I wondered what that meant.
Llysette gave me a quick glance that told me she understood what was happening, and that she was leaving to see the porcelains only for my benefit.
“You might stop and look at them on the way out, Minister Eschbach,” Kulikovsky said. “Not that roubles are everything, but one could sell the least valued of those porcelains for enough to purchase the most luxurious Volga, or three of your most expensive Stanleys.”
“They must be superb,” I said. More than fifty thousand dollars for a porcelain doll?
“They are,” Yusupov agreed.
“You are an interesting man, Minister Eschbach,” offered Kulikovsky once the women were out of earshot. “This is our second meeting, and you have asked nothing. You have hinted that you might be helpful in some fashion. Your embassy does not know why you are here, but has been asked to do your bidding. Would you care to speculate on how you might be helpful?”
“Good environmental information is always helpful,” I said with a laugh. “Especially if it's used in the right place and time.” I fingered my chin. “Let's just take a hypothetical example. Say there are two nations. They both produce petroleum. One prefers to produce more than it needs, in order to finance other requirements. The other tends to use more than it produces, and, as a result, has always been spending money on research. There is research on how to produce petroleum better in cold weather, research on how not to waste petroleum in transport, research even on cleaning up rivers that have been contaminated by petroleum and petrochemicals. All of this research is necessary, because the second nation never seems to have quite enough petroleum. Does the first nation need this research?” I shrugged. “Probably not. Or not until the first nation cannot produce as much petroleum as it would prefer. Even then, some in the first nation might not be interested. Even if they were, it could be hard to determine what such research might be worth.”
Yusupov nodded. “I can see where, in your hypothetical case, of course, determining interest might be rather hard. For example, what if, and we are being very hypothetical, the research were suited to one climate and not another? Or, if for tactical reasons, the first nation could not afford to admit publicly any necessity for such research, and yet all payments for services are reviewed and made public?”
I smiled. “You describe the problem very well. I suppose there are ways around that. Intelligent people often can work out such.”
“Hypothetically, you understand, how would one go about that?”
“Well . . .” I drew out the word. Here I was going to have to be careful, not to give away the details while outlining the principle. “It would seem to me that the answer, theoretically, you understand, would be for each party to understand the needs of the other. The second nation needs an additional and more reliable source of petroleum. The first nation needs to expand its production without seeming to do so and while still appearing to dictate the situation.” I spread my hands. “Surely, there would have to be a way for such conditions to be met?”
“An interesting, if theoretical, proposition.”
“At this point, it is theoretical,” I conceded, “but all such propositions start in theory. Then, someone has to make them practical.”
“You Columbians . . . you are so amusing. Some even find you naive, it is said.”
“In many ways, we are indeed naive,” I agreed. “We are a young nation. Still . . . sometimes, if one looks on a problem with a touch of naiveté, solutions that are difficult for the cynical can become possible. Someone in my country made a comment along the lines that solutions are always possible if you are willing to let someone else take the credit.” I grinned. “I am a retired minister. You both know that. I am here because of my wife. I have little need of publicity, except for her, and less for credit.”
“Such altruism . . .” The cynicism was most evident.
“Hardly.” I laughed. “Hardly. Llysette obtains greater recognition. She gets more concerts, and she is happy. I'm happy because she is getting what was withheld. I'm also happy because . . . well . . . if my naive approach works, then I know that I was right, and everyone benefits.” I let my voice harden. “Except Ferdinand.” Then I smiled. “Altruistic? Naive? I think not.”
The two exchanged glances.
“An interesting approach . . . it might even bear considering. Theoretically, of course. We will have to think about that.” There was a shrug from Yusupov. “Turning theories into practice is often much harder than spinning the theory.”
“True—but that's what makes life interesting and rewarding.” I paused. “Just suppose, only suppose, that you obtained technical information on technologies for enhanced oil recovery methods suited to your needs. And suppose, just suppose, that you could also act as the provider of certain environmental technologies designed to clean up rivers, such as, say, the Dnepyr.” I shrugged. “And suppose, again just theoretically, you could recommend granting a concession that would also return hard currency to the Imperial Treasury or to PetroRus for production in a locale that would be exceedingly costly for you to develop, but whose concessionary income would be significant.” I smiled politely. “Just naive supposition.”
“Most naive . . .” murmured Yusupov. “Yet intriguing.”
“That's Columbia, naive and intriguing.” I thought they were very interested, but interest didn't translate into results, and I wouldn't exactly hold my breath. So I took a sip of wine, a very small one.
“All of this is fascinating, but how does one turn theory into practice?” Kulikovsky grinned and added, “Theoretically, of course.”
“One talks, to start with,” I suggested. “If such a concession existed, theoretically, then those in Russia with the power to grant it would talk with those involved from . . . say, Columbia. If the talks appear to progress, then it would obviously be in the practical interests of those in Columbia to ensure that information on certain recovery technologies and perhaps even on some equipment became available. Each side offers more as matters progress.”
“Could not one side just, as you Columbians put it, lay the cards upon the table?”
“That's certainly possible,” I admitted. “Except, if, say, I held such cards and laid them on this table, you might be inclined to take them and not encourage further progress, or others might suggest the same to you. That also assumes that, if someone like me did so, people would value what was laid down.”
“Naive, but not stupid . . .” murmured Yusupov.
“Willing to trust, in hopes of both benefiting, I'd say.” “And what if more than one Columbian party wished the concession?”
I'd wondered that from the beginning, and I was glad I'd asked Harlaan. “That would go down to practicality, I would say. Were that the case, I would suggest granting the concession to the party that had the greatest resources, and the greatest experience in cold-weather extraction, and the greatest ability to come up with immediate hard currency.”
“You put matters so succinctly, Minister Eschbach. Yet there could be other considerations . . .”
I offered yet another laugh. “There always are. Someone offers a side concession, or a political interest, or a possible military considerations . . .” I shrugged, seeing a slight tension in Yusupov. “But your business is petroleum. You have to operate where you know what you do. If you don't, well, then, everyone else determines your business, and it won't be petroleum, and, at least in Columbia, you won't be running the business much longer.” I thought I caught the quick flash of looks between the two and quickly added, “The other consideration is always national interest. When I was more active in government, there was always some ministry that had its own agenda, but usually that agenda was more in the interest of the minister than of Columbia.” I offered a wry smile. “I'm sure that doesn't happen here.”
“Of course not,” replied Yusupov dryly.
Kulikovsky glanced up. “I believe the ladies will be returning in a moment. Still . . . you presen
t an interesting, I believe you call it a scenario.”
I just nodded. Saying any more wouldn't do anything. There is always a time to stop, and I hoped I hadn't already passed that point.
At that moment, the three ladies did in fact reappear, but the conversation was limited to a few minutes of small talk, centering mainly on what we should see, if we had time, and then we were all bowing and being most polite in our departures.
I glanced at the Pavlova porcelains as we left, and they were indeed exquisite, more like fine porcelain jewelry, or the equivalent of a Fabergè egg, but I wasn't sure I'd ever be an enthusiast of porcelain dolls.
Olaf was waiting outside the club and offered another broad smile as Llysette appeared, wrapped most securely in her heavy coat, against snow that had become harder and finer, and a wind that was gusting more strongly.
Once we were inside the Volga, I turned to her, and, with a smile, asked, “How were the porcelains?”
“Johan . . .”
I grinned. “You're cute when you do that.”
“Baby ducks, they are cute.” But her pout was a put-on, and we both knew it.
Olaf did get us back to the embassy, and it was only eleven when we climbed into the massive bed, both exhausted, if for very different reasons. I was so tired that I fell asleep trying to put together the jumble of the day's events, even as my mind insisted that I needed to think things out. I put an arm around Llysette and told my subconscious to work on the problems. My conscious mind wasn't going to be conscious that much longer.
27
Iwas up very early the next morning, letting Llysette sleep, while I went back over the briefing materials Harlaan had sent through Commander Madley. I'd hoped that there might be more background material on Serge Yusupov.
There was. Not a great deal, but the picture matched the man I'd met the night before. Yusupov was in effect the director of operations for PetroRus, although his position was somewhere between an independent director and special assistant to Pyotr Romanov. The analysis suggested that Pyotr Romanov listened to Yusupov. That was fine, if Yusupov had liked what I'd said.
Next I checked over the materials on Colonel General Vasily-Kaselov. There wasn't much, not even a picture, just basically a position description. I set down the folders and tried to think, sipping the bitter tea I'd fixed.
What was beginning to bother me was that almost any diplomat should have been able to do what I'd done so far, and probably better. That meant that either I was deluding myself, that our diplomats weren't that good at their jobs, that the real problems were ahead, or that Harlaan had me in St. Petersburg for another reason entirely, and that I was expected to work out the petroleum negotiations as cover for something else that I had yet to discover.
I was doubtless missing things, but I couldn't figure out what in any specific terms. So I went and retrieved the news summaries and the paper. The summaries were as expected, except I didn't realize what was missing from them until I saw a tiny article in the Times of London.
Federal District (WNS). “Treason at worst, misfeasance at the very least!” That was how Congresslady Patrice Alexander (L-MI) charged Rocketrol—the chemical division of AmeriSun. According to Alexander, the second largest Columbian petroleum firm had leaked the components of a prototype solid rocket propulsion fuel being developed for the Columbian Ministry of Defense to its Russian subsidiary—the former Putilov cartel. Neither the Colombian Ministry of Defense nor AmeriSun had any comment.
I looked blankly into the darkness outside the window of the small kitchen. Definitely interesting—and getting murkier all the time.
I was in the second-floor office foyer of the embassy early, even before ten o'clock, because Llysette and Terese had wrangled more practice time at the Mariinsky Theatre—at nine-thirty—and they were off in the sedan assigned to her. I hardly had a chance to look around before Piet Darwaard appeared.
“If I might have a moment of your time, Minister Eschbach.”
I followed him into his office and let him close the door behind me. I didn't wait to be invited to sit down.
“I understand that you've been approached several times, by various individuals,” Darwaard said smoothly.
“It depends on what you mean. I've had sightseeing tips. I've had people draw me aside and ask why I might be offering detailed technical assistance and question its value if it is being given for virtually nothing—”
“If I might ask, since the ambassador will certainly want to know, what did you tell them?” Darwaard's smile was close to patronizing, but it was the professionally patronizing expression adopted by too many second-level bureaucrats.
The details of my work were none of his business, but there wasn't any point in picking a fight . . . yet. “I told them that it wasn't for nothing; that if it keeps more Russian territory in Russian hands, that helps Columbia.”
“I don't think you understand how dangerous St. Petersburg is, Minister Eschbach. Everything appears so quiet and civilized, but nothing is as it seems. A sightseeing tip might be from a Septembrist who would like nothing more than to get you in an unprotected situation so that he could create an incident to destabilize the tzar. In fact, I'm led to believe that you barely escaped something like that.”
“That's possible, Darwaard.” I used his last name to remind him, not quite gently, who was who. “Everything is a risk. But the biggest risk at the moment is doing nothing.”
His eyebrows lifted, and the pleasant look vanished from his face. “It's not in the news, but it's everywhere else. Anyone who is anyone in St. Petersburg knows that the embassy car assigned to you was parked on the edge of the Senate Square yesterday, and it drove away just after a bomb exploded in the square.”
“We did hear an explosion,” I admitted. “Do you happen to know what it was?”
“It was a bomb, and I was informed this morning that it appears the man who was carrying it was a Septembrist.”
“Septembrist?”
“A member of the most radical revolutionary group. They feel that Russia belongs to Russians, and that the tzar is but a creature of the west.”
“Interesting. I gather that the theory is that I'm here pushing some radical commercial or environmental idea that will further subjugate Russia to the degenerate west?”
“Something along those lines.” Darwaard paused for a moment. “If the ambassador should ask . . . or if the speaker should inquire . . .”
I wanted to tell dear Darwaard that I'd be happy to answer to either personally, but decided against that. I smiled. “ Actually, we had a few minutes, and I'd read all about the Bronze Horseman. So we went and saw it. It wasn't planned, and it was a spur of the moment decision. Those, I've found, are usually safer.”
“That was the first bomb in a public place in months. The Okhrana has doubled their street patrols this morning.”
“Was anyone killed?” I didn't point out that Olaf had indicated there seemed to be bombs going off more often.
“Only the one person was killed, and he was one of the Septembrists,” admitted the first secretary.
“The bomb must have malfunctioned, then. Most convenient for the Okhrana, then.” I smiled. “While I'm here, do you have any additional appointments I should make?”
“I'm afraid not, Minister Eschbach. The embassy has opened what doors it can.” His smile was bureaucratically correct and followed by a shrug.
“I understand. You've been most helpful.” I stood. “As matters develop, I'll let you know.”
Christian was standing outside the office door when I emerged. I checked my watch. “How long does it take to get to Colonel General Kaselov's?”
“He's in the general staff offices. No more than fifteen minutes, sir.”
“Good.” I beckoned for him to follow me. Once we were out in the corridor away from the clerks, and Darwaard, I said what I had in mind. “Piet has indicated that he has reached the limit of what he can do in opening doors. I'm on my own from here
on out. I don't want to cover ground that's already been gone over. Is there any place in the embassy records that lists meetings that have been set up or even requested?”
“Yes, sir . . . but . . .”
“I understand that the meetings are often confidential. I wouldn't want the records. I'd just like to know what Russian government and nongovernmental organizations have met with or requested help in matters involving the environment and energy—just in the last two months or so. The organizations and a key name. That way I'll have some idea.”
“Ah . . .”
“We've got almost an hour. I'll meet you here in fifty minutes, and we'll go over what you've got. I need to go over some matters with Commander Madley.”
“I think he's in with Colonel Sudwerth, sir.”
“He won't be long. I'll wait for him here. You see what you can find.”
As I had predicted, Lieutenant Commander Madley appeared within five minutes after Christian left.
“Minister Eschbach, were you looking for me? I thought you weren't due to meet General Kaselov until eleven.”
“I'm not. I wanted your thoughts on the reason for the meeting before I stepped into it.” I gestured. “We can go downstairs and sit in a corner of the dining room. There's no need to stand in the corridors.”
Madley nodded.
I began to retrace my steps to the stairs. There was no sense in taking an elevator for one floor. “How is the good colonel this morning?”
“He seemed the same as always.”
Madley was a bit too straightforward to lie well, but I let it pass for a time before making another comment. “I imagine he has a lot on his hands with the current situation.”
“He's had a large stack of papers on his desk every time I've been in his office, and they're never the same ones.” The commander shook his head.
The dining room door was shut but not locked. No one was in the room, and we sat at the nearest table.
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