Heads You Win

36 Sasha

Westminster, 1980

It would have been better if Mr Sasha Karpenko MP had never left the Soviet Union, was the opening sentence in The Times’ leader that morning.

Sasha fell in love with the Palace of Westminster from the moment he walked through St Stephen’s entrance, and joined his new colleagues in the Members’ Lobby. His mother burst into tears when he swore the oath before taking his place on the opposition back benches. As he held the Bible in his hand with members on both sides staring down at him as if he’d just arrived from another planet, it felt to Sasha like being the new boy at school.

Michael Cocks, the Labour chief whip, told him to keep his head down for the first few years. However, it didn’t take the whips long to realize they had a prodigious young talent on their hands who might not always be easy to handle. So when Sasha rose to make his maiden speech even the two front benches remained in their places to hear the member for Moscow, as the Conservatives referred to him. But Sasha had already decided to tackle that problem in its infancy.

‘Mr Sasha Karpenko,’ called Mr Speaker Thomas. The House fell silent, as is the tradition when a member delivers their maiden speech.

‘Mr Speaker, may I begin by saying what an honour it is for this Russian immigrant to become a member of the British House of Commons. If you had told me, just twelve years ago when I was a schoolboy in Leningrad, that I would be sitting on these benches before my thirtieth birthday, only my mother would have believed it, especially as I had already told my closest school friend that I was going to be the first democratically elected president of Russia.’

This statement was greeted by loud cheers from both sides of the House.

‘Mr Speaker, I have the privilege of representing the constituents of Merrifield in the county of Kent, who in their wisdom decided to replace a Conservative woman with a Labour man.’ He looked across the floor at the Prime Minister seated on the front bench opposite, and said, ‘That’s something my party intends to repeat at the next general election.’

Margaret Thatcher gave a slight bow, while those seated on the opposition benches roared their approval.

‘My opponent, Ms Fiona Hunter, served in this House for three years, and will be sadly missed in Merrifield — by the Conservatives. I have no doubt she will eventually return to the benches opposite, but not in my constituency.’ Hear, hears erupted from those around him, and when Sasha looked up from his notes, there wasn’t any doubt that he had captured the attention of the whole House.

‘Some members on both sides of the House must wonder where my true allegiance lies. Westminster? Leningrad? Merrifield? Or Moscow? I’ll tell you where it lies. It lies with any citizen of any country who believes that the power of democracy is sacred and the right to live in a free society universal.

‘Mr Speaker, I have no time for political labels such as “left” or “right”. I am an admirer of both Winston Churchill and Clement Attlee, and the heroes of my university days were Aneurin Bevan and Iain Macleod. With them in mind, I will always attempt to judge every argument on its merits, and every member on the sincerity of his or her views, even when I profoundly disagree with them. I may occasionally shout from the highest mountain, but I hope I will have the good grace to occasionally dwell in the valleys and listen.

‘The chief whip’s first words to me when I arrived in this place made me feel like Shakespeare’s whining schoolboy, with his satchel and shining morning face, creeping like snail unwilling to school.’ Laughter arose from both sides of the House. ‘Ah, I can see I’m not the first,’ he said. This was received by cheers, with only the Labour chief whip remaining silent. ‘He advised me to speak only on subjects about which I know a great deal... so you won’t be hearing from me much in the future.’

Sasha waited for the laughter to die down before he began his peroration.

‘What a compliment it is to the citizens of Merrifield that they could elect a Russian immigrant to sit on these hallowed benches, where he is able to express his opinions on any subject without fear or favour. Does anyone in this chamber believe that an Englishman could take his place in the Kremlin on equal terms? No, of course they don’t. But I only hope I live long enough to see you all proved wrong.’

He sat down to resounding cheers from both sides of the House. To everyone’s surprise, a bespectacled man with a shock of white hair rose from his place on the front bench.

‘The leader of the opposition,’ said the Speaker.

‘Mr Speaker, I rise to congratulate the honourable member for Merrifield on a remarkable maiden speech.’ Hear, hears echoed around the chamber. ‘However, I feel I should point out to him that many of those sitting on the benches opposite already think I am the member for Moscow.’ Cheers and jeers filled the air. ‘Nevertheless, I’m sure I speak for the whole House when I say we all look forward to the honourable member’s next contribution.’

Sasha looked up at the visitors’ gallery to see Charlie, his mother, Alf and the countess, all looking down at him with unabashed pride. But it was not until he read The Times’ leader the following morning that the impact he had made in those few short minutes began to sink in.

It would have been better if Mr Sasha Karpenko MP had never left the Soviet Union, as he might have played an important role in helping that country embrace the values of democracy.

‘I’m to blame,’ said Sasha. ‘I should have realized it was a step too far.’

‘No one’s to blame,’ said Elena. ‘We took a vote and only the countess expressed her reservations.’

‘I just thought it might be a little too much for Elena to cope with,’ said the countess.

‘And you were proved right,’ said Sasha, ‘because, I must warn you, the latest figures don’t make pleasant reading.’

The rest of the board braced themselves.

‘Elena Three has made a loss for the seventh quarter in a row. Even though I’m a born optimist, this is a trend I can’t see us reversing.’

‘What is the financial impact on the business?’ asked the countess.

‘If you put together the purchase price of the lease, the original set-up costs, and the losses we’ve sustained so far,’ Sasha paused as he added up the figures, ‘we’re down a little over £183,000.’

Charlie was the first to speak. ‘Can we survive such a setback?’

‘I believe we can,’ said Sasha, ‘but it will be a close-run thing.’

‘What’s the bank’s attitude?’ asked Elena.

‘They’re still willing to back us if we agree to close Elena Three immediately, and concentrate our attention on Elenas One and Two. Although they’re both still making a profit, they’re also suffering from some of the consequences of my decision.’

‘Well, let’s look on the bright side,’ said Elena. ‘At least you’ve got your parliamentary salary to fall back on.’

‘Not for much longer, I fear,’ said Sasha, ‘because if Margaret Thatcher retains her lead in the polls, it will be very hard for me to hold on to Merrifield at the next election.’

‘Isn’t there a personal vote, if your constituents feel you’ve done a good job?’ asked the countess.

‘Rarely worth more than a few hundred votes, and usually reserved for rebels who’ve voted against their own party. And if the company were to go bankrupt, I’d have to resign and leave Fiona to march back onto the field in triumph.’

‘One should never forget,’ said the countess, ‘you have to climb a ladder to success, but failure is a lift going down.’

‘Then we’ll just have to start climbing again,’ said Elena.

Sasha realized that if Elena’s was to survive, his biggest problem would be the taxman. Should the Inland Revenue demand their pound of flesh, the company would have to go into receivership, and dispose of all its assets. And if Elena’s One and Two were to suddenly come on the market, everyone in business would know it was a fire sale.

Sasha knew if that was the outcome, he would have to abandon his political career and look for a job. What a complete fool he’d made of himself, just when he thought nothing could derail him.

There was no one else to blame, so he decided to face the problem head-on. He phoned the Inland Revenue and made an appointment to see his case officer, Mr Dark. Even the name filled him with foreboding. He could already visualize the damn man. Short, bald, overweight, coming to the end of an undistinguished career of pen-pushing, who enjoyed nothing more than depositing lives into an out-tray. He probably voted Conservative, and wouldn’t be able to resist saying how sorry he was, but he had a job to do, and there couldn’t be any exceptions.

Sasha parked his Mini in Tynsdale Street, fifteen minutes before the appointed hour, crossed the road and entered a soulless-looking red-brick building. The royal crest hung above the entrance, and might as well have read, Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here. He gave his name to the lady on the reception desk.

‘Mr Dark is expecting you,’ she said ominously. ‘His office is on the thirteenth floor.’

Where else? thought Sasha.

Even the lift seemed reluctant to make the upward journey, before disgorging its only visitor. Sasha stepped out into a grey pictureless corridor, and went in search of Mr Dark’s office.

He knocked on the door and entered a room with no windows and a desk covered in red files. Behind the desk — first surprise — sat a man of his own age who greeted him with a warm smile — second surprise. He stood up, and shook hands with Sasha.

‘Would you like a cup of tea, Mr Karpenko?’

An Englishman’s idea of putting you at ease before adding a teaspoonful of cyanide.

‘No, thank you,’ said Sasha, wanting the executioner to get on with his job.

‘Can’t say I blame you,’ said Dark, before sitting down. ‘I know you’re a busy man, Mr Karpenko, so I’ll try not to waste too much of your time.’ He opened the top file and studied the contents for a few moments, reminding himself of the salient points. ‘I’ve studied your tax returns for the past five years,’ Dark continued, ‘and after a long chat to your bank manager, which you authorized — ’ Sasha nodded — ‘I think we may have found a solution to your problem.’

Sasha continued to stare at the man, wondering what the next surprise would be.

‘You currently owe the Inland Revenue £126,000, which your company is clearly unable to pay at the present time. However, contrary to public opinion, we tax collectors get our kicks out of saving companies, not closing them. After all, it’s our only hope of getting any of our money back.’

Sasha wanted to laugh, but somehow resisted the temptation.

‘With that in mind, Mr Karpenko, we will allow you a year’s grace, during which time you will not have to pay any tax. After that, we will require you to return the full amount,’ he checked the figure, ‘of £126,000 over a period of four years. However, if the company should make a profit during that time, every penny will come to the Inland Revenue.’ He paused before looking across his desk at Sasha and adding firmly, ‘I accept that the next five years are not going to be easy for you and your family, but if you feel unable to accept this offer, we will be left with no choice but to take possession of all your assets, as the taxman is always paid in full before any other creditors.’ He paused again, and looked up at his visitor. ‘You may wish to spend a few days considering your position, Mr Karpenko, before you make a final decision.’

‘That won’t be necessary, Mr Dark,’ said Sasha. ‘I accept your terms, and am most grateful to you for giving me a second chance.’

‘I applaud your decision. So many of my clients go bankrupt, and then open a new business the following day, not bothering about their debts, or anyone else’s problems.’ Mr Dark opened a second file and extracted another document. ‘Then all that is left for you to do, Mr Karpenko, is to sign here, here and here.’ He even offered Sasha a biro.

‘Thank you,’ said Sasha, wondering if he was about to wake up.

Once Sasha had signed the agreement, Mr Dark rose from behind his desk and shook hands with him for a second time.

‘I have no politics, Mr Karpenko,’ said Dark as he accompanied Sasha out of the room and back down the corridor to the lift, ‘but if I lived in Merrifield, I would vote for you, and although I have only dined at Elena’s on one occasion, I enjoyed the experience immensely.’

‘You must come again,’ said Sasha, as the lift door opened and he stepped inside.

‘Not until you’ve paid off your debt in full, Mr Karpenko.’

The lift door closed.

Sasha’s prospects of retaining his seat didn’t improve following Mrs Thatcher’s much vaunted triumph in the Falklands, and Michael Foot’s stubborn refusal to occupy the centre ground.

But then he had a stroke of luck that can change the career of any politician. Sir Michael Forrester died of a heart attack, triggering a by-election in the neighbouring constituency of Endlesby. The chance of representing a safe Tory seat for the rest of her life was too tempting for Fiona Hunter, and few people were surprised when she allowed her name to go forward as the prospective candidate. After all, she claimed, Endlesby was half of her old constituency.

Fiona won the by-election by over ten thousand votes, and returned to take her place on the green benches, where Sasha assumed their rivalry would continue. Sasha’s second piece of luck came when the Merrifield Conservative Association quarrelled among themselves as to who should be their candidate at the next general election, and ended up selecting a local councillor who divided opinion even in his own party.

After the general election, Margaret Thatcher returned to the Commons with an overwhelming majority, despite being spurned by the voters of Merrifield, who decided to hold on to their member, if only by a majority of ninety-one. But as Alf pointed out to Sasha, it was Winston Churchill who said, ‘One is quite enough, dear boy.’

Neil Kinnock, the new leader of the Labour Party, invited Sasha to join the opposition front bench as a junior spokesman in the foreign affairs team, with special responsibilities for the Eastern Bloc countries.

Sasha’s reputation inside and outside Parliament grew, and members on both sides of the House became aware that whenever he rose to take his place at the despatch box, the ill-prepared lived to regret it.

Fiona was made an under-secretary of state at the Foreign Office, and looked set for a long parliamentary career. However, it was another newly elected Conservative member who caused Sasha to jump with joy — if only in the privacy of his own home.

Sasha accepted that there would be no love lost when they faced each other across the floor of the House, but that wouldn’t stop him sharing the occasional half pint in Annie’s Bar with the Hon. Member Ben Cohen MP.

37 Sasha

London and Moscow

When the government announced they would be sending an all-party delegation to Moscow to discuss Anglo — Russian relations following the election of Mikhail Gorbachev as General Secretary, no one was surprised that Sasha was chosen to represent the Labour Party.

However, Sasha was not amused to discover that the Conservatives had invited Fiona Hunter to lead the delegation. Was it simply because nothing gave her greater pleasure than to oppose Sasha given any opportunity?

‘How long will you be away with that dreadful woman?’ Charlie asked when Sasha told her the news.

‘Three, four days at most, and we won’t exactly have any time for socializing.’

‘Don’t relax, even for a moment, because nothing would give Fiona greater pleasure than to derail your career.’

‘I think she’s more interested in promoting her own at the moment. She’s hoping to become a minister of state in the next reshuffle,’ Sasha said as he came out of the bathroom.

‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Charlie. ‘And before you desert me, have you given any more thought to names for our child, who should be joining us in about six weeks’ time?’

‘If it’s a boy, I’ve already chosen his name,’ said Sasha, placing his ear against Charlie’s stomach.

‘Do I get a vote, or is this a three-line whip?’ she asked.

‘One line. You can choose between Konstantin, Sergei and Nicholas.’

‘Konstantin,’ said Charlie without hesitation.

Fiona boarded the BA jet bound for Moscow accompanied by a small cadre of civil servants. They took their places at the front of the aircraft while Sasha sat alone near the back. He wished he was leading the delegation, and not just a shadow.

Once the seat-belt signs had been switched off, he leant back, closed his eyes and began to think about returning to the Soviet Union for the first time in nearly twenty years. How would the country have changed? Was Vladimir now a senior officer in the KGB? Was Polyakov still stationed in Leningrad? Was his Uncle Kolya the docks convener, and would he be allowed to see him?

When the plane touched down at Sheremetyevo airport four hours later, Sasha glanced out of the window to see a small delegation waiting on the runway to greet them. Fiona was first off the plane, making the most of the photo opportunity she hoped would be picked up by the press back home.

She walked slowly down the steps, waving at a group of local people gathered behind a metal barrier, but they didn’t return her greeting. It wasn’t until Sasha appeared that they suddenly burst into spontaneous applause and began waving. He walked uncertainly towards them, unable to believe the welcome was meant for him until one of them held up a placard with the word Karpenko scrawled on it. Fiona couldn’t hide her displeasure as an embassy official stepped forward to greet her.

Several bunches of flowers were thrust into Sasha’s arms, as he walked across to join them. He then tried to answer the multitude of questions being thrown at him in his native tongue.

‘Will you come back to lead our country?’

‘When will we be allowed contested elections?’

‘What chance of a free and fair election next time?’

‘I’m flattered you even know my name,’ said Sasha to a young woman who couldn’t have been born when he’d escaped from the Soviet Union.

He glanced around to see Fiona being whisked away in the ambassador’s limousine, a Union Jack fluttering from its front wing.

‘Can I get a bus into the city?’ he asked.

‘Any one of us would be proud to drive you to your hotel,’ said a young man standing at the front of the crowd. ‘My name is Fyodor,’ he said, ‘and we wondered if you’d be willing to address a meeting this evening. That seems to be the only time you’ll be free before the conference opens tomorrow.’

‘I’d be honoured,’ said Sasha, wondering if he would draw a bigger crowd in Moscow than he managed at the Roxton Working Men’s Club.

During the journey into the city in a car that neither looked nor sounded as if it could possibly reach its destination, Fyodor told Sasha that his speeches were often reported in Pravda, and he even occasionally appeared on Soviet television, all part of the new regime’s outreach policy.

Sasha was surprised, although he knew only too well that if the authorities thought there was the slightest chance of him returning to Russia to contest an election, the tap would be quickly turned off. In any case, Gorbachev didn’t seem to be doing a bad job. While Sasha remained a novelty that the Communist Party could use as a propaganda tool to show how their philosophy was spreading across the globe, he was in no danger. He could hear them saying, Don’t forget Karpenko came from the docks of Leningrad, won a scholarship to Cambridge University, and became an English Member of Parliament — isn’t that proof enough that our system works?

When they arrived at the hotel there was another group standing outside waiting in the bitter cold. Sasha shook many more outstretched hands, and answered several questions. He finally checked in, and took the lift to his room. It may not have been the Savoy, but it was clear that his countrymen had finally embraced the concept that if foreigners were going to come to Moscow they would have to be provided with at least some of the facilities they took for granted in the West. He showered and changed into his other suit, a fresh shirt and a red tie before going downstairs, where the same car and driver were waiting for him.

Sasha climbed into the front seat, once again wondering if they would make it. He gazed out of the window as they passed the Kremlin.

‘You’ll live there one day,’ said Fyodor as they left Red Square behind them and drove on through the empty streets.

‘How many people are you expecting this evening?’ Sasha asked.

‘We have no way of knowing, because we’ve never done anything like this before.’

Sasha couldn’t help wondering if the Russian Alf would be able to muster more than a dozen men and a sleeping dog. He turned his thoughts to what he might say to his audience. If the gathering was small, he decided, after a few opening remarks he’d just take questions, and be back at the hotel in time for dinner.

By the time the car drew up outside the workers’ hall, he had a few remarks prepared in his mind. He stepped out onto the pavement to be greeted by a woman dressed in Russian national costume, who presented him with a basket of bread and salt. He thanked her and bowed low, before following Fyodor down a narrow alley and through a back door. When he entered the building he could hear cries of ‘Kar-pen-ko, Kar-pen-ko!’ As he was led up onto a stage, over three thousand people rose as one and continued to chant, ‘Kar-pen-ko, Kar-pen-ko!’

Sasha stared down at the packed gathering and realized that his youthful boast, meant only for the ears of his friend Vladimir, had become a rallying cry for countless people he had never met, who, for generations, had remained silent about how they really felt.

His speech lasted for over an hour, though because it was interrupted so often by chanting and applause he only actually spoke for about fifteen minutes. When he finally left the stage, the building echoed to the repeated cries of ‘Kar-pen-ko! Kar-pen-ko!’

Out on the street, his car was mobbed, and it was almost a mile before Fyodor was able to shift into second gear. Sasha suspected that if he tried to describe what had just taken place to Charlie or Elena, neither would believe him.

Sasha had always hoped that he might be able to play some part, however small, in bringing down Communism and ushering in perestroika, but now, for the first time, he believed that he might live to see that day. Would he regret not remaining in his homeland and standing for the Duma? He was still preoccupied by these thoughts when he entered the hotel lobby, and quickly returned to his old world. The first person he saw in the lobby was Fiona.

‘Have you had an interesting evening?’ he asked.

‘The embassy got us tickets for the Bolshoi,’ she replied. ‘We called your room, but you were nowhere to be found. Where were you?’

Someone else who wouldn’t have believed him if he’d told her, and perhaps more important, wouldn’t have wanted to.

‘Visiting old friends,’ he said, picking up his key and joining Fiona as she walked towards the lift.

‘Which floor?’ he asked as they stepped inside.

‘Top.’

He thought about telling her that was always the worst floor in the Soviet Union, but decided she wouldn’t have understood. He pressed two buttons, and neither of them spoke again until they reached the fourth floor when he said goodnight.

‘Don’t be late for the bus in the morning. Nine-fifteen sharp,’ said Fiona as the doors opened. Sasha smiled. Once a head girl, always a head girl.

‘The Russians are famous for keeping you waiting,’ he said as he stepped out into the corridor.

He placed his key in the door of a room that was probably half the size of Fiona’s. The only compensation was that it would have half as many bugs. Suddenly he realized he hadn’t eaten, and for a moment he thought about room service, but only for a moment. He put on his pyjamas and climbed into bed, still hearing the chants of Kar-pen-ko as he placed his head on the pillow, pulled the blankets over himself, and almost immediately fell into a deep sleep.

Was the persistent banging all part of his dream, he wondered, but when it didn’t stop, he finally woke. He glanced at his watch: 3.07. Surely it couldn’t be Fiona? He dragged himself out of bed, put on his dressing gown and reluctantly padded across to the door.

‘Who is it?’

‘Room service,’ said a sultry voice.

‘I didn’t order room service,’ said Sasha as he opened the door.

‘I wasn’t on the menu, darling,’ said a long-legged redhead, who was also dressed in pyjamas and a dressing gown, but hers were in shimmering black silk, and unbuttoned. ‘I’m tonight’s special,’ she said, holding up a bottle of vodka in one hand, and two glasses in the other. ‘I did come to the right room, didn’t I, darling?’ she purred in perfect English.

‘No, I’m afraid you didn’t,’ replied Sasha in perfect Russian. ‘But do come back again at seven-thirty, because I forgot to ask the front desk to give me a wake-up call.’ He gave her a warm smile, said, ‘Goodnight, darling,’ and quietly closed the door.

He climbed back into bed, thinking the KGB’s research left a little to be desired. Someone should have told them he’d never cared for redheads. Although they were right about the vodka.

Sasha was among the first to be seated on the bus the following morning, and to his surprise, when Fiona climbed on board, she deserted her minders and sat down next to him.

‘Good morning, comrade minister,’ he teased. ‘I hope you had a good night’s sleep.’

‘I had rather a bad night, in fact,’ whispered Fiona. ‘I met a charming young man in the lounge called Gerald, who told me he worked at the embassy. He came up to my room just after midnight and I should have slammed the door in his face. But I’m afraid I’d drunk a little too much champagne.’

‘Nothing wrong with that,’ said Sasha. ‘You’re an attractive single woman, so why shouldn’t you enjoy the company of a colleague outside working hours? I can’t imagine it would excite much interest beyond a few perverts in the Kremlin recording centre.’

‘It’s not the sex I’m worried about,’ said Fiona, ‘it’s what I might have said après sex.’

‘Like what?’ asked Sasha, enjoying every moment.

Fiona buried her head in her hands and whispered, ‘Thatcher is a dictator with no sense of humour. Geoffrey Howe is so wet you could wring him out, and I may have told him the names of two or three members of the Cabinet who are having affairs with their secretaries.’

‘How unlike you, Fiona, to be quite so indiscreet. But I’d hardly describe any of that as front page news.’

‘It is when you’re lying in the arms of a KGB officer.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘But I do know there’s no one called Gerald working at the British Embassy. If the story was to get into the hands of the press, I’d be finished.’

‘Perhaps not finished,’ said Sasha, ‘although it might put off the much-heralded promotion that the press keep hinting at. But only until the Blessed Margaret is finally deposed, which I confess doesn’t look too imminent. But why tell me all this?’

‘Oh, come on, Sasha. Everyone knows you have excellent contacts in the Soviet Union. Do you imagine for one moment that your meeting last night went unnoticed? You must have some influential friends in the KGB.’

‘Sadly not. You may not have noticed, Fiona, but they’re the bad guys.’

‘Minister?’ said the voice of a civil servant, hovering over them.

‘I’ll be with you in a minute, Gus,’ said Fiona. Turning back to Sasha, she whispered, ‘If you could do anything to help, I’d be eternally grateful.’

And we all know what your idea of eternity is, thought Sasha as the bus came to a halt in Red Square.

Fiona led her little troop out to be greeted by her opposite number, who would never have guessed from the minister’s demeanour that anything was troubling her. Impressive, thought Sasha as he followed in her wake.

The delegation was accompanied through a set of vast iron doors sculpted with images of the Siege of Moscow. Two uniformed guards sprang to attention as they passed. The delegation was then led up a wide red-carpeted staircase to the second floor, where they were ushered into a huge, ornately decorated room that was dominated by a long oak table surrounded by high-backed red leather chairs that would have graced a palace, and probably once had. They were invited to take their places along one side of the table, where Sasha found his name card three from the far end. Once the British delegation were seated, they were kept waiting for some time before the Russians made their entrance, taking their places on the opposite side of the table.

Their host made a long and predictable speech, which didn’t need translating. Sasha felt that Fiona’s reply was not up to her usual standard. Not that it mattered much. The final communiqués had already been drafted by the mandarins, and would be released on the last afternoon of the conference, whatever anyone said during the next couple of days.

For the morning session they broke up into smaller groups to discuss student exchanges, visa restrictions and the loan of the Walpole Collection from the Hermitage that was to be exhibited at Houghton Hall. The Russians only seemed to be worried about whether they’d get their paintings back.

It was during the lunch break that Sasha spotted him standing alone on the other side of the room. He was dressed in a bottle-green uniform that boasted a row of campaign medals, while his gold epaulettes suggested that he had risen swiftly through the ranks. Sasha would have known those calculating cold blue eyes anywhere. Vladimir smiled and walked purposefully across to join him. When he was a couple of feet away he came to a halt, not unlike a boxer facing his opponent in the middle of the ring, waiting to see which one of them would throw the first punch.

Sasha had already prepared his opening gambit, although he suspected Vladimir had been working on his for some time, as the meeting clearly wasn’t taking place by chance.

‘I must say, Vladimir,’ he said in Russian, ‘I’m surprised you found the time to attend such an unimportant gathering.’

‘I wouldn’t normally bother,’ said Vladimir, ‘but I’ve been looking forward to seeing you for some time, Sasha.’

‘I’m touched that Ares found time to come down from Olympus.’

‘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 goodbye, 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 like to have smiled as Nemtsov marched away, but resisted the temptation.

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

38 Alex

Boston, 1988

When Alex entered the bank on Monday morning, he didn’t notice the man sitting in the corner of the lobby. On Tuesday, he registered the lone figure for a moment, but as he had a meeting with Alan Greenspan, the chairman of the Federal Reserve, to discuss OPEC’s latest demands on oil prices and the strengthening of the dollar against the pound, the lone figure didn’t remain uppermost in his mind. On Wednesday, he looked more closely at the man before stepping into the elevator. Could it be possible he’d been sitting there for three days? Pamela would know.

‘Who’s my first appointment, Pamela?’ he asked, even before he’d taken off his overcoat.

‘Sheldon Woods, the new chairman of the local Democratic Party.’

‘How much did we give them last year?’

‘Fifty thousand dollars, chairman, but it’s an election year.’

‘Election time always brings back memories of Lawrence. So let’s make it a hundred thousand this year.’

‘Of course, chairman.’

‘Anyone else this morning?’

‘No, but you’re having lunch with Bob Underwood at the Algonquin, and don’t forget, he’s always on time.’

Alex nodded. ‘Do you know what he wants?’

‘To resign. “Time to hang up my boots,” if I remember his exact words.’

‘Never. He remains on board until he drops dead.’

‘I think that’s what he’s afraid of, chairman.’

‘And this afternoon?’

‘You’re clear until your session at the gym at five. Your coach tells me you’ve missed the last two workouts.’

‘But he still charges me even if I don’t turn up.’

‘That’s not the point, chairman.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Just to remind you it’s your wedding anniversary, and you’re taking your wife to dinner tonight.’

‘Of course it is. I’d better go downtown after lunch and get her a present.’

‘Anna’s already chosen the present she wants,’ said Miss Robbins.

‘Am I allowed to know what it is?’

‘A Chloé bag, from Bonwit Teller’s.’

‘OK, I’ll pick one up this afternoon. What colour?’

‘Grey. It’s already been gift-wrapped and was delivered to my office yesterday. All you need to do is sign this.’ She placed an anniversary card on his desk.

‘I sometimes think, Pamela, that you’d make a far better chairman than me.’

‘If you say so, chairman. But in the meantime, can you make sure you sign all the letters in your correspondence file before Mr Woods arrives?’

Getting Pamela to return to her old job was the wisest decision he’d ever made, thought Alex as he opened his correspondence file. He read each letter carefully, making the occasional emendation and sometimes adding a handwritten postscript. He was considering a letter from the president of the Harvard Business School inviting him to address the final year students in the fall, when there was a tap on the door.

‘Mr Woods,’ said Miss Robbins.

‘Sheldon,’ said Alex, jumping up from behind his desk. ‘Has it really been a year already? Can I offer you some coffee?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Woods.

‘Now, before you say anything, yes, I am aware it’s an election year, and I’ve already decided to double our contribution to the party, in Lawrence’s memory.’

‘That’s very generous of you, Alex. He would have made a fine congressman.’

‘He would indeed,’ said Alex. ‘In fact not a day goes by when I don’t mourn his death. That man quite literally changed my life, and I never had a real chance to thank him.’

‘If Lawrence were alive, it would be him who was thanking you,’ said Woods. ‘Everyone in Boston knew the bank was in serious trouble before you took over. What a turnaround. I hear you’re to be named as banker of the year.’

‘A lot of credit for that must go to Jake Coleman, who couldn’t be more different from his predecessor.’

‘Yes, that was quite a coup. I assume you’ve heard that Ackroyd was released from prison last week?’

‘I did, and I wouldn’t have given it a second thought if he hadn’t been seen boarding a plane to Nice the following day.’

‘I’m lost,’ said Woods.

‘And it’s better you stay that way,’ said Alex, as he signed a cheque for $100,000 and handed it to Woods.

‘I’m most grateful,’ he said. ‘But that wasn’t the reason I came to see you.’

‘Isn’t a hundred thousand enough?’

‘More than enough. It’s just that we, that is to say my committee, hoped you would allow your name to go forward as the next Democratic candidate for junior senator here in Massachusetts.’

Alex couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘When you asked me to stand for Congress after Lawrence’s death,’ he eventually managed, ‘I reluctantly turned the offer down so I could take on the chairmanship of Lowell’s. However, I confess I’ve often wondered if it was the right decision and whether politics was my real calling.’

‘Then perhaps it’s time for you to take on an even bigger challenge.’

‘Sadly not,’ said Alex. ‘Although the bank is finally back on its feet, I now want to take it to the next level and join the major leagues. How much do you expect the Bank of America to contribute to the Democratic cause?’

‘They’ve already given a quarter of a million towards the campaign.’

‘Then I’ll know we’ve arrived when you ask me for the same amount, and more important, when I don’t give it a second thought.’

‘I’d rather have a hundred thousand, and you as the candidate.’

‘I’m flattered, Sheldon, but the answer is still no. However, thank you for asking.’ Alex touched a button under his desk.

‘Pity. You’d have made an outstanding senator.’

‘That’s a great compliment, Sheldon. Perhaps in another life.’ They shook hands as Miss Robbins entered the room to escort Mr Woods to the elevator.

Alex sat back down and thought about how different life might have been if Lawrence hadn’t died — or even if he and his mother had climbed into the other crate. But he soon snapped out of ‘what might have been’ and returned to the real world, putting a tick on the top of the letter from the president of the Harvard Business School.

Miss Robbins had just closed the door behind her when the phone rang. Alex picked it up and immediately recognized the voice on the other end of the line.

‘Hi, Dimitri,’ he said. ‘It’s been too long. How are you?’

‘Well, thank you, Alex,’ said Dimitri. ‘And you?’

‘Never better.’

‘I’m glad to hear that, Alex, but I thought you ought to know that Ivan Donokov has been released from prison and is on his way back to Moscow.’

‘How can that be possible?’ asked Alex, turning ice cold. ‘I thought he was sentenced to ninety-nine years without parole.’

‘The CIA exchanged him for two of our agents who’d been languishing in a Moscow hellhole for over a decade.’

‘Let’s hope they don’t come to regret it. But thank you for letting me know.’

‘I only hope you don’t live to regret it,’ said Dimitri, but not until after he’d put the phone down.

Alex tried to get Donokov out of his mind while he continued signing letters. His thoughts were interrupted when Miss Robbins re-entered the room to pick up the correspondence file. ‘Before I forget, Pamela, there’s a man who’s been sitting in reception for the past three days. Do you have any idea who he is?’

‘A Mr Pushkin. He’s flown over from Leningrad in the hope that you would agree to see him. Claims he was at school with you.’

‘Pushkin,’ he repeated. ‘A great writer, but I don’t recall anyone from my school by that name. But as he’s so determined to see me, perhaps I ought to give him a few minutes.’

‘He says he needs a couple of hours. I tried to explain that you don’t have a couple of hours before Christmas, but it didn’t deter him, which made me wonder if he worked for the KGB.’

‘The KGB don’t sit around cooling their heels in reception for three days, especially when everyone can see them. So let’s see the rabbit before we shoot it. But make sure you rescue me after fifteen minutes — tell him I have another meeting.’

‘Yes, chairman,’ said Miss Robbins, not looking at all convinced.

Alex was still signing letters when there was a gentle knock on the door. Miss Robbins entered the room followed by a man he thought looked familiar, and then he remembered.

‘How nice to see you again, Misha, after all this time,’ said Alex, as Miss Robbins left the room.

‘It’s good to see you too, Alexander. I’m only surprised you remember me.’

‘Captain of the junior chess team. Do you still play?’

‘Occasionally, but I never reached your dizzy heights, so don’t bother to challenge me.’

‘I can’t remember the last time I played,’ admitted Alex, which only brought back memories of Donokov. ‘Before you tell me what brings you to Boston, how is the city of my birth?’

‘Leningrad is always beautiful at this time of year, as you will remember,’ said Pushkin, in Alex’s native tongue. ‘There are even rumours that it won’t be too long before its name will be changed back to Saint Petersburg. Another symbol to perpetuate the myth that the old regime has been replaced.’

Hearing Pushkin speaking Russian made Alex suddenly feel sad, even a little guilty, that he’d lost his accent, and now sounded like any other Boston WASP. He looked at his visitor more closely. Pushkin was around 5 foot 8, with a thick brown moustache that reminded Alex of his father. He wore a heavy tweed suit with wide lapels, which suggested either that he had no interest in fashion, or this was the first time he’d travelled outside of the Soviet Union.

‘My father worked in the docks when your father was chief supervisor,’ said Pushkin. ‘Many of the lads still remember him with respect and affection.’

‘And my Uncle Kolya?’

‘He’s now the docks’ supervisor. He asked to be remembered to you and your mother.’

I owe him my life, Alex was about to say, but stopped himself when he remembered that if Major Polyakov was still alive, that wasn’t a risk worth taking.

‘Please give him my best wishes, and tell him I hope it won’t be too long before we meet again.’

‘I’m hoping it will be sooner than you think,’ said Pushkin. ‘I see him from time to time, usually at the football every other Saturday.’

‘The two of you standing on the terraces cheering on Zenit F.C., no doubt.’

‘There are no terraces nowadays. Everyone has a seat.’

‘Can I assume my old friend Vladimir has found his way into the chairman’s box?’

‘I haven’t seen him for years,’ said Pushkin. ‘When I last heard, he was a KGB colonel stationed somewhere in East Germany.’

‘I can’t imagine that’s part of his long-term plan,’ said Alex. ‘However, I’m sure you didn’t travel all the way to Boston to reminisce. What did you mean when you said you hoped I might see my uncle sooner than I thought?’

‘You will be well aware that the new Soviet regime is very different from the old. The hammer and sickle have been run down the flagpole to be replaced with a dollar sign. The only problem is that after so many centuries of oppression, first by the tsars and then the communists, we Russians have no tradition of free enterprise.’ Alex nodded, but didn’t interrupt. ‘So nothing has really changed on that front. When the government decided to sell off some of the state’s more profitable companies, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that no one was qualified to handle such a dramatic upheaval. And dramatic is what it turned out to be, which I found out when my own company was put up for sale,’ said Pushkin as he handed over his card.

‘The Leningrad Petroleum and Gas Company,’ said Alex.

‘Whoever the new owners of LGP turn out to be, they’re going to become billionaires overnight.’

‘And you’d like to be one of them?’

‘No. Like your father, I believe that wealth should be shared among those who have made the company a success, not just handed to someone who happens to be a friend of a friend of the president.’

‘What’s the asking price?’ asked Alex, trying to find out if the meeting would be lasting more than fifteen minutes.

‘Twenty-five million dollars.’

‘And what was LGP’s turnover last year?’

Pushkin unzipped an old plastic bag, took out some papers and placed them on the desk. ‘Just over four hundred million dollars,’ he said, without needing to refer to them.

‘And the profit?’

‘$38,640,000.’

‘Am I missing something here?’ said Alex. ‘With that profit margin, the company must be worth over four or five hundred million.’

‘You’re not missing a thing, chairman. It’s just that you can’t expect to replace Communism with capitalism overnight simply by exchanging a boiler suit for a Brooks Brothers tuxedo. The Soviet Union may have some of the finest universities in the world if you want to study philosophy, even Sanskrit, but very few offer a serious business course.’

‘Surely any major Russian bank would lend you the money if you can guarantee those sort of returns,’ said Alex, looking intently at his fellow countryman.

‘The truth is,’ said Pushkin, ‘the banks are just as much out of their depth as everyone else. But they’re still not going to lend twenty-five million dollars to someone who earns the equivalent of five thousand dollars a year, and has less than a thousand dollars in his savings account.’

‘How long have you got before I need to make a decision?’ asked Alex.

‘The deadline for the deal is 31 October. After that, it’s open to anyone who can put up the money.’

‘But that’s only a month away,’ said Alex as Miss Robbins entered the room prepared to escort Mr Pushkin to the elevator.

‘Which suits the KGB, who I know already have their eyes on it.’

‘Cancel my lunch, Pamela, and then contact every senior member of the management and investment team and tell them to drop everything and report to my office immediately.’

‘Certainly, chairman,’ said Miss Robbins, as if there was nothing unusual about the request.

‘I’ll also need half a dozen pizzas for delivery at one o’clock. And before you ask, that’s a decision my mother can make.’

Miss Robbins didn’t enter the chairman’s office again until the meeting had finally broken up some five hours later.

‘You missed your afternoon gym session again, chairman.’

‘I know. The meeting overran.’

‘Will you still be taking your wife to dinner?’ asked Miss Robbins, placing the anniversary gift on his desk.

‘Damn,’ said Alex. ‘Tell Jake that I won’t be able to join him and Mr Pushkin for dinner after all. Explain to them that something even more important has come up.’

39 Alex

Boston

Evelyn picked up the phone to hear a familiar voice, which she hadn’t spoken to for some time.

‘I need to see you.’

‘Why would I want to see you?’ she asked.

‘Because you know damn well I didn’t steal the Warhol,’ said Ackroyd.

‘Is this conversation being taped?’

‘No, because I certainly wouldn’t want anyone else to hear what I’m about to tell you.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘I didn’t waste my time when I was in prison, and I’ve come up with a way for you to make half a billion dollars, and embarrass Karpenko at the same time.’

There was a brief pause before Evelyn said, ‘What would I have to do?’

‘Just confirm that I’ll get ten per cent of the deal if we pull it off.’

‘I’m still listening.’

‘I’m not saying another word, Evelyn, until I have your signature on the bottom line. I haven’t forgotten that the last time we made a deal, I ended up in jail.’

‘In which case, Douglas, you’ll have to fly down to the south of France, and bring the contract with you.’

Alex arrived at Marliave ten minutes early, and was making some calculations on the back of his menu when Anna arrived.

‘Happy anniversary, darling,’ he said as he rose to kiss her.

‘Thank you. And here’s your trick question,’ said Anna, sitting down at their favourite corner table. ‘How many years have we been married, or was that what you were trying to work out on the back of your menu?’ Fortunately Miss Robbins had reminded him just before he left.

‘Thirteen, but it would have been fourteen if Lawrence hadn’t left me his fifty per cent of the bank.’

‘You live to fight another year. What’s this?’ Anna asked coyly.

‘Open it and you’ll find out.’

‘I suspect it will be more of a surprise for you than me.’

Alex laughed. ‘I’ll pretend I’ve seen it before.’

Anna slowly removed the red ribbon, unwrapped the parcel, and lifted the lid to reveal a small, elegant light grey Chloé bag that was both practical and stylish.

‘It’s so you, I thought, the moment I saw it,’ said Alex.

‘Which was just now,’ said Anna, leaning across and kissing him again. ‘Perhaps you could remember to thank Pamela for me,’ she added as the maître d’ appeared by their side.

‘I know exactly what I want, François,’ she said. ‘Salade niçoise and the Dover sole.’

‘I’ll have the same,’ said Alex. ‘I’ve made quite enough decisions for one day.’

‘Dare I ask?’

‘I can’t say too much at the moment, because it could turn out to be either a complete waste of time or the biggest deal that’s ever crossed my desk.’

‘When will you know which?’

‘By this time next week, would be my bet. By which time I should be back from Leningrad.’

‘But haven’t you always said you’d never go back to Russia in any circumstances, and Leningrad in particular?’

‘It’s a calculated risk,’ said Alex. ‘However, I think it’s safe to assume that after all these years, Polyakov will have retired.’

‘Your mother once told me that KGB officers never retire, so what does she think?’

‘She won’t relax until she’s attended his funeral. But when I promised to see her brother Kolya, find out how the rest of the family are, and visit my father’s grave, she reluctantly came round.’

‘I don’t want you to go,’ said Anna quietly. ‘Let Jake Coleman take your place. He’s just as good a deal maker as you are.’

‘Maybe, but the Russians always expect to deal with the chairman. By the way, there’s a spare seat on the plane if you’d like to come.’

‘No, thank you. Not least because I’ve got an opening on Wednesday.’

‘Anyone I know?’ asked Alex, pleased to change the subject.

‘Robert Indiana.’

‘Oh yes, I like his work. I’ll be sorry to miss the opening.’

‘The show will still be on when you get back. If you get back.’

‘It’s not that bad, my darling. So am I allowed to know what my anniversary gift is?’ asked Alex, hoping to lighten the mood. ‘Because I don’t see a package.’

‘It was too big to bring with me,’ said Anna. ‘It’s a six-foot-square bronze by Indiana called LOVE.’ She drew an image on the back of the menu.

‘How much is that going to cost me?’

‘With the usual discount, around sixty thousand. And if you were to gift it to Konstantin, he can avoid estate tax.’

‘So let me try and understand this, one I love,’ said Alex. ‘My anniversary present is going to cost me sixty thousand dollars, but it’s Konstantin who will actually own it?’

‘Yes, my darling. I think you’ve grasped the idea. But the good news is, there’s now an outside chance you’ll go to heaven.’ Anna paused. ‘Not that you’ll enjoy it.’

‘Why not?’ demanded Alex.

‘Because you won’t know anyone,’ she said as the waiter returned with their first course.

‘So what do I get?’

‘To look at it for the rest of your life.’

‘Thanks,’ said Alex. ‘And can I ask where the beneficiary is?’

‘He’s staying overnight with his grandmother.’

‘Does that mean my mother has taken a night off?’ Alex asked in mock disbelief.

‘Half a night. Konstantin likes Elena’s margheritas better than anything I ever cook for him,’ Anna said as she finished her salad. ‘And don’t give me that me too look. So what else have you been up to today?’

‘Sheldon Woods came to see me this morning to ask if I’d be interested in standing for the Senate.’

‘How long did it take you to turn down that attractive offer?’ asked Anna as the waiter whisked away their empty plates.

‘I thought long and hard about it for twenty seconds.’

‘I can remember the time, not so long ago, when you were fascinated by politics,’ said Anna. ‘The only thing you ever wanted to be was the first elected president of an independent Russia.’

‘And I confess that would be far more tempting than the Senate,’ said Alex. ‘But that all changed the day Lawrence died,’ he added as the waiter reappeared and presented them with two Dover soles.

‘On or off the bone, madam?’

‘Off please, François, for both of us. My husband isn’t making any important decisions tonight.’

‘And the management hoped that you would enjoy a bottle of Chablis Beauregard to mark this special occasion, with our compliments.’

‘I should have married you, François, as it’s clear you would never have forgotten our wedding anniversary, and would have known exactly what gift to give me.’

François bowed and left them.

‘But when Lawrence left you his fifty per cent of the bank’s shares, they were worthless,’ said Anna, ‘and now they must be worth a fortune.’

‘Possibly, but I can’t afford to offload any of my stock while Evelyn still owns the other fifty per cent, because then she’d have overall control.’

‘Perhaps she might consider selling her shares? After all, she always seems to be short of cash.’

‘Quite possibly, but I don’t have that sort of capital available,’ said Alex.

‘But if I remember correctly,’ said Anna, ‘on the day our son was born Evelyn offered you her shares for a million dollars and I suggested you might live to regret not buying them.’

‘Mea culpa,’ said Alex. ‘And at the time I even considered selling off Elena’s so I could buy the shares myself, but that would have been one hell of a risk, because if the bank had gone under, we’d have ended up with nothing.’

‘Hindsight,’ said Anna. ‘But dare I ask what those shares are worth now?’

‘About three hundred million dollars.’

Anna gasped. ‘Will the bank end up having to pay her the full amount?’

‘Possibly, because we can’t afford to let another bank get hold of fifty per cent of our stock, otherwise we’d be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives, especially if Doug Ackroyd turned out to be advising them.’

‘Perhaps you should have agreed to stand for the Senate. Far less hassle, and a guaranteed salary,’ said Anna.

‘While having to listen to the views of millions of voters, rather than a dozen board members.’

‘It would be even more, if you fulfilled your lifelong dream and stood for president.’

‘Of America?’

‘No, Russia.’

Alex didn’t reply immediately.

‘Ah,’ said Anna, ‘so you do still think about the possibility.’

‘Aware that like any dream, I’ll wake up,’ said Alex, as François reappeared by their side.

‘Can I tempt you with dessert, madam?’ he asked.

‘Certainly not,’ said Anna. ‘We’ve both had quite enough. Anniversaries should not be an excuse to put on weight. And he,’ she said, pointing to her husband, ‘missed his gym session again today. So definitely nothing for him.’

François filled their glasses and took away the empty bottle.

‘To another memorable year together, Mrs Karpenko,’ said Alex, raising his glass.

‘I wish you weren’t going to Russia.’

‘I wish you weren’t going to Russia,’ said Elena, as she placed two pizzas in front of them.

‘You and Anna,’ said Alex as a waiter rushed across and said, ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Mr Karpenko, but your secretary has just called to let you know there’s been a problem with the visas, and asked if you could return to your office as soon as possible.’

‘I’d better go and find out what the trouble is,’ said Alex. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

He left his mother and an anxious-looking Pushkin to finish their pizzas, while he quickly made his way back to the office, where Miss Robbins was waiting for him.

‘Is it all going to plan?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Misha and my mother were sharing a pizza when I left them. She may not know a great deal about banking or business, but when you’ve been in the catering trade for as long as she has, there’s not much you don’t know about people. Anything important before I head back?’

‘Ted Kennedy’s assistant called to confirm that all five visas will be on your desk by four o’clock this afternoon, and she also reminded me that the senator will be standing for re-election next year.’

‘That’s going to cost me another hundred thousand.’

‘I’ve also got you a thousand dollars in cash and the equivalent in roubles, as cheques and credit cards still don’t seem to cut much ice in the Soviet Union. The team are booked into the Hotel Europa for five nights.’

‘One night might turn out to be enough.’

‘And Captain Fullerton is expecting you at Logan around eleven this evening. He has a slot booked for eleven-thirty. You’ll refuel in London, before flying on to Leningrad. So now you can go back and find out what your mother makes of Mr Pushkin.’

Alex took his time returning to Elena’s, and when he arrived, he could see his mother listening attentively to every word Misha was saying. The anxious look returned to the Russian’s face when Alex joined them.

‘A problem with the visas?’ he asked.

‘No, it’s all been sorted out. I hope you enjoyed the pizza.’

‘I’ve never had one before,’ admitted Pushkin, ‘and I have already told your mother I know the ideal spot to open the first Elena’s in Leningrad. If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I have to go and do what you Americans call “freshen up”.’

The moment he disappeared downstairs, Alex asked, ‘What’s your verdict, Mama?’

‘He’s pure gold,’ said Elena. ‘Not even gold plated. I know nothing about gas except how to turn it on and off, and I accept I’ve only just met Misha, but I’d happily leave him standing next to an open till.’

‘Family?’ asked Alex, not wanting to waste a moment before Misha returned.

‘He has a wife, Olga, two children, Yuri and Tatiana, who are both hoping to go to university, but he thinks their daughter’s chances are better than his son’s, whose sole interest seems to be motorbikes. Frankly, Alex, I don’t think Misha could pull the wool over your eyes, even if you were fast asleep.’

Pushkin reappeared at the top of the stairs.

‘Thank you, Mama. Then it looks as if I’m on my way to Leningrad.’

‘Please remember to visit your father’s grave, and do try to catch up with your Uncle Kolya. I can’t wait to hear all his news.’

40 Alex

Boston and Leningrad

Alex had assembled a team of four heads of department, led by Jake Coleman, to accompany him to Russia. All were experts in their fields: banking, energy, contract law and accounting. Dick Barrett, head of the bank’s energy department, had already spent several hours with Pushkin and admitted that he’d come away mightily impressed.

‘That man knows more about the industry than many so-called expert consultants, yet he’s never earned more than a few thousand dollars a year. So for him, this is quite literally the opportunity of a lifetime. He reminded me that Russia has twenty-four per cent of the world’s natural gas reserves, as well as twelve per cent of its oil. I’ll need to sit next to him on the plane so that by the time we touch down in Leningrad, I just might be able to hold my own.’

It was Andy Harbottle, the company’s new in-house lawyer, known as ‘Mr Downside’, who would have to draw up the final contract. But not before his father had given the document his stamp of approval.

Jake had been able to confirm that Pushkin didn’t have a great grasp of finance, and warned Alex that they wouldn’t know if the figures stacked up until they got to LGP’s headquarters and were able to study the books.

‘How could he be expected to grasp something this complex?’ said Alex. ‘No one has ever been offered deals where you can make a profit of a thousand per cent virtually overnight. What’s happening in Russia today is like the gold rush in California in the 1850s, and we must take advantage of it before our competitors do.’

‘I agree,’ said Harbottle. ‘And although I’m a cautious individual by nature—’

‘The son of your father,’ suggested Alex.

‘I’ve never known anyone seize an opportunity the way you do, and this might even turn out to be that breakthrough you so often talk about that will allow us to join the major leagues.’

‘Or bankrupt us.’

‘Unlikely,’ said Harbottle. ‘Don’t forget, we have one big advantage over our rivals. Our chairman is Russian, and was born in Leningrad.’

Alex didn’t add, and escaped after nearly killing a senior KGB officer.

The six passengers boarded the Gulfstream jet bound for Leningrad, chasing what Jake now called ‘the gas rush’. None of them had any idea what to expect. The plane refuelled at Heathrow, where the team disembarked to stretch their legs and grab a meal in the terminal. Alex would like to have gone into town and visited the Tate, the National Theatre, and even the House of Commons, but not this time.

Alex woke with a start when the captain announced that they were beginning their descent to Pulkovo airport, and asked his passengers to fasten their seat belts. He thought about the city he’d left all those years ago, also in mid-air, about his father, his uncle and even Vladimir, who was more likely to be in Moscow than in Leningrad by now. He tried to push Major Polyakov into the recesses of his mind and concentrate on a deal that could put the bank into another league. Or would he be arrested even before they’d cleared customs?

He looked out of the cabin window, but could see little other than the terminal lights, and a sky full of stars he hadn’t seen since he was a boy.

His emotions were torn. He wasn’t sure if he was glad to be back, but the moment he disembarked, he was reminded of the pace things moved in Russia. There was slow, slower, and if you were stupid enough to complain, even slower. They waited for over two hours to have their passports checked, and he realized how many things he took for granted living in the States. Had he imagined it, or did the inspector take even longer when he saw the name Karpenko? They then had to wait around for another hour before their bags were released and they were finally allowed to escape.

Pushkin led them out of the terminal and onto the pavement. He raised a hand in the air and five cars immediately swerved across the road, coming to a halt in front of them. Alex and his team looked on in disbelief as Pushkin selected three of them. Everything on four wheels in Leningrad is a taxi, he explained.

‘The Astoria,’ he instructed each of the chosen drivers. ‘Make sure you don’t charge more than a rouble,’ he added as his new associates piled into the waiting cars.

‘But that’s only about a dollar,’ said Alex, when Misha joined him in the back seat.

‘More than enough,’ he replied as the car shot off towards the city centre. Another long journey.

By the time they’d all checked into the hotel, they were exhausted.

‘Get a good night’s sleep,’ said Jake, ‘because I need you all at your best tomorrow.’

They met up in the dining room for breakfast the following morning, and although one or two of them looked as if they were still struggling with jet lag, after a couple of black coffees had been drained, and caffeine had entered their bloodstreams, they were all ready for their first assignments.

Jake and Alex set off for the Commercial Bank to try and discover if they could wire transfer twenty-five million dollars to Leningrad at a moment’s notice. After last night’s airport experience Alex couldn’t help feeling a little pessimistic. Dick Barrett accompanied Misha to the LGP factory on the outskirts of the city, while Andy Harbottle went off to meet the company’s lawyers to discuss the contract for the biggest and most complicated deal he’d ever come across. His father would have considered there were altogether too many noughts involved for it to be credible.

Andy had already prepared the first draft of a contract, but he warned Alex, ‘Even if the Russians sign it, what guarantees do we have that any payments will ever be forthcoming? This may be the new gold rush, but with it went cowboys and this lot aren’t even our cowboys.’

The one statistic he was able to confirm was that when an American sued a Russian in the Soviet courts, he had a four per cent chance of winning the case.

The team reassembled in Jake’s room at the hotel at six o’clock that evening. Jake and Alex reported that although Russian banks had been overwhelmed by the government’s recent 180-degree policy U-turns, it had been made clear to them that foreign investors should be welcomed, and unlike Oliver, encouraged to come back for a second helping.

Barrett confirmed that everything Pushkin had claimed about the operation on the ground had proved accurate, although he did feel the company’s safety record left a little to be desired. Alex didn’t stop making notes.

‘And the balance sheet?’ asked Jake, turning to their number-cruncher.

‘They don’t seem to understand the basic tenets of modern accountancy practice,’ said Mitch Blake. ‘Which isn’t surprising, as their economy’s been run by party hacks for decades. But it’s still the best goddamn bottom line I’ve ever seen.’

‘So let’s play devil’s advocate for a moment,’ said Alex. ‘What’s the downside?’

‘They could steal our twenty-five million,’ said Andy Harbottle. ‘But I don’t think we should pack our bags just yet.’

Over dinner that night, Alex was pleased to see the team relaxing for the first time.

‘Are you still seeing your uncle for lunch tomorrow?’ asked Jake.

‘Sure am. I’m hoping he might be able to give me some inside knowledge on how to handle the current regime.’

‘Do you know what this country needs?’ said Jake as he cut into a tough steak.

‘For my mother to open a pizza parlour on Nevsky Prospect — Elena 37.’

‘That first, and then you should stand for president. An honest Russian who understands free enterprise is exactly what this country needs at the moment.’

‘That was always my boyhood dream,’ said Alex. ‘If my father hadn’t been killed, then perhaps...’

‘Perhaps what?’ said Jake, but Alex didn’t reply as he stared directly ahead. He’d just noticed the three men seated at a table on the other side of the restaurant. The one fear he’d pushed to the back of his mind was suddenly facing him. He wasn’t in any doubt who the older man was, or why the two thugs seated on either side of him were there.

The vicious scar that stretched down the left side of the man’s face and neck was an instant reminder of where he and Alex had last met. Polyakov’s chilling words, ‘You’ll hang for this,’ reverberated in his ears. Anna was right, he should never have made the trip. Jake and his team were more than capable of handling the deal without him. But he’d allowed the thrill of the chase to overrule common sense.

The man continued to stare at Alex, his eyes fixed on him. Alex wasn’t in any doubt of his intentions. While the rest of the team discussed tactics for the next day, Alex sat on the edge of his seat, tense and alert as he waited for the major to make the first move in a game of chess which wasn’t likely to end in stalemate.

Alex touched Jake’s elbow. ‘Listen carefully,’ he whispered. ‘The man I nearly killed the day I escaped from Leningrad is sitting directly opposite us, and I don’t believe in coincidences.’

Jake glanced across at the three men, and said, ‘But, Alex, that was over twenty years ago.’

‘Look at that scar, Jake. Would you forget?’

‘And the two men with him?

‘KGB, so they’re above the law. They’ll have no interest in how I die, only when.’

‘We must get you to the American Consulate as quickly as possible.’

‘I wouldn’t make it to the front gate,’ said Alex. ‘What’s important is for all of you to carry on as if nothing has happened. If anybody asks, tell them I’ve been held up at a meeting, or I’m visiting my Uncle Kolya. Just keep stalling. I’ll let you know when I’m safe.’

‘Shouldn’t we at least call the consulate and ask their advice?’

‘Take another look at the three of them, Jake, and ask yourself if they’re the sort of men you’d invite to a lunch. This isn’t the time for diplomatic exchanges.’

‘So what are you going to do?’

‘Go native. Don’t forget I was born and raised in this city. You concentrate on closing the deal. I’ll take care of myself.’

As Alex was speaking, a party of six was being shown across the restaurant to their table. The moment they passed between him and Polyakov, like a cloud blocking the sun, Alex slipped away. Jake turned and said, ‘Did you notice—’ but he was no longer there.

Alex didn’t waste time waiting for the elevator, but headed straight for the stairs. He charged up them three at a time, constantly looking back over his shoulder. When he reached the sixth floor, he quickly unlocked the door of his room then locked himself inside, not bothering to put out the DO NOT DISTURB sign. He tapped six numbers into the pad of the little safe in the wardrobe, opened it and grabbed his passport and some loose change. He touched his jacket pocket to make sure his wallet, containing the roubles Miss Robbins had supplied, was still there.

When he heard voices outside in the corridor he rushed across to the window and pushed it open. As he stepped out onto the fire escape, someone began banging on his door. He climbed down the ladder, checking up and down, unsure where the danger was more likely to come from. When he reached the bottom rung, he looked up to see one of the thugs staring down at him from the window of his room.

‘There he is!’ the man shouted, as he dropped onto the pavement.

Three other men were standing in the hotel’s entrance staring all around them, so he quickly headed off in the opposite direction. He looked over his shoulder to see one of the men pointing, and then he started running down the hotel steps towards him.

Alex turned into a side street and broke into a run, aware that his pursuer couldn’t be far behind. He could see a main road looming up in front of him but didn’t stop running, narrowly missing being knocked over by a tram. He ran after the moving vehicle, praying it would stop. It squealed to a halt about a hundred yards ahead of him, sparks flying into the air. He wished he hadn’t missed so many training sessions.

Looking back, Alex saw his pursuers rounding the corner. He leapt through the tram doors moments before they closed, flung a kopek at the driver, remembering how much he paid the airport taxi, before slumping down into an empty seat near the back. He stared out of the window to see his pursuer, head down, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. Alex knew only too well that within minutes the spider’s web of KGB operatives would be fanning out across the city in search of an American wearing a Brooks Brothers suit, white shirt, blue tie and penny loafers. So much for going native.

He slumped down in his seat, aware of the occasional surreptitious glance from the other passengers — in Russia everyone’s a spy — as a succession of familiar landmarks from his youth passed by. And then he remembered that in a couple more stops they would be outside the main railway terminal — the end of the line.

When the tram pulled up outside Moskovsky station, he joined the trickle of passengers getting off. He walked cautiously towards the entrance, wary of anyone dressed in a uniform, or even standing still. Just as he reached a large archway, he ducked into the shadows, hoping for a few uninterrupted moments to form some sort of plan.

‘Are you looking for someone?’

Alex turned in panic to see a slim young boy smiling at him.

‘How much?’ asked Alex.

‘Ten dollars.’

‘Where?’

‘I’ve got a place just around the corner. If you’re interested, follow me.’

Alex nodded, but was careful to remain a few paces behind the youth as they walked down a dimly lit alley. And then, without warning, he ducked into a dilapidated pre-war tenement block, not unlike the one Alex had grown up in. Alex climbed three flights of littered steps, before the boy opened a door and beckoned him inside.

The boy held out his hand and Alex gave him ten dollars.

‘Are you looking for any particular service?’ the boy asked, like a waiter offering him a menu.

‘No. Just get undressed.’

The boy looked surprised, but carried out the request, until he stood there in his underwear. Alex took off his jacket, trousers and tie, and pulled on the boy’s jeans, but found he couldn’t do up the top button.

‘Do you have a jacket of any kind?’

The boy looked puzzled, but took him through to his bedroom, opened the wardrobe and stood aside. Alex selected a loose tracksuit top that stank of marijuana, and rejected a New York Yankees baseball cap. There was no mirror to check how he looked, but it had to be better than a Brooks Brothers suit.

‘Now listen carefully,’ said Alex, taking a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. The boy couldn’t take his eyes off the money. ‘No more jobs tonight. Once I’ve gone, you lock your door and wait here until I come back, when you’ll get another of these.’ He waved the bill in front of him. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Just be sure you’re here when I get back.’

‘I will be, I will be.’

Alex handed over the money and without another word left the boy standing in his underpants, looking as if he’d won the lottery. He waited until he heard the key turn in the lock before making his way cautiously back down the steps and out onto the street, mingling with the locals entering the crowded station. But when he was only yards away from the entrance, Alex spotted a policeman, eyes searching in every direction. It wasn’t difficult for Alex to work out who he was looking for. He turned back and walked slowly towards the main road. The policeman wasn’t interested in anyone leaving the station.

He spotted a taxi in the distance heading towards him, and raised a hand, quite forgetting what had happened at the airport when he’d first arrived in Leningrad. The taxi, three other cars and an ambulance immediately pulled over, all wanting to give him a lift. Alex decided the ambulance would be his safest bet. He opened the passenger door and joined the driver on the front seat.

‘Where are you heading?’ asked the young man in Russian.

‘The airport.’

‘That’s going to cost you.’

Alex produced another hundred-dollar bill.

‘That should do it,’ said the driver, who pushed the gear lever into first, swept around in a semi-circle, ignoring the cacophony of protesting horns, and sped off in the opposite direction.

Alex considered his next problem. Surely the airport would be just as risky as the station, but his thoughts were interrupted when he spotted a police car parked at a road block up ahead, and two officers checking licences.

‘Stop!’ shouted Alex.

‘What’s the problem?’ said the young man, drawing into the kerb.

‘You don’t want to know. Better I just disappear.’

The driver didn’t comment, but when Alex jumped out, he found the back door of the ambulance open and an outstretched arm beckoning him. He climbed inside and joined a second man who was wearing a green paramedic’s uniform, his left hand held out. Alex knew that look, and produced another hundred-dollar bill.

‘Who’s after you?’

‘The KGB,’ said Alex, knowing that there was a fifty-fifty chance the man either detested them or worked for them.

‘Lie down,’ said the paramedic, pointing to a stretcher. Alex obeyed him and was quickly covered with a blanket. The man turned to the driver and said, ‘Put the siren on, Leonid, and don’t slow down. Just go for it.’

The driver obeyed his colleague’s command and was relieved when one of the police officers not only removed the barrier but waved them through. Had they stopped the ambulance, they would have found the patient lying on a stretcher, his head wrapped in bandages, only one eye staring up at them.

‘When we reach the airport,’ said the paramedic, ‘where are you hoping to go?’

Alex hadn’t thought about that, but the man answered his own question. ‘Helsinki will be your best bet,’ he said. ‘They’re more likely to be checking flights heading west. Your Russian is good, but my guess is it’s a long time since you were last in Leningrad.’

‘Then Helsinki it is,’ said Alex as the ambulance sped on towards the airport. ‘But how will I get a ticket?’

‘Leave that to me,’ said the paramedic. The open palm appeared once again, as did another hundred dollars. ‘Do you have any roubles?’ he asked. ‘Wouldn’t want to draw attention to myself.’

Alex smiled and emptied his wallet of all the roubles Miss Robbins had supplied, which elicited an even wider smile. Not another word was said until they reached the airport, when the ambulance drew into the kerb, but the driver left the engine running.

‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ said the paramedic, before opening the back door and leaping out. It felt like an hour to Alex, although it was no more than a few minutes before the door was opened again. ‘I’ve got you on a flight to Helsinki,’ he said, waving the ticket in triumph. ‘I even know which gate the plane’s departing from.’ He turned to Leonid and said, ‘Head for the emergency entrance, and keep your lights flashing.’

The ambulance shot off again, but Alex had no way of knowing where they were going. It was only a couple of minutes before they stopped when the back door was opened by a guard in a shiny grey uniform. He peered inside, nodded, then closed the door. Another guard raised the barrier, allowing the ambulance to proceed.

‘Head for the Aeroflot plane parked at gate forty-two,’ the paramedic instructed his colleague.

Alex didn’t like the sound of the word Aeroflot, and wondered if he was being led into a trap, but didn’t move until the back door opened once again. He sat up, fearful, anxious, alert, but the paramedic just grinned and handed him a pair of crutches.

‘I’ll have to replace them,’ he said, and only released the crutches after he received another hundred-dollar bill, almost as if he knew how much Alex had left.

The paramedic accompanied his patient up the steps and onto the aircraft. He handed over the ticket and a wad of cash to a steward, who counted the folded roubles before he even looked at the ticket. The steward pointed to a seat in the front row.

The paramedic helped Alex into his seat, bent down and offered one final piece of advice, and then left the aircraft before Alex had a chance to thank him. He watched from the cabin window as the ambulance headed slowly back towards the private entrance, no flashing lights, no siren. He stared at the plane’s open door, willing it to be closed. But it wasn’t until the aircraft took off that Alex finally breathed a sigh of relief.

By the time the plane landed in Helsinki, Alex’s heartbeat was almost back to normal, and he even had a plan.

He had taken the paramedic’s advice, so that when he reached the front of the queue and handed over his passport there was a hundred-dollar bill enclosed where a visa should have been. The officer remained poker-faced as he removed Benjamin Franklin and stamped the empty page.

Once Alex was through customs he headed for the nearest washroom, where he removed his bandages and disposed of them in a bin. He shaved, washed as best he could, and once he was dry, reluctantly put the young man’s clothes back on and went in search of a shop that would solve that particular problem. He emerged from a clothes store thirty minutes later wearing slacks, white shirt and a blazer. His loafers were the only thing that had survived.

An hour later Alex boarded an American Airlines flight to New York and was enjoying a vodka and tonic by the time the shop assistant came across an old pair of jeans, a T-shirt and some crutches that had been left in the changing room.

When the plane took off, the steward didn’t ask the first-class passenger what he would like for dinner, or which movie he would be watching, because Alex was already fast asleep. The steward gently lowered the passenger’s seat and covered him with a blanket.

When Alex landed at JFK the following morning, he called Miss Robbins and asked her to have his car and driver ready to pick him up the moment he arrived at Logan.

During the short flight to Boston, he decided he would go straight home and explain to Anna and Konstantin why he would never be going back to the Soviet Union again.

After he’d disembarked, he was pleased to see Miss Robbins standing outside the arrivals gate waiting for him, a perplexed look on her face.

‘It’s wonderful to be home,’ he said as he sank down into the back seat of his limousine. ‘You’ll never believe what I’ve been through, Pamela, and how lucky I was to escape.’

‘I’ve heard part of the story, chairman, but I can’t wait to hear your version.’

‘So you’ve been told about Major Polyakov and his KGB thugs waiting for me in the hotel restaurant?’

‘Would that be the same Colonel Polyakov who died a year ago?’ asked Miss Robbins innocently.

‘Polyakov is dead?’ said Alex in disbelief. ‘Then who was the man in the restaurant with the two KGB minders?’

‘A blind man, his brother and a friend. They were attending a conference in Leningrad. Jake was just about to tell you he’d spotted his white stick, but by then you were already on the run.’

‘But the scar? It was unmistakable.’

‘A birthmark.’

‘But they broke into my room... I heard him shouting “There he is!”’

‘That was the night porter. And he didn’t break into your room, because he had a pass key. Jake was standing just behind him and was able to identify you.’

‘But someone was chasing me, and I only just managed to jump onto the tram in time.’

‘Dick Barrett said he had no idea you could run that fast...’

‘And the ambulance, the road block, not to mention—’

‘I can’t wait to hear all about the ambulance, the road block and why you didn’t get on your own plane, chairman, where you would have found a message from Jake explaining everything,’ said Miss Robbins as the limousine swung off the road and drove through a gate marked ‘Private’. ‘But that will have to wait until you get back.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Not we, chairman, just you. Jake called earlier this morning to say he’s closed the deal with Mr Pushkin, but a problem has arisen because you told the chairman of the Commercial Bank in Leningrad that the contract wouldn’t be valid without your signature.’

The limousine drew up next to the steps of the bank’s private jet awaiting its only passenger.

‘Have a good flight, chairman,’ said Miss Robbins.