Moscow Rules

by Robert Moss

‘It’s quite all right, thank you,’ she said.

  But he insisted.

  She saw the blue corner of her American passport jutting out from under a wad of tissues, and scooped it up before he could, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

  He didn’t bother her for long after that, just long enough to hear her destination when she got to the head of the line. As she moved out onto the platform, she saw him strutting off in the direction of the stationmaster’s office. But there was no sign of him when the train pulled in, and once she had found a seat, she stopped worrying about him and began to compose her first article on the strike at Togliatti.

  *

  ‘He claws with his dying hand,’ Marshal Zotov told Sasha in disgust. He had been describing the meeting at which the General Secretary had issued his instructions for the mopping-up at Togliatti. They were in the Marshal’s office on Gogol Boulevard, which he preferred to his suite in the Defense Ministry, because he felt farther away from his Party overseers.

  ‘They all went along with him, of course. He pants, and they tremble. The Chukchis were Askyerov’s idea, of course. One of these days I’m going to crush that cockroach under my heel.’

  ‘What about Pavel Leybutin?’ Sasha asked. He had admired the general since he had seen him in action in Afghanistan.

  ‘Some of them wanted to shoot him,’ Zotov reported. ‘I did my best. I told them they couldn’t afford to make a martyr out of one of our war heroes. Now they’re going to send him to the Serbsky Institute for psychiatric examination.’

  He started drumming his fist on his desk.

  ‘Here’s what I want you to do,’ he instructed his son-in-law. ‘Go to Togliatti for me. Make me a full report. Those bitches are going to be held accountable for this. I also want complete reports on the state of army morale.’

  Sasha made a few notes, then sat there, expressionless, meeting Zotov’s gaze.

  ‘Always the sphinx, aren’t you, Sasha? I know what you’re waiting for. You think it’s time to move, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t need to conduct an opinion poll to tell you what the younger men are saying.’

  ‘And they could be right. I don’t need a report from the Kremlin clinic to tell you that our Party leader won’t be with us very long.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘They’re all poised to stab each other in the back. But Askyerov is going to be the kingmaker, that’s staring us in the face. He’s no fool, I’ll give him that. He won’t try to take the laurels for himself. He’ll put in a man he thinks he can control as General Secretary while he runs the machine. He can count on Chetverikov, Serdyuk too. And we can be sure of one thing, Sasha. If Askyerov gets his hand on the wheel, it won’t be long before they’re trying to pack me off to the bloody Serbsky Institute.’ He paused. He had his office swept by a trusted man, an army technician, every day, but even so...

  ‘You remember those Spetsnaz exercises we discussed?’ he said to Sasha. ‘I don’t think we should wait any longer.’

  *

  Sasha picked up Zaytsev at the station in his own Volga and drove him to Bangladesh. The Spetsnaz general was wearing civilian clothes under protest, stiff and uncomfortable in his old suit and worn overcoat with a couple of buttons missing. On the way, Sasha recounted what he had seen during his visit to Togliatti. The Chukchis had done a thorough job, favoring the bayonet over the bullet, exacting revenge for the sacking of the Party headquarters. ‘When I saw what they did at the auto plant, where some of the workers tried to make a stand, I thought I was back in Herat,’ Sasha reported.

  ‘What about Leybutin?’

  ‘He belongs to the KGB now. I saw a preliminary report from the Serbsky Institute. They’ve decided Pavel had a drinking problem, and was seeing white mice instead of imperialist saboteurs. Maybe Feliks can tell us something.’

  Zaytsev wasn’t trying to disguise the fact that he was less than enthusiastic about going to his first meeting with Sasha’s friend in the KGB. When Sasha said, ‘We depend on Feliks,’ Zaytsev shook his head as if his collar were chafing him. His first impressions of Nikolsky left him looking positively depressed.

  Feliks came bounding out of the kitchen sporting a new apron with a picture of a kangaroo and the inscription ‘I Love Australia,’ and a tray loaded up with brandy and snacks which he deposited, with the poise of a professional waiter, on the coffee table in the Transit Hall. The door to the bedroom was open, and Sasha winced internally as he observed the familiar bundle of soiled sheets on the floor. Zaytsev’s glance roamed across the sheets, the unmade bed, the dirty glasses standing around on every flat surface in the living room.

  ‘How long are we going to spend on business?’ Nikolsky inquired cheerfully as he poured out the Akhtamar brandy. ‘Shall I call one of my chickens and ask her to book a couple of her friends for later?’

  Zaytsev stared at him balefully. But Feliks wasn’t in the least put out. ‘My apologies,’ he said ironically, waving a hand over the plates of appetizers. ‘This is not from the great Maxim’s in Paris. But in view of the food situation in our great agricultural nation, it’s the best I could do. Now really, general,’ — this to Zaytsev, who hadn’t touched his drink — ‘ty chto mumu yebyosh?’

  Feliks proposed a couple of toasts, while Zaytsev sat silent and angry, waiting for Sasha to call him to order.

  ‘Don’t sit there like a boiled potato,’ Feliks goaded him. ‘Give us a toast!’

  ‘Very well.’ Solemnly, as if he were standing for a hymn in church, Zaytsev got to his feet. He raised his glass and said in his deep, gravelly voice, ‘Let the earth be a soft bed for the dead of Togliatti.’

  This sobered even Nikolsky. They all drained their glasses and sat in silence for a long moment.

  ‘The bitches,’ Zaytsev said. ‘They used the army for their dirty work in Togliatti. Thank God we still have men like Pavel Leybutin.’

  They drank again, to the cashiered general who had refused to go on killing Russians.

  ‘It won’t end well with Leybutin,’ Sasha remarked to Nikolsky. ‘We received a report from your respected organization that claims he was suffering from white disease.’

  ‘I never had it myself,’ Nikolsky said, unable to resist a joke even under the least humorous circumstances, ‘but a friend of mine had it. I went round to his place, and there were white mice running around all over the floor.’ Nobody laughed, and he went on, somewhat apologetically, ‘They’re putting Leybutin under intensive care.’

  ‘What exactly does that mean?’ Sasha asked.

  Nikolsky took out a piece of paper. ‘I made a list. These are the drugs they’ve prescribed for him.’

  Sasha glanced through the list. The first drug prescribed was aminazin. He was familiar with its effects. After being treated with aminazin, university professors were unable even to read.

  He handed the paper to Zaytsev, who looked at it and swore, ‘Svolochy. Scum. They want to turn his brain into mashed potato.’ He returned the list to Nikolsky and said, ‘How did you get this?’

  ‘I work for Colonel Topchy.’

  ‘In the Third Directorate?’ Zaytsev looked sideways at Sasha as if to say, I warned you.

  ‘Just so.’

  Zaytsev withdrew into himself again.

  Sasha took charge of the conversation. ‘Take off that fucking apron and sit down,’ he told Feliks. ‘I’ve brought you together for a serious reason. We represent three powers in this country: Spetsnaz, who are the best fighters we’ve got; our honorable chekists;’ — Nikolsky took a bow — ‘and the General Staff, including Zotov. I can tell you within these four walls that Marshal Zotov feels just as strongly as we do about Togliatti. I am sure you understand that, in his position, he can’t express his views as strongly as he would like. Even so, he opposed the use of the army in Togliatti in front of the whole Politburo.’

  ‘They won’t forget that,’ Zaytsev remarked.

  ‘No, they won’t. I’ve known each of you for a long time,’ Sas
ha went on. ‘I know I can trust you completely. There is only one institution left in Russia that retains any real integrity and popular support.’ Nobody dissented. ‘We can’t allow this gang to destroy the reputation of the army the way it has destroyed the reputation of the Party.’

  ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’ Nikolsky asked.

  ‘The Marshal can’t move without support. We are going to provide the support.’

  ‘For what? For a military coup? Now really, General’ — Nikolsky poured himself another drink — ‘this isn’t West Africa. We’re not jungle bunnies, or comic-opera latin colonels. We’re allergic to coups.’

  ‘I think I’ve learned something about coups,’ Sasha continued. ‘You don’t need to involve many people, and you don’t need popular support. All you need is a clearly defined center of power, and a passive population that is used to following orders from the top. The daughter of Peter the Great did it with only four hundred men.’

  ‘You’re not drinking enough, Sasha,’ Feliks said. ‘You’ve got no business talking like this when you’re sober. Come along, General,’ he prompted Zaytsev, ‘you tell him he’s insane.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Zaytsev erupted. ‘With just my own boys, just one Spetsnaz brigade, I could do it myself.’

  Nikolsky covered his eyes with his hand and groaned.

  ‘Tell us about it, Fedya,’ Sasha said.

  ‘The Politburo meets every Thursday at four in the afternoon, am I right? Well, all you have to do is smuggle in a few special teams, surround the Central Committee building, and grab the bitches when they’re all sitting together in the same room. I would be master of Moscow, and the rest of the country would do my bidding. Moscow rules, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Feliks objected, ‘but do you really iamgine that everyone would jump to attention for an unknown paratroop general?’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Zaytsev agreed, darting a glance at Sasha. ‘But if the orders were signed by the Chief of Staff, the army would obey. That’s all that counts.’

  ‘Haven’t you forgotten a few details?’ Sasha chopped in. ‘It wouldn’t be enough to capture the Central Committee building. You’d need to worry about the militia, the airports, the broadcasting and communications centers, not to mention our friends at the Lubyanka.’

  ‘Fifteen hundred men,’ Zaytsev said. ‘And a back-up force, in case the Dzerzhinsky Division was mobilized. That’s all it would take. The planning would have to be perfect, of course. We would need floor plans of all the targets. We’d need secure assembly points. We’d need to rehearse every move.’

  ‘That can all be arranged,’ Sasha said.

  ‘I know a waiter who worked in the telephone exchange,’ Nikolsky interjected.

  Zaytsev glared at him, apparently thinking that this was another joke in doubtful taste, and said, ‘Our biggest problem is security. If the Marshal is with us, only a handful of people would have to be fully indoctrinated. The rest will simply do what they’re told. We need to be extremely careful who we include in the inner circle. There are chekists everywhere.’ From the way he went on staring at Feliks, it was plain that Nikolsky hadn’t yet passed muster as far as Zaytsev was concerned.

  ‘Fedya,’ Sasha began, ‘perhaps I should have explained.’ He started to recount how Nikolsky had gone to work for the Third Directorate at his request, but Feliks cut him off. He was angry and aggressive now, wounded by Zaytsev’s refusal to trust him.

  ‘Our muzhik general is absolutely correct,’ Nikolsky said. ‘You can’t be sure of anyone, not even in your famous Spetsnaz. Not even among the group you’ve picked for your very special exercises. Oh, I see you’re both surprised I knew about that. Well, let me show you how I found out.’

  He produced a document from his pocket, an official KGB report. Sasha glanced at the name of the sender.

  ‘Major Suchko,’ he read out.

  ‘That scum!’ Zaytsev exclaimed. ‘He’s the head chekist at my base.’

  ‘Big round face, very oily, breath like an outhouse?’ Sasha asked.

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘I know this Suchko,’ Sasha said, remembering the Komsomol organizer at university who had helped to destroy Tanya. ‘You’d better take a look at this.’

  He passed the document to Zaytsev. Suchko’s report discussed ‘anti-Soviet’ tendencies among the Spetsnaz and airborne forces stationed at Kavrov. It included some poisonous remarks about General Zaytsev himself. But what most startled Zaytsev was that it identified several KGB informers at the base. One of them, Captain Vassily Artamonov, was a man Zaytsev had trusted completely, and had included in the group he had selected for the special exercises.

  ‘God, I can’t believe it.’

  ‘You needn’t worry too much, General,’ Nikolsky said. ‘This report was never received.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that I intercepted it. It never reached Topchy’s desk. Lucky for you, isn’t it? No action will be taken. But I do agree with you that you ought to be very careful about who you trust. I’m not in a position to read all of Topchy’s mail.’

  ‘I’ll take care of this right away,’ Zaytsev said to Sasha. He got up and put out his hand to Nikolsky. ‘Are we friends?’

  ‘Aargh, I never could stomach the smell of high boots.’ Nikolsky pumped his hand. ‘Now, if you two are finished with your plotting, it’s not too late to call a girl I know...’

  *

  ‘You must be out of your bloody mind,’ Guy Harrison told Elaine when she gave him the typescript of her article on the massacres in Togliatti. Guy was wearing a smoking jacket whose original color might have been wine red. He shuffled over to the sideboard and turned up the volume of his radio. The music sounded as if it had been composed by a committee.

  ‘It’s a bloody scoop, I’ll grant you that,’ Harrison said with grudging admiration. ‘And the writing isn’t half bad, if you take out some of this tabloid stuff.’ He quoted a line about the smell of fear.

  ‘Will you send it off for me?’

  ‘In the beginning was the word,’ Harrison intoned. ‘Once a hack, always a hack. How could I say no? It would be like denying an alcoholic a drink, or a dying man the last rites of Mother Church. I’ll talk to a chum of mine at the Embassy. This ought to go out in the diplomatic bag.’ He paused and scratched his stubbly chin. ‘I really ought to warn you,’ he went on. ‘Certain people aren’t going to be overjoyed by this little foray of yours. Now don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m just here to minister to the needy.’

  He stood next to the window and peered out from behind the drapes.

  ‘Are you sure they didn’t spot you in Togliatti?’

  ‘I — I don’t think so. I couldn’t swear to it.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, it could just be my friendly shadow.’

  ‘If the KGB saw me in Togliatti, wouldn’t they have arrested me?’

  ‘They’re not all simpletons, my love. They might have preferred to follow you and see where you led them. After all, the official line is that the strike is the work of foreign agitators. By the way, I hope you weren’t planning to put your byline on your piece. Not if you were thinking of staying on here for more than twenty-four hours.’

  She looked offended for only an instant. Then she murmured, ‘Oh. Yes. Stupid of me.’

  ‘If I were you, I’d hop on the first plane out of here. Then you can write what you like and put your bloody photograph on the cover of the rag, for all it would matter. That’s what I’m going to say to our American friends, too. Frankly, I don’t know whether they’ll want to listen. You see, I tried to ring you up after you went missing. It seems there’s some kind of a panic on in Washington.’

  ‘What kind of panic?’

  ‘Listen, my love. I’m just a boy from the bush. I carry messages back and forth and that’s all, remember? Somebody’s flying in from Washington this week to explain it all.’

  ‘Luke? Is Luke coming?’

  ‘They
didn’t see fit to tell me. No names, all right?’

  She frowned and said, ‘I don’t want to see him.’

  ‘You mean Luke Gladden? I thought he was something of a father figure.’

  ‘He’s using me. Or trying to.’

  ‘He kept his promise, didn’t he? He gave you Sasha.’ Harrison saw her tense, and hastily added, ‘If I were you I’d forget about your Russian prince and the bloody CIA and get on that plane back home. I’ll deliver your regrets to our visitor from Washington. You can take your copy with you. I’ll even give you an introduction to my editor, the old vulture.’

  ‘Thanks, Guy,’ she said curtly. ‘I’m staying. Now how about my piece?’

  ‘They pay by the column inch, and the rates were determined at the beginnings of the Gutenberg era. But do you think “From a Special Correspondent” would do you for now?’

  ‘I suppose fame can wait,’ she said, trying to adopt the same bantering tone.

  ‘Good girl. Now what about an early lunch? You’d better brief me about what’s going on in this bloody country. I wouldn’t want my editor to think I was losing my touch. Did I tell you what he asked me for a few weeks back? He wanted a seven-hundred-word feature on the General Secretary’s talent with the banjo. The same old wheeze we got with Andropov. FILE SOONEST ON ANDROPOV’S REPORTED PENCHANT FOR JAZZ, SCOTCH, POP AMERICAN FICTION.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I filed, of course. They ran my piece under the title “He Came From Alma-Ata with a Banjo on His Knee.”’

  *

  In time of war, Soviet Spetsnaz forces have the following functions: to neutralize enemy command centers and hunt down and eliminate the enemy’s political and military leaders; to identify and help to destroy nuclear bases and other key defense installations; to disrupt power and the communications systems. The training exercises that Zaytsev’s brigade, reinforced by several independent companies, began in the forest north of Kavrov, seemed to conform completely with the combat role of the special forces, except for one unusual detail. The commandos were rehearsing the seizure of command centers in Moscow.

  Vassily Artamonov came sidling up to General Zaytsev to ask about this.