by Tim Heath
Overnight more videos had started to circulate––copy-cat actions of violence, it was assumed––across many cities, all in the name of either Putin or Kaminski, Muslims and homosexuals once more the targets. One Syrian man was in hospital––he was not expected to survive the week, his injuries had been that serious.
Putin had yet to feature in the debates by that stage––that was nothing new. Six years previously the same had been true. Then, the Sokoloff backed state television channels had carefully covered the debates, while all the time allowing seemingly unlimited airtime for Putin, who would be asked similar questions to those who had just been involved in the debate. Before a camera, and with no opposition, Putin had always come across much better than those argumentative types who had just taken part in a live show, Putin’s official challengers––if they could even really be called that.
That time around––before Putin had even been involved in a debate––the polls had the would-be President with a thirty point lead. The debates had worked against his challengers.
This year that was all changed. With Putin remaining silent––a situation he’d allowed to happen, agreeing to take part in the debates only once things got a little more serious, when the elections were just a couple of months away––both oligarchs were coming across well on screen. They had effectively laid waste already to the other independent who was standing, his challenge all but over.
As the latest polls came out that morning––with the two oligarchs set to go head-to-head themselves that evening––crucially they were now level with Putin; something that would have been unheard of a few years back.
Without Sokoloff’s relentless media push backing Putin every inch of the way, actual media exposure for any of the candidates had more of an impact in this upcoming election than it had ever done before. There was a genuine chance that by the conclusion of that evening’s live debate––it was to be the last before the end of the year, sending Russians into their New Year festivities with a very positive image of at least one challenger––one, if not both of the oligarchs, could actually be ahead of Putin in the polls.
Of course, there was a long way to go. Once Putin got in front of the cameras himself––he was a pro at saying just the right thing at just the right time––then it could all change. The videos of obvious Putin supporters––patriotic and applauding some of the hardline actions that were being shown online––could go either way.
Across Russia, Putin held the power of the general population. He was popular across the towns and villages. In fact, had the 2012 election been based on votes in the cities of Moscow and St Petersburg––hugely significant and influential centres in Russia––then Medvedev would have easily won. It was the broader vote that saw Putin return to power. The propaganda machine had done its work––despite the majority in the capital going with the current President at the time––it was the voice of the people far and wide, their sheer mass that won the day, and the election, therefore, for Putin. It was the voice of the media that had put Putin into every home and on every radio and in every newspaper right across the nation.
That was a voice that no longer had the chance to ring out. For the first time in modern Russia, that voice had been silenced. And now the polls were starting to record the outworking of that, putting the Putin camp into panic mode for sure.
Moscow’s main arena had been made available for the third live debate. That allowed an audience of thousands in, though it was the estimated fifty-five million television audience that was the most significant draw. That represented nearly eighty per cent of people who might then turn up and vote.
Security was very tight. The audience––pre-selected people who were primarily residents of Moscow––were screened and checked before being allowed into the arena. A large number of journalists––not just Russian-based, but some of the world’s biggest players––were also present. This was beginning to be global news, in much the same way that the US election had been. Might one of these two men be the one who played hard-ball with the new American incumbent? A billionaire President to go nose-to-nose against their billionaire President.
At eight Moscow time, the presenter entered the staging area, Anissa watching back in the UK where it was only five in the afternoon. The entire setup looked more like a game show than a political arena, though that was how things were going. She wasn’t sure if she liked that. At least the British didn’t go in for such theatrics.
Matvey Filipov was the first to take the stage, being generously received by the audience. Neither man was local––in fact, both were notorious now for not living in Russia, the only accusation that the other independent candidate had managed to make stick in the first two debates. Matvey spent most of the year in Monaco, Dmitry in London. Their opponent had argued: how could Russians vote for a man who didn’t even consider his country worth living in?
When Dmitry walked out a minute later––after another lengthy, wordy introduction, more like two prize fighters entering the ring than would-be politicians––the crowd once again showing their enthusiasm. Clearly, both men had made sure they had some of their own supporters in that select and noisy mass.
Everything was done in Russian, of course. Anissa wouldn’t be able to understand a word therefore as she watched it live, prepared to work through it all again at a later point to understand what was said. She wasn’t watching it live for words, however, but all the other things the men were about to communicate. Would it get personal, or would they focus on their own policies? Would they unite in a common purpose against Putin? Or would there be direct conflict between the two men?
The show was an hour long. The format dictated that after each man had their forty-five seconds to outline their main stance. The opening forty-five seconds had been used by both oligarchs in the previous debates broadly to talk about their own policies, whereas their opponent each time had not held back from accusing both men of hypocrisy. They would then ask questions directly to the man standing opposite them, who would do his best to answer before asking his own question in reply. And so it would proceed, back and forth, no doubt getting more heated as the night went on.
Anissa had seen very little of either man––certainly far less of Matvey. She’d met Dmitry personally at a London conference the other year when she had headed up the security element with Alex. They had managed to mingle and get close to the man.
They had also once listened in on one of his meetings with Thomas Price, which had been when they’d first learnt he was going to run for President. She’d never really seen much of Matvey. How they would both handle themselves was going to be fascinating––she’d been tracking them for months, trying to pick apart their sinister little world, that it now felt surreal to actually be watching them on television, right there and in the flesh. Two men she knew to be a part of the Games. Two men who would be keeping that aspect of their life secret, for sure.
The host motioned for Dmitry to start speaking first––a large forty-five appeared in the centre of the debating floor. It started counting down as he spoke.
“Good citizens of Russia, it’s time for a change. Gone are the days of one man dominating our nation, gone are the days of unequalled influence across our great land. We are a country that should be standing strong, we are a proud nation and one I will make proud again. No longer will other nations be able to take our honour away as freely as they take our gas, oil and minerals. I believe in a Russia that is united, not in the United Russia that Putin leads, a party of crooks and criminals, but a truly global family. The Russia I know we can be––the Russia our proud nation deep down has always been,” and the counter hit zero, the crowd responding positively to what had been said.
Anissa had picked up the name Putin being mentioned––clearly making reference to a man not currently standing in front of him, who couldn’t, therefore, defend himself. But that was expected.
The number forty-five once again appeared in the middle of the s
taging area, now that the crowd had quietened down, and the presenter turned to Matvey, the camera zooming in on his ageing, though still full of vitality, face. His greying hair gave him a commanding stage presence. He looked straight at the camera––which was behind Kaminski, to appear to be staring down his opponent as well, and started to speak.
“My great nation does indeed need a new vision, but this will not be brought about by someone like Kaminski, who has spent too long in London for his own good. No one who is that cosy with the West will ever be able to lead my country! Remember the way he treated this woman,” and he picked up a piece of paper, Anissa not needing to understand what was being said to recognise it was a copy of Josée’s suicide note. “That made him an accomplice in the murder of an innocent man. We know that from the woman’s own lips––and it was your lies,” and he was pointing directly at Dmitry now, the camera focusing on Kaminski suddenly at that point, building on the drama, “which caused her tragically to take her own life. And you stand there and talk about honour? Where’s the honour in being declared bankrupt? In hundreds of jobs being lost and billions wasted? You think our country will be safe in your hands––never!” and the studio lights darkened as the time elapsed, the crowd erupting. Kaminski looked rattled. It had evidently become severely personal.
The presenter––a man unfazed by this sort of thing, a veteran of many debates––turned to Kaminski and told the oligarch; “You may now ask a question.”
Kaminski paused for a second––clearly, the blow was still wearing off––before he seemed to form some element of order in his own mind again, his eyes darting around a little before he focused in on Matvey.
“You seem to be very easily led on, citizen Filipov,” and by using the term citizen, in that context, it was demeaning, as if saying he wasn’t a contender, he was just one of the crowd, “if you believe what some tabloid newspaper might make up about me. Tell me, if you should win––which I doubt––are you going to remain so gullible then? Are you going to believe everything you get shown––despite it being a complete lie––and just run with it? Is that how you are going to lead, by accepting every lie? Because, believe me, you aren’t fit to be our President. You need to seriously check out your facts before you jump to conclusions.”
“Your question?” the presenter said, as he often needed to in such debates, as each man filled their seconds with multiple questions.
“Are you such a gullible man, citizen Filipov?”
The camera focused in on Matvey.
“I’m neither gullible nor a fool, something you appear to be. You think you can just brush this under the carpet? I for one will make sure that this woman sees justice, even if she is no longer alive to see you fall. It takes a brave man to make ten billion dollars––that doesn’t happen to gullible people, nor to fools. To lose two billion, however––that only happens to foolish people.” He didn’t say any more.
“Your question, Mr Filipov,” the presenter said now that it was Matvey’s turn to ask.
“Having so gravely mishandled billions upon billions of dollars––both your own money and vast amounts of other peoples––tell me, Kaminski, how in the world do you even think you are now qualified to run our country when you can’t even run your own business empire?”
He wasn’t holding back now. The camera focused in on Dmitry, who stayed silent, longer than was currently comfortable as if he didn’t know how to begin his answer, as if he didn’t know how to sound anything other than what Matvey Filipov was now portraying him as. He couldn’t say how he’d been targeted––by Matvey himself––because that would expose the Games. Even if that wasn’t bad enough, it would play right into Matvey’s hands, proving to the Russian people that Matvey Filipov was a stronger opponent than he was. So he couldn’t go there––he doubted that Matvey would go there either, though the way he’d started, he wouldn’t rule it out completely.
“Russia has always operated from the top down. Men like Putin––men like citizen Filipov standing across from me––who like to tell all of you what to do. I believe in strong leadership, and I’m prepared to be that, but not at the expense of my people. I believe that there is enough talent and there are enough entrepreneurs in our nation for the masses to be released and make our country proud. I believe that the days when men like Filipov––who openly boasts about the billions that he has accumulated just for himself––are over. These days are over. Russia needs to become more democratic. I want to give more power to the people!” That statement got some thunderous cheers from some aspects of the audience, but noticeable jeers from other sections, too.
The debate continued back and forth, each man asking the other increasingly scathing questions. Did you recruit Josée in St Petersburg? Why did you so wholly mismanage your Banking Union? Are you a product of the West, someone willing to sell out our nation to minor powers?
Kaminski did enough to fight back where he could––had he personally gone out to destroy Dmitry Sokoloff––being one of the most, to the uninformed observer, off-topic questions. He was apparently getting desperate.
As nine o’clock came round, the show came to an end. Anissa sat there speechless for a moment––she couldn’t wait to see the transcript of this encounter when it was ready. Right now home was calling. It was Christmas Eve and already late. Time for a few days off.
As the crowds left the arena, polls were already being conducted around the country that night. They would report that Matvey now held a five-point lead over Putin, Kaminski himself dropping to one point behind the current President into third place. Round three of the debates had apparently gone in Matvey’s favour.
Anissa picked up this information later that day, relaying it to Alex, who was home but doing very little. Without a family, Christmas Eve wasn’t that much of an occasion for him. He would spend the following day with some friends.
Gordon Peacock had earlier sent through a list of faces from the various videos that kept appearing online––various anti-Islam or homophobic attacks. He soon noticed a match in some of the faces, particularly across the two groups. Groups that were meant to represent two different candidates, yet the men carrying out these attacks were often the same. He immediately compiled the faces onto one file––taking what he could find to be the best images from the various videos that they’d managed to pull from the internet before they were removed––and emailed them across to Alex.
Alex opened the message almost immediately, the notification coming through on his phone while the adverts were on during yet another Christmas film that was being shown. He decided it was too late to let Anissa know immediately; she would no doubt by that point be putting two very excited sons to bed and getting ready for Christmas Day herself. Instead, he dropped the file into the draft email message he had going with Sasha.
He wished the Russian a Merry Christmas––forgetting that for Russians it was all about New Year. For them, Christmas fell in January, solely a religious celebration. He missed Sasha at that moment, he realised––the thought making him stop short for just a few seconds. Were his closest relationships really only with fellow security service personnel?––be that within his own MI6, or further afield in the Russian’s case? And what did that mean anyway even if that was true? Did that make him a bad person? Did that make him a loner in real life?
He realised that Sasha would be on his own, too, when he celebrated New Year. The last two years they had been able to join Sasha in Russia for that holiday––not officially, but there with him nonetheless. This year that wasn’t possible––Anissa wasn’t even allowed into the country anymore, not for five years anyhow. Might as well be forever, Alex thought, as far as his colleague was concerned.
Russia had affected her significantly, he knew it, they all did in the office.
Josée’s death might just have been the last straw. And for what? What had they really achieved, what had they actually managed to bring to the table that they could use? What criminal a
ctivity––and they were clear, there had been loads of it––could they actually prosecute anyone over?
Alex watched the last half hour of the film he’d seen several times before and started to clear things away, dropping a now empty wine bottle into the recycling box. His wine glass was placed in the sink to be dealt with in the morning. Like all workaholics, however, he checked his computer before going up to bed. There was a short reply from Sasha. Clearly, the man was up very late.
“Thanks for this, I’ll run the faces tomorrow through the mainframe and see what I can find out. Will be in touch. Merry Christmas to you too,” he said, returning the greeting despite the next day being an average working day in Russia.
Alex smiled to himself, climbing the narrow flight of stairs up to his room and ten minutes later was in bed. It had gone midnight––Christmas Day had come.
29
Politically, not a lot would happen in Russia over the last week of December, when the life of the average Russian would build up in intensity, until the novogodnaya yolka––New Year tree––was purchased on the 31st and families started to finally celebrate.
Businesses began to wind down during this time––as did their leaders and owners––as Russia prepared for its ten day holiday at the beginning of January.
In the Presidential race, there would be no more polling until the fourth debate was finished, which would happen after the holidays when life was beginning to speed up again. A week after the holiday ended, all the candidates for the upcoming Presidential elections, less than two months away, would have been named. The date for the screening of the fourth live debate was timed to be able to include two of those yet to be announced contenders.