by Peter Kysel
“It’s a bad idea to mix business and politics in Russia. I know that they need cash from the business to finance their political ambitions, but Berezovsky’s fate should have been a warning to them.”
“The foundation is a time bomb. Can it be diffused?” I asked and Jack responded, “I’ll do what I can”.
#
Russian Johnson
George and Fiona, called on their stopover from St Petersburg to Cape Town.
“We have interesting family news. Michael has received a letter from a young Muscovite, who claims to be the great grandson of Brian Johnson. Brian Johnson was apparently married and had a family in Russia. This young man enclosed a copy of Brian’s British passport.”
“What’s Michael going to do?”
“He’s intrigued and wants to meet this guy, but of course it could be an ambush,” said George, and Fiona stepped in.
“Don’t worry. Michael is smart. Let’s wait and see what he thinks.”
“After three generations in exile, your family is back in Russia. You have imbued Michael and little George, with Russian patriotism and now you may even have a living relative there. This news, if true, would make your family more naturally integrated into the country,” I said although I didn’t share Fiona’s confidence.
In a country where even conversations with foreigners had to be reported to the FSB, I took for granted that anyone who volunteered to contact foreigners, would be an FSB agent.
#
Cards on the Table
Fiona reminisced.
“A quarter of a century ago we were worried about Michael’s future. It’s such a relief that he is now totally accepted in St Petersburg, and our grandchildren are such a joy.” We all nodded, and George turned to our previous conversation.
“Michael and Svetlana don’t agree with your warnings against mixing with red wolves. They are ambitious and prepared to take risks to reach the top in business and in politics.” Fiona added, “Michael liked your description of being a white wolf.”
George turned to Jack.
“The foundation is going to be closed down immediately. We would like you to set up a new philanthropic structure with the same objectives. Our family will give financial support but will not be involved. We expect you to channel your campaigns covertly through social media to protect your anonymity. Do you agree?”
“Yes, I believe that the potential benefits are worth it” said Jack and I didn’t respond, thinking It’s for the next generation to drive reforms in Russia. George seemed to have the same view.
“Michael is in charge of the business. I shall be retiring. We are going to hand over our charitable efforts to Jack and a new young team.”
It was a radical decision, but instead of applauding it, I was disheartened by Michael’s sacrifice of ethics for his business ambitions.
I have been cast as a white knight and I am no longer of use. My protegé has turned into a white wolf. In his ambitious Romanov eyes, I have become an amusing Don Quixote.
On the way out, Fiona turned to me.
“Michael sends you greetings. He mentioned that the curt young Englishman, you saw in Samara, is now involved in British politics.”
“What was he doing in Samara?” Fiona raised her hands, “Michael just mentioned that the FSB had a cover name for him – Dom. It apparently means Home in Russian.” Her message meant nothing to me, or Jack, at the time and we let it pass.
Fiona and George left for the airport and we ordered more drinks. Jack aired his opinions.
“I’ve noticed that the trustees never charged the foundation any fees, or expenses.”
“We believed that it wouldn’t be a charity if we charged for our time, or travel.”
“That was very noble of you and I shall do the same, but the team will need to be paid.”
“And protected. I am hugely relieved that the Johnsons won’t be involved.” Jack broadened the conversation,
Russia is on a collision course with the West. Putin feels humiliated by Nato’s expansion into eastern Europe and by its aggression in Yugoslavia and the Middle East. He believes that the Western policy of containment of Russia, is hostile, because it destabilises Russia’s sphere of influence.”
“The Russians see themselves as victims encircled by the West?”
“Yes, 80% of Russians support Putin’s anti-Western propaganda. We are in the foothills of a cold war. Hostilities will begin with disinformation, cyber warfare and proxy military conflicts.”
“It looks as though the Johnson–Romanovs will be forced to take sides between Russia and the West.”
“Inevitably. Their present foundation will be terminated. There is a great danger that the foundation’s links to the Johnsons could be exposed, with disastrous personal consequences.”
“But the foundation’s objectives are laudable?”
“Yes, they are. We’ll form a new, secret and fully independent charitable organisation.” Jack was ready, but strangely, I felt I didn’t wish to know any more.
PART 10
Blaník
I was unsettled by our conversation and went home to think about it. I poured a drink and looked for the 1990 concert of Má Vlast (My Country) on YouTube. Having found it, I settled on the sofa to watch.
It captured the emotional reaction and rapturous welcome from the audience, as president Vaclav Havel arrived at the Municipal Hall to the fanfare from Libuše. The recording rekindled my memory of those optimistic days, a quarter of a century ago. The national anthem followed, stirring my emotions further. It had been the first time I had heard it played in a free Czechoslovakia.
Then the Czech Philharmonic, under Rafael Kubelík, performed the unforgettable Má Vlast. Relaxing to Smetana’s music, I had flashbacks to the conversations I had with my father all those years ago, arousing memories of those uncertain and exciting times.
During the last symphonic poem, Blaník, I joined in, to sing the Hussite choral ‘Kdo jsů boží bojovníci a zákona jeho’ (‘Who are God’s warriors and of his law’). The choral was adopted by the army of the knights led by St Wenceslas, who rode out of the Blaník mountains to rescue the Czech homeland.
The last line of the verse underscored the knights’ resolution “Že konečně vždycky s Ním zvítězíte” (“That always with Him you will be victorious”). I finished the song and toasted all the white knights.
I recalled returning to a country, which a quarter of a century ago, had been an aimless, decaying relic. It had made me sad and uncertain how to help, until I found inspiration in Vojta’s story of the white knights coming to rescue the nation. His wisdom has guided me ever since.
Akin to this legend, our white knights came out to drain the putrefied swamp and succeeded in turning it into a productive land. The country has become prosperous again.
Life isn’t a circle. Looking over it; my life has turned out to be shaped like a helix. Smetana’s music was soothing to my soul and I felt a sense of contentment.
Copyright
Published by Clink Street Publishing 2020
Copyright © 2020
First edition.
The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that with which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN: 978–1–913568–36–8 Paperback
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