by Jo Black
‘Which is?’
‘He is something not of this world. As I have grown older I am sure of it. I have seen many types of men, I have never seen one who possesses what he does. Be careful of him Zara. My daughter loved him, and it brought her end to her too soon. I hope you will fare better in your relations.’
Zara frowned briefly. ‘What happened to the other boy?’
‘What boy?’
‘You mentioned there were two. Two boys. What happened to the other?’
‘I loved my daughter, but she was selfish. There was something about Alex that she bonded with, the other boy not so much. Her husband had a brother in England. They could not have children. They agreed to take the second boy and raise him as their own. I never heard anything more about him, I never asked about him because he means as little to me as Alex did.’
‘I wonder what happened to him,’ Zara said.
‘I don’t know, I hope something more productive than the work your husband turns his hand to. I fear the world cannot stand two like Aleksandr.’
‘Why does The Kremlin have such an interest in him?’
‘You would have to ask them. They no longer share secrets with an old man from Stalin’s era. When he left for England as a petulant young teenager I expected never to see him again, you can imagine my surprise when he was anointed a Marshal of the Russian Federation at such a young age by the new president. He has made powerful friends over the years it seems, perhaps they know who left him on my daughter’s doorstep, and cursed us to be a part of his world.’
‘You don’t feel anything for him?’
‘Fear. I feel fear. I was never afraid of Stalin or any of his replacements. They could be manipulated in some way or had some weakness. But him, he is like a brick wall that repels all arrows.’
Zara looked at her watch. ‘I need to get back.’
Nikita nodded. ‘I think I will stay a while. Your driver will take you.’
Zara got up and put her coat and hat on. She looked down at the old man. ‘I’m sorry for the loss of your daughter.’
‘It was agents of your country who killed her, because she foolishly gave her heart to a man who worked for your employer. Your country killed my little girl.’ He looked up at Zara. ‘When you hear the tales demonising us, remember we offered you tea, bread, and vodka in our homes. We did not kill you because you were foolish enough to love one of us. Now tell me Zara, between Russians and English, who should we fear the most?’
‘I don’t know Nikita. I have a feeling it’s not a question of fearing nation states, flags, or their agents. It is whatever drives men to do such things, that’s what we should fear. Thank you for the tea. I’ll see myself out.’ Zara got up and headed to the door.
‘Don’t forget to feed the little birds as well Zara. If you remember anything from your visit here, remember that...’
84
As the car rolled down Novy Arbat towards Red Square through the traffic clogged rush hour, Zara stared out of the window captivated by the lives going on around her — all seemingly oblivious to the great game of politics and espionage that was played out daily around them. Notions of national security interests, spheres of influence and control: all lost on simple little birds finding scraps to eat to survive the winter until spring arrived and the world was renewed under the life-bring warmth of summer. She thought about Alex, the coldness of Nikita towards him, the trace of bitter resentment he perhaps felt — the younger man in his ascendance as he drifted into his own obscurity, and contrasted it with the love she felt for a man whose description she didn’t recognise. The all-encompassing love she felt from him, likely filling the void his mother had left behind. She smiled a little to herself as she watched a mother hurry her children, their heads wrapped in novelty fur animal hats, as they skipped playfully in the snow, and Zara realised beyond the dry patriarchal uncaring world of the corridors of power, the Russian people possessed the very same qualities as their supposed enemies — they cherished their children and simply wished to exist in peace. The threat of nuclear annihilation and animosity towards those that rested their finger on the trigger was felt as equally on the streets of Novy Arbat as it was on 5th Avenue or Regents Street. The enemy wasn’t Russia or its people; the enemy to all mankind was the corrupt and heartless men who played with the collective lives of billions like so many chess pieces to be traded in pursuit of some personal victory. Her hatred was not directed towards the notional enemy that had been manufactured to keep the population in a perpetual state of fear — the very realisation of the Orwellian never-ending conflicts between Oceania, Eurasia and Eastasia, but the Big Brothers who masterminded such concepts to keep the population under their control, and ensured any attempt at upsetting the status-quo from such idealists as Lenin would be quickly quashed with ruthless efficiency, and converted back to their purpose before the population ever got a taste of the utopian state of being in a world that operated for the benefit of all, without the need for constant conflict to sate the greed of the few. In that moment Zara realised she had been seduced by the same Marxist idealism that drove her husband, she was at once elated but saddened, for she knew that to pursue idealism was to be cast into the pit of fools who believed that simple people could effect change in any meaningful way, and not simply be crushed under the relentless juggernaut tyranny of the selfish.
Zara was broken from her path down a philosophical self-debate about what it all meant as the car pulled to a halt outside The Kremlin Palace, and her driver opened the door to let a cold blast of air into the comfort bubble of the reality distortion field that allowed her to dream, just for a moment, that anything could really ever change. She got out of the car feeling dejected by the whole experience, and traipsed up the stairs with little enthusiasm. As she walked inside an aide approached her. ‘The president would like to invite you to share afternoon tea with him.’ Zara looked up and drew a deep breath suddenly standing up straight again, aware she was in the castle of the most powerful leader on earth, the title often claimed by the U.S President, despite the fact he was merely granted a temporary hold on the levers of power by a fickle electorate, whereas thanks to the inherent autocratic expectations of the Russian system, everyone pretty much knew the Russian presidency was a job for life for anyone with the skills to manipulate the levers sufficiently to maintain control of it all. Zara nodded politely and followed the aide to the president’s office, suddenly feeling quite fan-struck as she realised she was stood in a place where more than half the world’s nuclear stockpile could be unleashed with a push of a button.
85
The president finished signing his papers and handed them to his aide then got up from the desk and walked over to Zara, gesturing at the two chairs next to a table in the corner by the window. ‘Thank you for coming, please sit down.’
Zara nodded. The aide took her coat and hat. Zara sat at the table. Tea was poured. The president sat down and simply dismissed them all with a passive/aggressive hand gesture that seemed to be Russian Dictator for “fuck-off quickly”.
‘We haven’t had much opportunity to talk since you arrived.’
‘I imagine you are quite busy with the affairs of state, as well as sending nastygrams to the guy in The White House et al.’
The president laughed softly followed with a grin. ‘Aleksandr warned me of your humour. What do you think I should put in the nastygram?’
‘Stop pointing your nukes at us would be a start.’
‘I tried. They sent it back with much the same response.’
Zara shrugged. ‘Everyone seems to have dug themselves in to a hole in that respect.’
‘You know the history of it?’
‘No, I’m sure you do.’
‘I imagine you know the story of the Manhattan project. It is the little details that are often overlooked. By the time they had finished the first weapon, we had concluded the war in Europe and only Japan remained. The Allies wanted our help in this matter, and we sent
a large amount of forces to Manchuria. The fact is we have a instrument of surrender in The Kremlin archive submitted from the head of the Japanese forces before the bomb was dropped.’
‘Japan had already surrendered?’
‘Yes. They simply understood they could not fight the Red Army, and they had learned from the Germans’ experiences that Stalin, unlike the Americans, was prepared to spill any amount of blood to achieve his military goals. Stalin did not fear the invasion of Japan; in fact he relished the opportunity to seize such valuable strategic land before the Americans had chance. The Japanese knew the Red Army would slaughter them with impunity. There was really only one purpose to use the atomic bomb. Nagasaki, Hiroshima — they were not even strategic targets, and in fact, despite the shock of it, the conventional firebombing of Tokyo created more destruction than the atomic bomb did. It was simply a statement of power.’
‘To halt the Red Army in Berlin?’
‘After the U.S President died, his replacement wanted out of the war as quickly as possible, he did not want to commit to Churchill’s ambition to push Stalin back, and didn’t much care if Stalin over-ran Europe. But what he did care was that if the Soviet Union annexed Japan, then she would have the same strategic capability to threaten the American West Coast and Pacific interests as Japan had.’
‘So you think the bomb was used to warn the Soviets?’
‘Consider that in the entire history of the Cold War, the Soviets never once used an atomic weapon in any conflict. In Afghanistan we never used it even when we were losing. The only people to ever use nuclear weapons in a conflict are the Americans, and yet they blame the threat from Russia for the reason why they built them, and then the arms race that followed. Once they had it, we had to have it. But we, like Britain, didn’t want to waste such money on useless weapons, it was simply a mechanism the Americans used to bleed our country of resources to keep pace with them.’
‘They blame you, you blame them, round and round we go...’
‘Round and round we go. Yes. I like that. It is exactly how it is. The question is if someone is brave enough to stop, then how do they know the other will not simply take advantage of their decision and abuse it? That is why we go round and round until...’
‘The stakes become so high either the other is forced to stop, or worse attempts to stop the other. I understand.’
‘I knew you would. He also said you were very intelligent. He has been correct on all counts from our limited conversation.’
‘I think my husband flatters me.’
‘What good husband does not? Be worried when he speaks nothing of you, or badly. You took a trip to meet the old man?’
‘The old man?’
‘Alex’s grandfather,’ the president said with a dismissive wave.
‘Yes.’
‘I imagine he told you quite a tale.’
‘It was a little...I don’t even have the word.’
‘Be careful, old men are terrible records of events. As an analyst you should know this. I was an analyst like you. I’m sure your press would have you imagine I was some evil assassin poisoning people’s tea, but I was merely a collator of information. That is why I wish to drink tea with you. It is nice to converse with another who shares the same love of uncovering secrets.’
‘Is there any truth in it?’
‘There is truth in everything, there is truth in nothing. His recollections are coloured by the distortion of his opinions. The more he recounts this tale the more it becomes embellished with facts he perhaps imagined. Eventually the lines blur, and not even he knows the truth. That is why we keep records. So things that need clarity cannot be disputed.’
‘You think I need clarity?’
‘Your husband has important work to do for us; it is vital for our national security interests. I would prefer he is not terribly distracted by matters of a personal nature. He needs the support of his wife, not the mistrust that he is not all he appears to be. If I can give you clarity then you can understand, from documentation you can find reference points and validate yourself. Then you can determine what is fact, and what is mere coloured opinion.’
‘That would be helpful.’
‘What would be helpful to you, would be helpful to me. But I must caution you. What I reveal to you is a secret given from one spy to another. We both hold Aleksandr in great affection; I keep certain facts from him for his own good. He is a man of great capability, and without rational control and discipline, he has the capacity to run amok and cause devastation on a scale seemingly unimaginable to us.’
‘I can keep a secret. If it is a secret that protects him, even from himself.’
‘Then come. Let me show you where we keep our secrets.’ The president got up. Zara followed him down the corridor. They made their way to a secure lift that was heavily guarded. The president used his thumbprint to activate the lift doors and they stepped inside. The lift descended until it reached a level that Zara best guessed to be many hundred’s of feet below The Kremlin. ‘As you can imagine for a long time we have prepared for the fact the first place the bombs will land is on The Kremlin. We must protect our legacy so the government can function after such an event.’ He gestured her out of the lift. They walked through to a hermetically sealed passage that sucked all the air out before the inner door opened to the vast hall of records where The Kremlin archives were kept. Zara looked at the racks upon racks of collective secrets of the Russian Federation, and Soviet Union before it, and wondered at the treasure trove of information they contained. The president led her down to a number and letter referenced aisle. He walked down the line until he found the cabinet he was looking for. He took out a secure chip key from his pocket and entered a pin number. ‘These are our most secure presidential sealed files. Do you want to know who killed J.F.K?’ He grinned before removing a large thick sealed file envelope. Stamped with the crest of the K.G.B, and a red wax presidential seal. He held it with great care. ‘What is in here, I cannot stress the importance of it enough. This is who your husband is, more importantly what he represents. You understand there are people who would use the knowledge contained in these documents to destroy him. I understand when I look into his eyes, into his soul, the bond he has with you. And I know what you represent to him, and to us.’
‘What?’
‘A path to a better future.’ He handed her the file. ‘You must use this at your discretion. Wars could start over what is contained in here.’
‘So why are you giving it to me? Why trust me with it?’
‘Alex has brought you here because he believes you have a part to play, to stop this circle going round and round for eternity. We all have an opportunity to stop this, and to make a final resolution. To get to this position you need to make your own journey, find your own knowledge. The answers in here are the beginning. Alex found his way, now you must find yours. I believe only together can you bring us to our natural conclusion.’ The president locked the filing cabinet and gestured Zara to follow him. She clutched the file and returned to the reception. The president signed the file out. The clerk of records took the file from Zara and placed it in a steel briefcase with security features.
‘Please choose a security code. First to unlock it, second to destroy it.’
Zara entered two pin numbers. The clerk handed her the secure bracelet and chain, she attached it to her wrist and followed the president back to the lift. When the doors closed he turned to her. ‘When you have had chance to review the situation, I would be pleased if we could drink tea together again, and discuss how you might act on it.’
‘Of course,’ Zara said nervously. He flashed a smile at her. ‘Is Alex okay? Where he went today.’
‘He is returning to The Kremlin. Everything is taken care of.’
‘That’s good to hear.’
The door opened. The president gestured for her to step out. He walked her back to his office. ‘Now if you must excuse me, I have to go back to writing nastygrams to w
orld leaders,’ he said with a playful smile.
‘Thank you. For the clarity.’ He nodded and smiled politely then left. Zara walked over to the aide’s desk. ‘Can someone tell me which way to our apartment? I don’t want to walk into some meeting discussing the invasion of Poland by mistake.’
The aide smiled. ‘For sure, there is no such meeting today. They are discussing trade tariffs on pork products with the E.U delegate from Denmark I believe.’
‘They do like to flog a bit of bacon do the Danes. Big dogs and biscuits as well. And butter.’
‘I’m sure it is just pork today. Maybe big dogs are tomorrow’s meeting. Victor will show you to your apartment.’
‘Thank you.’ Zara returned to Alex’s apartment. She unlocked the case from her wrist. Before she had chance to open it, Alex returned and walked through the door. He nodded at the case. ‘I leave you alone for one day and you’ve broken into the state archives.’
‘Oh that. It’s nothing. The president just wants me to look at some stuff.’
‘Anything interesting?’
‘I believe it’s intelligence on the Danish negotiating strategy for pork products. They’re trying to do a trade deal.’
Alex smiled. ‘Twenty-four hours in and you are already helping nobble the E.U trade deal with stolen intel. How quickly Grigor has corrupted you.’
Zara shrugged. ‘If Russians get cheaper bacon, that can only be a good thing.’
‘I think they want more expensive bacon. To protect our farmers. That’s generally how protectionism works. We don’t do free trade here.’ Alex took his jacket off and hung it up.
‘How did your day go?’
‘As expected.’
