I nodded. “How about the rest of the week?”
Another folder appeared, which Darwaard passed to me.
“That's where things stand right now. There are one or two other possibilities, and I should know about them by this afternoon. I was led to believe that you would add to your schedule.”
“I do hope so.” I smiled politely. “I appreciate all you've done already.”
“That's what we're here for.” There was the briefest pause. “An embassy vehicle is at your disposal, with a driver, for whatever you need and for as long as you need it. The driver is Olaf. He's Swedish, but he's been with the embassy for years and comes well recommended. The drivers have a lounge on the main floor.”
“Good,” I replied.
Darwaard steepled his hands, a gesture I'd never liked, then began to speak slowly. “A few points to consider, Minister Eschbach, if you don't mind. As a subminister appointed by the Speaker, in general terms you rate the comparable address of ‘your excellency,’ but as an unofficial envoy of the Columbian government, you'll probably be addressed as ‘your high excellency.’ I suggest you look offended, or insulted if one of the more snobbish civil servants offers ‘your honour.’ It may not seem like much, but here in St. Petersburg, titles do matter, at least to the tzarists and the old aristocracy.” Darwaard smile's verged on the patronizing.
“I can see that.”
“Also, I understand from Colonel Sudwerth that Commander Madley will be accompanying you.”
“I think Commander Madley is a fine officer, but I have a problem of sorts with that,” I said. “I'm an environmental expert, not a military person. With even a senior junior officer accompanying me, wouldn't that convey an impression that I'm here at the military's behest?”
Darwaard frowned. “I can see your concern, but, remember, everything here has military overtones. I don't see as that would create too much of a difficulty.”
“There's also the status question.” I waited.
“Status?” Darwaard replied blandly.
“You know,” I said with a laugh. “The number of retainers determines status. That's particularly true in some places.”
“We're rather short-staffed, Minister Eschbach.”
“I know that. You know that. It needn't be anyone essential. What about that young fellow . . . what's his name?”
“Christian? He knows the Russian language, and the requirements for exit visas and trade paperwork, and that's about it.”
“That's more than enough, and it shouldn't put too much of a drain on the embassy, I'd think. With Commander Madley, Christian, and a driver, it would show that I'm more than a gesture. Christian can handle errands, that sort of thing, so that I won't have to be bothering you or others.”
“That . . . yes . . . that is a good point . . . I suppose young Christian could be spared.”
I needed both. Madley was intelligent, but he knew little about the current politics. Christian knew less directly, but I'd have bet he knew the embassy, and where at least some bodies were buried, and he seemed bright enough to have learned more than he knew he had learned, and I did need at least a small entourage to make the point that Columbia was quietly behind me.
“One moment.” He picked up the handset. “Could you have Christian come up here in about five minutes? Thank you.” Darwaard looked at me. “Since Christian will be detailed to you, it would be best if he showed you where things are.”
“Makes sense to me.”
“While we're waiting, there's something else to remember. The Russians have a saying. Offer a man a finger, and he will take your hand—if not your arm. It's not just a saying; it's the way many of them operate. Those in the underworld here are so brutal that a low trupp of Asten or New Amsterdam looks like a philanthropist by comparison.”
“Nice folks. What do they handle? If the Okhrana is as ruthless as they're reputed to be, I can't imagine that these fellows would be exactly plentiful.”
“Most of what they do is assassinations. Imperial bureaucracies do have a market for removals, and with all the paperwork of bureaucracies . . . well . . . sometimes high officials would rather not have fingerprints.”
I got that message as well, but I smiled. “I can't imagine that environmental engineering will provoke much controversy.”
“I wouldn't imagine your environmental work would, either.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Darwaard said.
Christian De Witte stepped into the office. “You called for me, Mister Darwaard?”
“I did. Because of the special nature of Minister Eschbach's mission here, you've been detailed to act as his junior staffer while he is in St. Petersburg.”
“Now, sir? I barely got started on the exit—”
“Those will have to wait, Christian. Some of Minister Eschbach's work is most time-sensitive. You'll be working for him beginning right now.”
“Yes, sir.”
I didn't much care for Darwaard's hearty open smile. So I offered him one in return. “Thank you very much, Piet. I appreciate everything that you've done, and I hope you can firm up those other appointments.” I gave a minimal bow, then nodded to Christian. “We have to get organized, and the first secretary has a busy schedule.”
Darwaard offered his professional smile as we left.
Christian looked sideways at me after I closed Darwaard's door behind us. “What do you want me to do, sir?”
“It's pretty simple. We have a car and driver. The driver is Olaf. We need to meet him, then find Commander Madley and make sure he's ready to go with us for the eleven o'clock with Kulikovsky.”
“You're lucky with Olaf.”
“You mean because Piet doesn't like him?” I didn't have to let that go, but I needed a reaction.
Christian's face froze for a moment, only the briefest of instants, but I was watching. “Piet's not quite so clever as he thinks.” I laughed. “But we've got work to do.”
Christian actually smiled, and that was a good sign.
We headed for the stairs and to round up the rest of my motley crew, and to change some currency, if we had time.
25
LESS THAN A half hour later, the four of us were in another internal-combustion-engined sedan, something called a Volga, which bore a large chrome hood ornament consisting of a stag with its antlers back in a rather unnatural position above a spread chrome “V.” Christian sat in the front seat beside the gray-haired Olaf, while Madley and I sat in back.
The PetroRus building wasn't that far from the embassy, but to the east of the Tauride Gardens, where the Duma still met.
“Olaf . . . what do you know about the PetroRus building?”
“Sir? The PetroRus palace? Once it was a girls' boarding school—the Smolny Institute—and then for a time it was a reeducation center, and then Tzar Mikhail—the third one—had it torn down, and they built the PetroRus Centre there. That was when they had more cash from the Caspian oil fields,” the driver said. “That was what First Secretary Darwaard said.”
“He knows a great deal,” I said. “He was probably over there a number of times.”
“Not that I know of. He mentioned that when he went down to the general staff building.”
“He seems like a very well-educated man.” I turned to Christian. “Do you happen to know what he studied, or where?”
“He's from Waalford, outside of Asten, he said, and he went to the University of Assen as an undergraduate and to the University of Virginia for his graduate work.”
It seemed that I couldn't escape The University, even in Russia. “Petroleum geology?” I asked lightly.
“International studies. He speaks Russian and Swedish, and some French, I think,” Christian said.
“Wasn't he posted to Stockholm for a time?” I asked.
“Five years.” Surprisingly, that was Commander Madley's comment.
“He's definitely talented. We're fortunate to have him.” I could se
e a more modern building ahead, still of granite, but with almost slab-sided walls interspersed with sheets of green glass that seemed to catch and hold the winter sun. The roof was also slanted more than the older buildings and shimmered despite the weak light. “Is that the PetroRus building ahead?”
“It is, sir.” Olaf pulled into a wide stone-paved drive and inched forward until we were under the archway and just behind another black Volga.
Despite the faint sunlight, the air was chill and damp as we got out of the sedan.
“How long will you be, sir?” asked the driver.
I smiled and shrugged. “A half hour, an hour. I'd be surprised if it were longer.”
Olaf nodded. “I'll be waiting here.”
Before we headed toward the modern glass door set in the square granite arch, I turned to Madley. “If you don't mind, Commander, I'm going to have Christian do most of the announcing and translating. I'd like you to watch and listen. Unless it's urgent, save any observations until after we leave.”
The commander nodded.
Christian tilted his head quizzically but didn't say anything.
There were four guards in the lobby, not in Imperial Russian uniforms, but in rich green hard-finished fabric, trimmed in silver. Even without insignia, they still looked military. The lobby itself had smooth polished walls of a reddish granite and dark gray stone floors that glistened. There was a desk in the middle of the lobby, with a single clerk behind it.
I nodded to Christian. “Just tell them who I am and try to explain that I have a meeting at eleven o'clock with Kyril Kulikovsky. Oh, and make sure that you get in that I'm his most high excellency Minister Johan Eschbach.”
“Kyril Kulikovsky?”
“That's right.”
Christian marched forward and delivered an impressive-sounding spiel, the only words of which I recognized were my name and “Columbia.”
I stood there and looked bored and above it all.
“He's good,” Madley murmured.
The clerk nodded, nodded some more, looked at a clipboard, and then picked up a handset. He spoke on it and looked vaguely surprised. Then he hung up and motioned to one of the guards.
Christian turned. “His high excellency Executive Director Kulikovsky is waiting for you, Minister Eschbach.”
The armed guard in green escorted us past the clerk's station and to the far side of the foyer, where there was a bank of elevators, if three could be considered a bank. After we entered the elevator, so did he, inserting a key and pressing the button for the sixth floor.
We got out on the sixth floor and stepped back in time. Although one wall to the right of the elevator was entirely of greenish glass, the interior wall was polished cherry, with both a carved chair rail and a matching crown molding, and three portraits in gold frames graced the wall leading to an ornate cherry reception desk. The woman behind the desk was blonde, wearing a black suit, a red blouse, and a warm smile.
The guard stood beside the elevator and watched as we stepped up to the reception desk, or rather Christian did, explaining once more.
Her smile broadened before she replied, in lightly accented English. “Your Russian is excellent, and Executive Director Kulikovsky will be with you all in just a moment.”
She hadn't even finished her words before a tall, slender, dark-haired man appeared, wearing a gray suit that would have easily have graced either Philadelphia or the federal district.
“Minister Eschbach . . . gentlemen, it is so good to see you.” He glanced at the commander and Christian, “Elenya will find you refreshments while the minister and I meet.”
With that, and a hidden smile, I followed Kulikovsky through a solid cherry door and down a short corridor to a windowed office, neither large nor small, which was furnished in what I would have called Russian modern. I liked the older and more ornate style better.
The Russian executive sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. I took the other.
“Minister Eschbach, I am so glad to see that you could be here.” Kulikovsky's English bore only the barest trace of an accent.
“I'm more than happy to be here.” I smiled and waited.
“The first secretary of your embassy . . . I must say that he was less than forthcoming about why you wished to come to visit PetroRus.”
“First Secretary Darwaard is of old Dutch stock,” I replied. “They find it hard to offer much information unless they are absolutely certain of matters.” I shrugged. “I had asked to meet with colleagues and those who had, shall we say, a practical interest in environmental matters.”
The slightest frown appeared and vanished before Kulikovsky laughed. “A practical environmentalist! That is . . . what would you say . . . a term that contradicts itself?”
“An oxymoron. Perhaps. But we live in an uncertain world, and those of us with a practical disposition are always looking for others who would like to look into practical solutions.”
“Ah . . . always to the practical. Dutch indeed you are, Minister Eschbach.”
“I'd understood that practicality was also a valued Russian trait.”
“For some. For some.” Kulikovsky tilted his head, as if pondering whether to add to what he had said. “For others, ideals matter more. Is that not so in your country?”
“If you're not practical, I've found, it can be difficult to hold on to your ideals,” I pointed out. “That's something the ideologues have trouble understanding.”
“So you are a practical, idealistic environmental specialist?”
“Among other things.” I shrugged.
“You think that what is practical for one country or one organization is so for another?”
“Sometimes.” I laughed. “I doubt that environmentally sound warm-water drilling technologies would be terribly practical for Arctic oil extraction efforts. But some technologies are practical in many lands and applications.”
“Practical . . . but are they affordable?”
“Affordable,” I mused. “That's an interesting concept. That depends on who pays, and what. It's always better if people can trade benefits. That way, no one has to explain the budget, and each party can take credit for the increased revenues or production or whatever.”
“If that is possible.” Kulikovsky's voice was skeptical.
“It's always possible if both sides have something to gain and nothing to lose.”
“Nothing to lose?” Kulikovsky laughed, a harsh but hearty sound. “You sound like a salesman, Minister Eschbach. Does not someone always give up something of value?”
“Not always,” I countered. “And sometimes something is not of value or of far lesser value for one party than to another. Then it makes sense to trade. If you are a champion skater, the best skates in the world are of value to you. To me?” I shook my head. “Likewise, I have a steamer at home that operates on kerosene. Here, your vehicles run on gasoline. A tank full of gasoline is useless to me, but it could be valuable to you.”
“Were it that all matters were so simple.” Kulikovsky smiled.
I returned the smile. “I've often found that people make matters more complicated than they should be. When one understands his own basic interests—or his country's—it becomes more simple.”
Kulikovsky leaned forward. “What are your interests? Personally.”
“To help my country and my wife.”
“Those do not sound personal.”
I offered a heartfelt and hearty laugh. “They're very personal. My wife has made my life a joy again, and I'd like to help her gain what she was denied by Ferdinand, and frankly by my own government. Second, if I can't help my country . . . then I won't be able to devote my full energies to what I enjoy doing, and that's consulting and teaching.”
“And your country's interests?”
“There's no secret to those. Columbia needs a broader range of dependable fossil fuel supplies.” I looked at Kulikovsky. “It's your turn.”
“My personal interests do not
matter so much.” He paused. “That is because they are tied to Russia's interests.” There was the slightest glimmer in his eyes as he asked, “What interest of Russia's do you propose to satisfy?”
“Several. You have some pressing environmental concerns that Ferdinand continues to exploit. There are efficiencies in energy extraction and production that might be possible, and there are possibilities for granting energy concessions to Columbian firms that will result in near-term hard currency in-flows.”
“You Columbians . . . even in circumspection, you are blunt.”
“No. I'm not a diplomat,” I admitted. “I'm a practical man. I have trouble talking in circles. I prefer to recognize and solve problems, instead of pretending they don't exist.”
Kulikovsky nodded, then pursed his lips. “If you would excuse me for just a moment . . .”
“Certainly.”
With a smile, he stepped out a side door.
I'd either made progress or totally destroyed it. I thought I was getting somewhere, but who knew?
Kulikovsky was gone about five minutes before returning and reseating himself in the chair he'd vacated. “My wife and I, and a friend and his wife—your wife is the diva, is she not?”
“Yes.”
“I know the time is short, but could you join us for dinner at the Imperial Yacht Club at eight? It would be such a treat. You do have formal attire, no?”
“I can manage that.”
“Elisabet would be so pleased. Our daughter studied the voice at the conservatory, and she insisted that we must go to the concert.”
“Will your daughter be there, at the concert?”
“Oh, yes, and with her husband.” The PetroRus executive smiled, and the smile seemed to be one of relief. “If you would meet us at the club just before eight . . .”
“Llysette and I will be there.”
“Good. And I will think over what you have said.”
And that was that.
Kulikovsky and I walked out smiling, and Commander Madley and Christian rose from their chairs, and everyone bowed and smiled, and in minutes we were on the elevator headed downward—without a guard.
Ghost of the White Nights Page 19