Heads You Win

“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 good-bye, 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 have liked to smile as Nemtsov marched away, but resisted the temptation.

Vladimir was staring at both of them, but Sasha doubted that he had been fooled.