The Eleventh Commandment

‘Comrades,’ he began in a firm voice, ‘it is a great honour for me to stand before you as your candidate. As each day passes, I become more and more aware that the Russian people are demanding a fresh start. Although few of our citizens wish to return to the old totalitarian regime of the past, the majority want to see a fairer distribution of the wealth that has been created by their skills and hard work.’

The audience began clapping again.

‘Let us never forget,’ Zerimski continued, ‘that Russia can once again become the most respected nation on earth. If other countries entertain any doubt about that, under my presidency they will do so at their peril.’

The journalists scribbled away furiously, and the audience cheered even more loudly. Nearly twenty seconds passed before Zerimski was able to speak again.

‘Look at the streets of Moscow, comrades. Yes, you will see Mercedes, BMWs and Jaguars, but who is driving them? Just a privileged few. And it is those few who are hoping that Chernopov will be elected so they can continue to enjoy a lifestyle no one in this room can ever hope to emulate. The time has come, my friends, for this wealth - your wealth - to be shared among the many, not the few. I look forward to the day when Russia no l

onger has more limousines than family cars, more yachts than fishing boats, and more secret Swiss bank accounts than hospitals.’

Once again the audience greeted his words with prolonged applause.

When the noise eventually died down, Zerimski dropped his voice, but every word still carried to the back of the hall. ‘When I become your President, I shall not be opening bank accounts in Switzerland, but factories all over Russia. I shall not be spending my time relaxing in a luxurious dacha, but working night and day in my office. I shall be dedicating myself to your service, and be more than satisfied with the salary of a President, rather than taking bribes from dishonest businessmen whose only interest is in pillaging the nation’s assets.’

This time the applause was so enthusiastic that it was over a minute before Zerimski was able to continue.

‘At the back of the room,’ he said, pointing a stubby finger at the assembled journalists, ‘are the representatives of the world’s press.’ He paused, curled his lip and added, ‘And may I say how welcome they are.’

No applause followed this particular remark.

‘However, let me remind them that when I am President, they’ll need to be in Moscow not only during the run-up to an election, but permanently. Because then Russia will not be hoping for handouts whenever the Group of Seven meet, but will once again be a major participant in world affairs. If Chernopov were elected, the Americans would be more concerned about the views of Mexico than those of Russia. In future, President Lawrence will have to listen to what you are saying, and not just soft-talk the world’s press by telling them how much he likes Boris.’

Laughter spread around the hall.

‘He may call everyone else by their first name, but he’ll call me “Mr President”.’

Connor knew that the American media would report that remark from coast to coast, and that every word of the speech would be raked over in the Oval Office.

‘There are only eight days to go, my friends, before the people decide,’ Zerimski said. ‘Let us spend every moment of that time making sure we have an overwhelming victory on election day. A victory that will send out a message to the whole world that Russia is back as a power to be reckoned with on the global stage.’ His voice was beginning to rise with every word. ‘But don’t do it for me. Don’t even do it for the Communist Party. Do it for the next generation of Russians, who will then be able to play their part as citizens of the greatest nation on earth. Then, when you have cast your vote, you will have done so knowing that we can once again let the people be the power behind the nation.’ He paused, and looked around the audience. ‘I ask for only one thing - the privilege of being allowed to lead those people.’ Dropping his voice almost to a whisper, he ended with the words, ‘I offer myself as your servant.’

Zerimski took a pace backwards and threw his arms in the air. The audience rose as one. The final peroration had taken forty-seven seconds, and not for a moment had he remained still. He had moved first to his right and then to his left, each time raising the corresponding arm, but never for more than a few seconds at a time. Then he bowed low, and after remaining motionless for twelve seconds he suddenly stood bolt upright and joined in the clapping.

He remained in the centre of the stage for another eleven minutes, repeating several of the same gestures again and again. When he felt he had milked every ounce of applause he could drag out of the audience, he descended the steps from the stage, followed by his entourage. As he walked down the centre aisle, the noise rose higher than ever, and even more arms were thrust out. Zerimski grabbed as many as he could during his slow progress to the back of the hall. Never once did Connor’s eyes leave him. Even after Zerimski had left the hall, the cheering continued. It didn’t die down until the audience began to leave.

Connor had noted several characteristic movements of the head and hands, small mannerisms that were often repeated. He could see already that certain gestures regularly accompanied certain phrases, and he knew that soon he would be able to anticipate them.

‘Your friend just left,’ said Sergei. ‘I follow him?’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Jackson. ‘We know where he’s spending the night. Mind you, that poor bastard a few paces behind him is going to be led a merry dance for the next hour or so.’

‘What do we do next?’ asked Sergei.

‘You grab some sleep. I have a feeling tomorrow’s going to be a long day.’

‘You haven’t paid me for today yet,’ said Sergei, thrusting out his hand. ‘Nine hours at $6 an hour is - $56.’

‘I think you’ll find it’s eight hours at $5 an hour,’ said Jackson. ‘But nice try.’ He passed $40 over to Sergei.

‘And tomorrow?’ his young partner asked after he had counted and pocketed the notes. ‘What time you want me?’

‘Meet me outside his hotel at five o’clock, and don’t be late. My guess is we’ll be following Zerimski on his travels to Yaroslavl, and then returning to Moscow before going on to St Petersburg.’

‘You’re lucky, Jackson. I was born in St Petersburg, and there’s nothing I don’t know about the place. But remember, I charge double outside Moscow.’

‘You know, Sergei, if you go on like this, it won’t be long before you price yourself out of the market.’

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