Kremlin Conspiracy

by Brian Freemantle

  The bedroom was beyond the closed door and what had happened in it had been put aside now, Pike realized. She’d come briefed to argue a position. Which meant they were prepared to consider an alternative to default. So what were the conditions towards which she was moving? ‘We’ve talked about what would happen if you disengaged,’ he said.

  ‘To us both,’ she said.

  It was poker time again, he thought. ‘So what’s the answer?’

  ‘The sort of control that’s been lacking in the past,’ she said. ‘Not a reversal of Peter and Paul, in a few months time, with the West advancing money for our debts to be repaid.’

  It was an easy undertaking to give, Pike decided. ‘I think I can offer you the assurance on that,’ he said.

  Lydia shook her head. ‘It’s not me that needs the assurance,’ she said. ‘It’s the people who still consider a default worth the risk.’

  ‘What then?’ said Pike.

  ‘A public declaration that it’s not going to happen. And not just from your Fund. From the World Bank and from Western governments.’

  How politically difficult would that be? wondered Pike. ‘I’ll put the view forward,’ he promised. It was nothing more than sound financial sense, after all.

  ‘It’s important,’ she stressed.

  ‘I understand that.’ He added, ‘My people will be looking for assurance, too.’

  ‘It can only be a personal opinion, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I said there are people who consider default worth the risk,’ she reminded him. ‘They fully realize now just how severe that risk is.’

  ‘That’s not much of a reassurance.’

  ‘That’s all I can give.’

  ‘Any declaration would be meaningless if you defaulted anyway.’

  She smiled at the pressure. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘It would be, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘So one action needs to precede the other.’

  ‘“He has almost charmed me from my profession, by persuading me to it,”’ she said, returning to their previous game.

  Pike supposed it was Shakespeare because it had been before, but he couldn’t remember the quotation.

  Needing to match her in everything, because it was his nature, he said, ‘“Suit the action to the word, the word to the action.”’

  ‘Hamlet,’she identified, waiting.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he confessed.

  ‘Timon of Athens,’ she said, smiling sadly. ‘We couldn’t be together, could we?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Pike uncertainly.

  ‘It’s too important for both of us: to win.’

  ‘I don’t think of it like that.’

  ‘That’s a lie,’ she said. ‘I’ve thought you’ve been honest up to now but that was lie. Please don’t.’

  ‘Succeeding is important,’ he admitted.

  ‘To me, too,’ she said,anadmissionofherown.Thenshesaid, ‘Had you thought about it, our being together?’

  ‘No,’ he said, the earlier uncertainty returning.

  ‘Thank you for not lying this time.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘There isn’t a way,’ she said. ‘It’s a fantasy. What’s happened between us is a fantasy.’

  Thank God, thought Pike, she hadn’t considered anything as preposterous as defection. But why should she have done? Neither of them regarded what had occurred as love. ‘There’s probably a fitting quotation,’ he said.

  ‘Probably,’ she agreed. ‘I can’t be bothered to think of it.’

  ‘Official business over?’ he said.

  ‘I haven’t got anything more to say.’

  ‘It might have worked, our being together.’ He thought she might want him to say it and there was no danger in the remark.

  She shook her head positively. ‘We’d have ended up hating each other,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t imagine that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t like you to hate me,’ she said.

  The parting was easier than Pike expected. She seemed to conclude the episode with the finality with which she might have closed a book or snapped shut her official-looking briefcase. Only at the actual moment of leaving did she revert, coming forward to him and resting her head against his chest for a final moment of contact. He held her there, lips against her hair.

  ‘It didn’t happen,’ she said, her voice muffled.

  ‘Yes it did.’

  ‘I prefer it as a fantasy.’

  He brought her face up, to kiss her. ‘Goodbye,’ he said.

  ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Hope your marriage is happy.’

  ‘And yours.’

  ‘Neither of us won this time.’

  ‘I didn’t want to win,’ she said. ‘Not this time.’

  Chapter 39

  It took two weeks for the Russians to make their initial application and for Pike to realize that he had succeeded, absolutely. He experienced a feeling of completeness that he had never known before, a sensation of standing above everything and looking down, able to see things and know things that no one else did.

  It was the best high he’d ever had.

  His father insisted they celebrate, with Jane. There was champagne and his mother got slightly drunk and they decided on a date for the wedding, which was an excuse for more toasts. The decision gave Jane something with which to occupy herself. They moved out of the Mayflower into a rented house in Georgetown, a detached, three-storey clapboard in a secluded street running parallel with Constitution Avenue, which meant decorators to oversee and furnishings to arrange. She had to plan, too, the arrival of her sister’s family from England. Pike’s mother also became involved, coming daily into the city to discuss invitation lists and present lists and visit dressmakers and then, when they agreed to the reception being at Fauquier County, to consult about caterers.

  His father had warned him to expect it, so the invitation to the White House did not come as a surprise to Pike. The two men drove there together and entered through the East Gate, the entrance Pike remembered from his visit with the Federal Reserve delegation, months before. He hadn’t imagined marrying Jane then, he reflected, as he followed the Secret Service guide along the picture-hung galleries. Or imagined so many other things, either. He frequently thought about Lydia, even seeking her name in the financial intelligence material coming through the Fund. There hadn’t been any mention of her since Zurich. Would she be married by now? She hadn’t said when it was going to be but it was possible it had already happened. She’d make a demanding wife, thought Pike, stirring at the recollection. He’d enjoy meeting her again, if ever it were possible.

  Nelson Jordan sat them beneath the Washington portrait but remained standing before the fireplace, between them. To Pike he said, ‘I thought it was time to congratulate you personally upon all you’ve done.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr President,’ said Pike.

  ‘Not unusual for governments to use independent intermediaries but I can’t remember anything which ultimately became as important as this working out so well.’

  ‘I’m glad it did so,’ said Pike. How much no one would ever realize, he thought.

  ‘A lot’s developed beyond what you know,’ disclosed the President. ‘Had some discreet enquiries made by Bowen, in State, through the Soviet embassy here: didn’t want to cause any upset at a delicate stage like this. Seems they don’t mind this refinancing being publicly known, after considering the points we made. I’m going to make it an address to the nation and use it to issue the public warning to the developing countries.’

  It would make a consummate piece of electioneering, decided Pike: Jordan would have his second term practically sewn up before the first primary. Everyone had won.

  To Pike’s father Jordan said, ‘How about you, Tom?’

  ‘Zambia made an approach in the last month: Zaire, too. We refused both, without further indication of good intent. Stipulated
a year in each case. The official warning will follow your broadcast. A separate one from the World Bank, too. There’s a statement scheduled from the Bank for International Settlements in a fortnight.’

  ‘It’s going to be a bit more difficult with Latin America,’ said Jordan. ‘That’s our hemisphere: don’t want too much antagonism too near to home.’

  ‘The Fund have established the best possible scrutiny arrangements, because of what’s happened in the past,’ said the IMF director. ‘We can keep the lid on anything there.’

  The President nodded, allowing a pause in the conversation. Then he said to the older man, ‘Like to have a conversation with you in private during the next day or two. Think it’s time we discussed the future.’

  ‘At your convenience, Mr President,’ said the elder Pike.

  Jordan turned to the son. ‘What about your future?’

  It was an unexpected question, for which he hadn’t made any preparation. ‘I haven’t thought about it, sir,’ replied Pike.

  ‘Know Richard Sheldon?’

  ‘The Virginia senator?’

  The President nodded. ‘He’s not running again, next term. On his doctor’s advice. Nobody knows that yet, of course. Good seat for a young man with talent. I think I could guarantee a lot of party support. Few people in the Senate with the sort of experience you’ve got: imagine you could create quite an impression there. I’ve always thought the Senate a good starting place for other things, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I suppose it is,’ said Pike, inadequately. The confusion was disappearing now, replaced by excitement.

  ‘Why don’t you think about it?’

  ‘I will, sir,’ said Pike. There wouldn’t be the need, he thought.

  His father twisted to face Pike in the back of the limousine driving them away from the White House, his face flushed with pleasure. ‘Do you realize what he meant!’

  ‘I think so,’ said Pike. It wouldn’t be right to overreact.

  The other man gestured towards the retreating mansion through the rear window. ‘He was offering you the way to get there!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Pike. He’d beaten his father, he realized. It was the best feeling of all.

  ‘For God’s sake, Tom!’ exploded the man, unable to understand his son’s subdued reaction. ‘Don’t you want it?’

  ‘I think I do,’ said Pike. ‘I think I want it very much indeed.’

  The White House leaks were carefully placed so there was a lot of speculation leading up to the President’s announcement which got prime-time television in a live broadcast from the White House. They watched it from their newly decorated home, Jane with her feet tucked beneath her on the couch, head against Pike’s shoulder.

  Jordan gave a superb performance. His speech was backed by graphs and charts which gave comparisons between the financial difficulties of the past and the situation which existed now, and he used the middle section for the Soviet-required warning that to ensure the maintenance of stable finance, developing countries could no longer expect automatic extensions and delays on current loans from American institutions, nor automatic advance of new funding. When he publicly disclosed for the first time the American support for the international monetary package to safeguard the Russian loans he produced fresh graphs to prove the reliability of that indebtedness. For more than three decades, continued Jordan, East and West had sought a peaceful path to co-existence. He was proud to have discovered and pursued it. He looked forward not only to an unparalleled future of global financial security but to an unparalleled future of friendship. Jordan concluded as cleverly as he had begun, turning from the international to the domestic, stressing with fresh visual illustrations the effect of this new stability upon United States home markets and production.

  ‘No more welfare queues, no more job lines,’ the President finished. ‘From this moment, prosperity.’

  Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Then Jane said, ‘You did that: made it all possible.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Pike.

  ‘Could you really get to the White House?’

  ‘After time in the Senate,’ he said.

  ‘I’m so proud of you,’ she said. ‘Everything is going to be incredibly exciting.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Pike. ‘I guess it is.’

  Within a month every international and western financial institution repeated the United States President’s warning to the uncommitted nations.

  Because of their official positions, after the ceremony in the Hall of Marriages there was a reception in one of the small Kremlin chambers. Lenov and Korobov and Pushkov attended, with four other members of the Politburo and their wives. There was champagne and beluga and vodka and Lydia became embarrassed at the speeches, because Malik’s name was frequently omitted from the praise. It was late when they returned to Lydia’s apartment and her head hurt from the wine she had drunk. She felt achingly miserable.

  ‘I’m going to like it here,’ said Malik, turning into the middle of the room. It had seemed logical for him to move in and leave his own apartment for Irena. He’d drunk too much and he was disarranged, shirt undone and suit crumpled.

  ‘I’m glad,’ she said.

  ‘Have you ever been to Sochi?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ll like it there,’ he promised. ‘It’s practically tropical. And the dacha is one of the best: shows how important we’re considered.’

  What was there going to be to do, now that her part in it was all over? she wondered. ‘It was flattering that so many people should come to the reception.’

  ‘I’ve just told you the reason,’ he said. He opened more champagne but she shook her head against the offer, so he drank alone. ‘Are you sure $200,000,000,000 is sufficient?’

  ‘More than sufficient,’ she said. ‘It makes our total debt $825,000,000,000, in addition to previous commitments!’ Empty, she thought: she felt absolutely empty.

  ‘The President’s speech did more to bring the developing countries towards us than anything we’ve tried in the past five years,’ said the Finance Minister. ‘Africa is practically queueing at the door. You’re brilliant.’

  ‘That was the effect it was calculated to have,’ reminded Lydia. The man was inclined to pomposity, she realized belatedly.

  ‘I’d like to be the one to let them know,’ said Malik.

  Lydia realized she was taking a risk, doing what she intended. But she didn’t care. She had the absolute power now. Empty, she thought again.

  Epilogue

  The ceremony was in the arbour room and an awning was erected over the flowered avenue to the open-sided marquees in which the reception was held.

  For security reasons there was no advance announcement but the President’s attendance was correctly interpreted as outright public support for Pike’s declared candidacy for the Senate. Everyone of any importance or influence in Washingtom was there, which was why the gesture was politically significant: equally significant was the fact that the Ambersoms had been invited but declined.

  Jane moved glazed-eyed through everything and Pike realized that even his parents were impressed. He experienced again the feeling of overall control.

  There was no way, of course, that Lydia Kirov could have known the coincidence: nor would she have intended it. The toasts had finished and so had the reading of the telegrams when Carlton approached, which was fortunate because the best man had moved away and it was Pike who received from the butler the message transmitted through the Soviet embassy from Moscow.

  It was Jane who saw him standing, transfixed, gazing down at the paper.

  ‘Darling!’ she said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘She had to do it by a quotation,’ he said distantly. ‘That was the game.’

  She got near enough to look over his shoulder. ‘“If I owe a million dollars, then I am lost. But if I owe fifty billions, the bankers are lost.” ’

  Jane stared up at her new husband. ‘I know it,’ she said. ‘It’s by the B
razilian economist, Celso Ming. What does it mean?’

  ‘Wrong,’ he said, his voice breaking with disbelief. ‘It means I got everything wrong. We all did.’

  A Biography of Brian Freemantle

  Brian Freemantle (b. 1936) is one of Britain’s most prolific and accomplished authors of spy fiction. His novels have sold more than ten million copies worldwide, and have been optioned for numerous film and television adaptations.

  Born in Southampton, on the southern coast of England, Freemantle began his career as a journalist. In 1975, as the foreign editor at the Daily Mail, he made headlines during the American evacuation of Saigon: As the North Vietnamese closed in on the city, Freemantle became worried about the future of the city’s orphans. He lobbied his superiors at the paper to take action, and they agreed to fund an evacuation for the children. In three days, Freemantle organized a thirty-six-hour helicopter airlift for ninety-nine children, who were transported to Britain. In a flash of dramatic inspiration, he changed nearly one hundred lives—and sold a bundle of newspapers.

  Although he began writing espionage fiction in the late 1960s, he first won fame in 1977, with Charlie M. That book introduced the world to Charlie Muffin—a disheveled spy with a skill set more bureaucratic than Bond-like. The novel, which drew favorable comparisons to the work of John Le Carré, was a hit, and Freemantle began writing sequels. The sixth in the series, The Blind Run, was nominated for an Edgar Award for Best Novel. To date, Freemantle has penned fourteen titles in the Charlie Muffin series, the most recent of which is Red Star Rising (2010), which brought back the popular spy after a nine-year absence.

  In addition to the stories of Charlie Muffin, Freemantle has written more than two dozen standalone novels, many of them under pseudonyms including Jonathan Evans and Andrea Hart. Freemantle’s other series include two books about Sebastian Holmes, an illegitimate son of Sherlock Holmes, and the four Cowley and Danilov books, which were written in the years after the end of the Cold War and follow an odd pair of detectives—an FBI operative and the head of Russia’s organized crime bureau.