Mark Blair - Stroika

‘Get everything we need out of the jeeps. Yev, you still have your uniform. Anatoly, go up the highway one hundred metres, and Stephan, one hundred metres downwind. When you see something coming, whistle.’

Yuri watched as the two men trudged off in opposite directions and took cover behind the firs that hugged the roadside’s edge. Derevenko climbed into the jeep and turned on the engine.

They didn’t have long to wait. Yuri heard a piercing whistle from Anatoly. Yuri banged on the canvas and Yev rolled forward, blocking the road in both directions. The dark blue Lada skidded inches from the side of his jeep. A heavily built man with wiry hair that stuck out from under his beanie, and wearing a tartan jacket, jumped out, furious at Yev’s apparent lack of road skills. What the hell was he doing blocking the road like that?

Yev climbed out of the jeep as Yuri appeared from the roadside.

The driver looked momentarily confused.

‘What’s going on?’

He looked from Yev in uniform to Yuri in his civilian clothing.

‘This smells fishy to me!’ he shouted, raising his fists.

‘Comrade, we need to borrow your car,’ said Yuri.

Anatoly and Stephan appeared from opposite directions.

‘ Borrow ? Steal , you mean.’

‘No, comrade,’ said Yuri, ‘we are going to commandeer your very nice vehicle until we reach Moscow and then you can have it back.’

Yuri could see him hesitating.

‘You really don’t have a choice,’ said the captain.

The driver, bug-eyed, turned full circle, looking from face to face before finally dropping his hands in defeat.

‘Comrade, think of it as an act of patriotism,’ said Yuri, holding out his hand for the key.

LENINGRAD

‘How is he?’ Viktoriya asked the doctor when they were outside the office that now doubled as a ward room for Misha.

‘I would rather he were in an intensive care unit, but his vital signs are good. He’s young and he’s strong.’

Viktoriya remembered the previous night and the anxious journey to Morskaya. The relief when they had finally pulled through the gates. Grigory had been the first to greet her. He looked pale and visibly rattled, and she had wondered whether he would be able to hold himself together. Ivan had appeared a minute later unscathed behind them and organised a temporary bed from the guardroom for Misha. She had rung the doctor as soon as Misha had been settled and organised for a hospital bed, equipment and medicines the next morning.

‘He’s safer here,’ Viktoriya responded. Morskaya was more defensible than the security sieve that was the Mariinsky. There was only one main exit. And that exit was well fortified.

‘He needs round-the-clock care. I can organise that for you,’ said the doctor, making a note of things his patient might need.

‘He is not to want for anything, you understand me?’

Grigory handed the doctor a brick of US dollars from the vault. ‘Let me know if you need more.’

The doctor looked at the money, dumbfounded. Viktoriya doubted he had ever seen so much.

‘One more thing,’ said the doctor. ‘Have someone read to him. A TV might be useful too. Stimulate the brain. Snap him out of his coma.’

‘So what do we do now?’ asked Grigory when the doctor had gone.

‘We reinforce Morskaya. We have to assume Kostya will try again. Ivan has already contacted Roslavi.’

‘And Moscow?’

‘Who knows? There’s not much we can do about it. Still no word from Yuri?’

Grigory shook his head and listed off the names of local political figures that had disappeared.

‘Maybe it is “The End”, the clocks are about to go back. It looks like Yuri is somehow caught up in it. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to take the next plane out, Grigory. Wait it out. If it wasn’t for Misha, I’d certainly think about it.’

To her surprise, Grigory shook his head.

‘No, it’s fine. Besides, someone’s got to look after the bank. We’re still trading.’

Viktoriya gave Grigory a hug.

What had happened to Yuri? she wondered when Grigory had walked out of Misha’s makeshift ward. Wouldn’t he have tried to contact her by now if he could, or had he been disappeared, like those on the list of names Grigory had reeled off? She felt exposed. RUI needed a much stronger political base. Yesterday’s had simply evaporated. The oil minister, Federov – in all the chaos she had forgotten about him.

She walked into Misha’s office and picked up the phone.

‘Alina, please put Stephan Federov on the line.’ Viktoriya sat back in Misha’s chair and wondered whether it would be Federov who took the call or whether he was part of the cull. She was relieved to hear his voice.

‘Comrade Federov, I understand from the news bulletin that the deputy secretary general has assumed the post of acting secretary general.’ She was conscious that Federov’s line might be tapped.

‘Yes, that’s correct. We are all hoping for the general secretary’s swift recovery,’ he replied. ‘I spoke with the deputy secretary this morning and he has assured me that this is hopefully only a temporary measure.’

Viktoriya guessed that Federov was repeating this with closet irony. This was going to be anything but temporary.

‘He also assured me that there is to be no immediate change in oil policy.’

No interruption to oil deliveries from Roslavi, interpreted Viktoriya.

‘I also have some bad news… Someone tried to kill Mikhail Dimitrivich yesterday.’

Federov seemed genuinely shocked.

‘Who will be running RUI now?’ he asked, concern in his voice.

‘I will,’ she reassured him; he would still get his cut. ‘It’s all legal. I am a major shareholder and the shareholder agreement provides for such an eventuality.’ She had few illusions about Federov. Power and money talked. He wouldn’t lose a minute’s sleep if he were made a better offer elsewhere.

‘And General Marov?’ she continued.

There was silence.

‘There is a warrant out for his arrest.’

‘But they haven’t caught him yet?’

‘Not that I know. Last seen in Cherepovets. Beyond that, I really can’t say.’

She put down the phone and wondered how long Federov would give her the benefit of the doubt, with her partners and allies fast disappearing. Maybe he had already made up his mind to shift his allegiance.

Ivan walked into the room.

‘That was Maxim on the phone. The military have impounded two of our oil tankers at the border. Direct order from the new military boss in Moscow apparently.’ He looked down at his notes. ‘General… Volkov.’

NEAR KALININ

‘How far are we from Kalinin?’

Yuri was concentrating on the road, trying not to oversteer with Derevenko next to him, the two airmen in the back and the owner of the car between them.

‘Twenty kilometres,’ said the captain.

‘We are going to pass close by Migalovo.’

Yuri nodded. Migalovo was the largest military air force base in Russia, home to giant AN-22s and IL-76s. If there was a general state of mobilisation, Migalovo would be the pulse.

‘Let’s see what’s going on.’

‘The place will be crawling with military,’ Derevenko protested.

‘It’s east of Kalinin a couple of kilometres across the river; we can make a short detour.’

‘You’re the general,’ said Derevenko, capitulating.

Derevenko would be as wanted as him now, all of them, thought Yuri, glancing in his mirror. They had thrown their lot in with him, on the unreasonable assumption that he could actually do something, somehow to turn the tide.