had wrapped up his work at the law firm, cleaned out his office there, and said good-bye. All of his partners—most of whom were thirty or forty years his senior—were as stunned as they were thrilled. They threw him an elaborate party, for which he was grateful, though he knew full well they were not just being nice to him; they were ingratiating themselves to the future son-in-law of the next president of the Russian Federation.
Having cleared security and completed some essential paperwork, Oleg was directed to the office of Boris Zakharov, the prime minister’s chief of staff and most senior counselor. According to Oleg’s father, Luganov and Zakharov had been friends since childhood. The two men had served together in Afghanistan in the early 1980s and later had worked for the KGB before transitioning into politics. Many of Luganov’s senior staff, Oleg knew, were longtime, highly trusted personal friends of the prime minister. Some of them were probably unqualified to be working in such sensitive positions. But one thing was clear enough: personal relationships and unquestioned loyalty were prized above all.
Zakharov was a large and rather gregarious man who warmly welcomed Oleg into his office and heartily congratulated him on his engagement. He asked Oleg how he and Marina had met and how he’d courted the prime minister’s daughter without making headlines. Oleg answered the first question but demurred on the second, saying he had no idea. The truth was he suspected Luganov’s people were running interference with the press.
“Now, I expect that Miss Marina has already told you this, but this will, of course, be no ordinary wedding,” the chief of staff said after a minute of pleasantries. “Given that it will occur sometime after the elections, we expect the prime minister will, at that point, be the president. Thus your wedding will be a state affair. As such, my office—working closely with our chief of protocol—will be handling all the details. Any specific requests you and Miss Marina have can be routed through me. We will certainly do our best to accommodate them, but do bear in mind that the venue, the guest list, the musicians, and of course all the security arrangements will have been planned well in advance—well in advance.”