Mark Blair - Stroika

The door of the cab opened and the colonel climbed out. Ignoring the gun pointed directly at him, he walked up to Viktoriya and stopped. He stood there and looked at her for a moment, his face expressionless, exuding a deadly calm.

‘My compliments, Viktoriya Nikolaevna, it seems for the moment you have the temporary advantage…’

Yuri heard footsteps behind him on the marbled hall of the defence building and turned to see Dubnikov accompanied by two soldiers. Was he about to be rearrested? He had brazened it out so far. Soldiers, who he encountered every day at checkpoints around the Arbat, had been reluctant to challenge him so far. He might be at odds with the interim government, but that was it, for now it was only interim and here he was in plain view in uniform, acting as if nothing were amiss. He doubted the defence minister would be so reticent.

‘General Marov, I offered to come personally and collect you. We don’t want anything to happen to you like last time. Please come this way.’ He smiled and waved his hand towards the lift.

There was no going back now.

‘We are all in the plenary room,’ Yuri heard Dubnikov say. ‘I’m sure you know it well.’ He did indeed, thought Yuri; he could have found it with his eyes closed. He’d lost count of the number of meetings he had chaired there under different circumstances.

‘You’ve had a busy day by all accounts, General. I think General Volkov will be pleased to see you.’

‘I am sure he will, Comrade Dubnikov.’

When they entered the room, Volkov was in the corner on the phone. Yuri prayed that Alyabyev had followed through. By the red-faced look on Volkov’s face, he guessed he had. Volkov slammed down the receiver and retook his seat at the table.

‘Apologies, comrade… It seems we have a problem. General Alyabyev has slung a cordon around Peredelkino – a military exercise, he says. I have ordered him down.’

Yuri saw Volkov cast a worried glance in Karzhov’s direction.

‘I’m sure this will only be temporary, General,’ said Karzhov.

‘I assume this is your doing, Marov?’ said Volkov.

Yuri ignored him and looked at Gerashchenko.

‘General, please take a seat, you are among comrades,’ interjected Gerashchenko.

‘Thank you, deputy secretary, but I would rather stand.’ Yuri looked down the table, at the faces either side and Gerashchenko at its head. He had at least got this far without being rearrested. He wondered how the next bit would go down.

‘So, what is it you would like to discuss with us that is so vital?’

There was little point in hedging around what he had come to say. Directness was the best policy. He needed to stay focussed… it was only him and them in the room… not the four thousand Defence Ministry staff on the other side of the door.

‘I have come to demand that you release the general secretary while there is still time.’

He looked around the table at all the open mouths. Karzhov clenched and unclenched his fist.

‘ Demand… Still time ,’ scoffed General Volkov. ‘Do you think that your little charade with General Alyabyev is going to change the course of history, that we are just going to let you carry on with your plans to defenestrate the Soviet Union? Haven’t you done enough damage, General?’

‘General Volkov,’ interrupted Gerashchenko, ‘please let the general finish.’

‘It’s been less than seventy-two hours since you reported the general secretary ill,’ Yuri continued. ‘You have time to pull back. We have just withdrawn from Afghanistan. You know the state of the army and the strength of public opinion. I’m sure General Volkov has made a good case for intervention in Eastern Europe, but the general secretary is right on this. If I am a judge of anything, Soviet troops are not about to begin street fighting in Leipzig or Dresden… even less East Berlin. And the West? You will drag them into a conflict they hardly have to fight… isn’t our population already starving… Poland has gone, let East Germany run its course.’

‘Glasnost… perestroika… hasn’t it led us to collapse? This is just defeatist talk,’ said Karzhov, looking around the table.

‘The chairman is right,’ said Yuri. ‘Perestroika has led us to the brink of collapse, but so have our previous failures.’ He knew he was talking heresy now. ‘I don’t know how many of you have visited the West… their world is not perfect either, but it’s a long way from ours. Perestroika needs more time… we have to be more open if we are to solve our problems. That is not defeatism… locking up Russian dissidents is . It didn’t work in Poland and it won’t work in East Germany.’ Yuri paused and looked at the faces fixed impassively on him. Was he wasting his breath?

‘Why are you here, General? Couldn’t you be sunning yourself on the French Riviera,’ said Dubnikov. ‘Your business interests are no secret. Why don’t you just get on the next plane and fly out of here… while you still have time?’

‘I’m not going anywhere… nor is General Alyabyev,’ he lied. He had no idea whether Alyabyev would withdraw or not, but he had to assume for now that they did not know either. ‘If you wish to oppose the general secretary then do so openly – release him.’

Yuri extracted a large envelope he had folded into his pocket and slid it across the table towards Gerashchenko, who reached forward and grabbed it.

‘Open it,’ said Yuri, knowing this was his last gambit.

Gerashchenko pulled out three black-and-white photographs and dropped them onto the table. Yuri watched Karzhov change colour.

‘What are these?’ Gerashchenko asked, turning from Yuri to face the KGB chair.

Karzhov picked up one of the photos and looked at a younger image of himself, together with another man on the Moika embankment.

‘These are forgeries,’ he fumed indignantly.

‘Do you recognise the other man, Comrade Chairman, the man you are with? The year is 1977, if that will help jog your memory.’

Karzhov looked around the table for support, only to be met with stares of consternation.

‘Who is this?’ demanded the interior minister, pointing at the monochrome image.

‘Comrade Karzhov?’ invited Yuri.

‘You’ll pay for this,’ hissed Karzhov.

‘The other man in the photo was a CIA operative – a Tom Banner,’ Yuri continued. ‘He was imprisoned by us for espionage not long after this picture was taken. Soviet intelligence knew about an inside leak but couldn’t identify the traitor, not until this photo, that is. The man who took it paid the price two days ago. Konstantin Stolin – some of you know him – tried to assassinate him.’

‘His name?’ asked the defence minister.

‘Misha Revnik. He is alive, just. The agent who had him take this photo did not fare so well. Alexsei Baturin disappeared shortly thereafter; Tom Banner died in jail.’

All eyes were now fixed on Karzhov.

‘He’s lying… don’t you see… I’m no double agent. What could possibly be my motive?’

‘Key US intelligence information that helped you rise up the ladder… How many Russians did you betray for your own ends?’

Karzhov jumped to his feet. ‘I want this man arrested!’ he shouted, red-faced.

‘Sit down, Mr Chairman,’ said Yuri in a calm voice. ‘Comrade Gerashchenko, may I put your phone on speaker. I have a call you need to hear.’

Yuri walked around to the other end of the table, switched the speakerphone on, picked up the receiver and punched in the international code. The number connected. Pick up, pick up , he thought. All eyes fixed on the phone.