Andrey Pavlovich asked, placing a $100bill on the keyboard.
“Maybe sooner,” said Slava, pocketing the note.
“Let’s play billiards,” said Andrey Pavlovich, turning to Viktor. “You see,” he added when they were out of earshot, “the dollar, timely invested in technology, becomes the engine of progress!”
*
Their play was soon interrupted by Pasha’s gravely announcing that Potapych was on the phone and would like to speak to Andrey Pavlovich.
“We’re going to hear a tape,” said Andrey Pavlovich when he returned, and a few minutes later they were driving away on what proved quite a journey.
The streets being empty, and assuming a nil response to a Mercedes 4 × 4 proceeding at speed, Pasha drove accordingly – Artyoma Street, Frunze Street, then, somewhere beyond Spartak Stadium, off left into a private estate. They stopped in front of tall iron gates.
“Flash your lights,” said Andrey Pavlovich.
A light went on in the courtyard, the gates opened, and they drove in.
A man in camouflage fatigues conducted them into the house, where a robust sixty-year-old in jeans and dark blue sweater showed them into a mahogany-furnished lounge.
“Masha, lay the table,” he ordered, then turning to Viktor and Pasha, “you warriors can wait here, while we confer.”
Masha wheeled in a trolley of eats, Pasha helped lay the table, and a bottle of brandy, two of vodka and glasses were produced from the bar.
Ten minutes later Andrey Pavlovich returned grim-faced and weary, followed shortly after by their still-smiling host. Inviting them to table, he set about pouring cognac.
“Not for me till after the election,” said Andrey Pavlovich, and was given mineral water.
It was not exactly a cheerful occasion. Pasha looked questioningly at his master before accepting a second cognac. Viktor stuck at one, as did their host.
*
On the way back to Goloseyevo, Viktor fell asleep. Roused by Pasha on arrival, he got out, yawning, his one aim being to get back to sleep in his little attic room, only to be jollied into action by a “Make coffee all round”, from Andrey Pavlovich.
“No sleep for us tonight,” he declared, and went for a cold shower.
Pasha went up to the nursery to see how Slava was getting on, and returned with the news that he’d nearly finished. It was then 2.30 by the kitchen wall clock.
Andrey Pavlovich entered, now in a dressing gown, and carrying a radio cassette player.
“Right,” he said dryly, “I declare the present night sitting of the revolutionary committee to be in session. All got coffee?”
He switched on the tape recorder.
… Incriminating
stuff’s what we’re after, really incriminating, OK?
Yeah, but how? With not one bloody computer and staff all doggily devoted?
Doggy devotion comes dearer, that’s all. You pick your man, bring him to the sauna, and we talk … “Is there anything about his nibs his opponent shouldn’t know?” isn’t a bad line to start with
. “To
beat your enemy, you must know his weapons.” – Lenin. And you’ve got just two more days, after which …
But …
But nothing, Zhora. That arsehole who doesn’t comb his hair, he’s the one to go for
.
“I’ll buy you a comb,” said Andrey Pavlovich, seeing Viktor’s look of concern.
No joy there – he’s dead from the neck up
.
Switching off, Andrey Pavlovich turned to his coffee.
“Nice turn of phrase they have, our image makers.”
“Bastards to a man!” cried Pasha, and receiving a quizzical look, modified it to, “Well, bloody swine, then!”
“Cost me an arm and a leg, that tape,” said Andrey Pavlovich, “but we’ll save on image management.”
He turned to Pasha.
“Ring Tolik to help lift that lot from the nightclub, deprive them of sleep and deliver at the Dump for me and Viktor to interview tomorrow. Search their kit, and bring in a good computer buff for tomorrow evening.”
Before setting off, Pasha splashed his face with cold water.
19
It was
“Maybe sooner,” said Slava, pocketing the note.
“Let’s play billiards,” said Andrey Pavlovich, turning to Viktor. “You see,” he added when they were out of earshot, “the dollar, timely invested in technology, becomes the engine of progress!”
*
Their play was soon interrupted by Pasha’s gravely announcing that Potapych was on the phone and would like to speak to Andrey Pavlovich.
“We’re going to hear a tape,” said Andrey Pavlovich when he returned, and a few minutes later they were driving away on what proved quite a journey.
The streets being empty, and assuming a nil response to a Mercedes 4 × 4 proceeding at speed, Pasha drove accordingly – Artyoma Street, Frunze Street, then, somewhere beyond Spartak Stadium, off left into a private estate. They stopped in front of tall iron gates.
“Flash your lights,” said Andrey Pavlovich.
A light went on in the courtyard, the gates opened, and they drove in.
A man in camouflage fatigues conducted them into the house, where a robust sixty-year-old in jeans and dark blue sweater showed them into a mahogany-furnished lounge.
“Masha, lay the table,” he ordered, then turning to Viktor and Pasha, “you warriors can wait here, while we confer.”
Masha wheeled in a trolley of eats, Pasha helped lay the table, and a bottle of brandy, two of vodka and glasses were produced from the bar.
Ten minutes later Andrey Pavlovich returned grim-faced and weary, followed shortly after by their still-smiling host. Inviting them to table, he set about pouring cognac.
“Not for me till after the election,” said Andrey Pavlovich, and was given mineral water.
It was not exactly a cheerful occasion. Pasha looked questioningly at his master before accepting a second cognac. Viktor stuck at one, as did their host.
*
On the way back to Goloseyevo, Viktor fell asleep. Roused by Pasha on arrival, he got out, yawning, his one aim being to get back to sleep in his little attic room, only to be jollied into action by a “Make coffee all round”, from Andrey Pavlovich.
“No sleep for us tonight,” he declared, and went for a cold shower.
Pasha went up to the nursery to see how Slava was getting on, and returned with the news that he’d nearly finished. It was then 2.30 by the kitchen wall clock.
Andrey Pavlovich entered, now in a dressing gown, and carrying a radio cassette player.
“Right,” he said dryly, “I declare the present night sitting of the revolutionary committee to be in session. All got coffee?”
He switched on the tape recorder.
… Incriminating
stuff’s what we’re after, really incriminating, OK?
Yeah, but how? With not one bloody computer and staff all doggily devoted?
Doggy devotion comes dearer, that’s all. You pick your man, bring him to the sauna, and we talk … “Is there anything about his nibs his opponent shouldn’t know?” isn’t a bad line to start with
. “To
beat your enemy, you must know his weapons.” – Lenin. And you’ve got just two more days, after which …
But …
But nothing, Zhora. That arsehole who doesn’t comb his hair, he’s the one to go for
.
“I’ll buy you a comb,” said Andrey Pavlovich, seeing Viktor’s look of concern.
No joy there – he’s dead from the neck up
.
Switching off, Andrey Pavlovich turned to his coffee.
“Nice turn of phrase they have, our image makers.”
“Bastards to a man!” cried Pasha, and receiving a quizzical look, modified it to, “Well, bloody swine, then!”
“Cost me an arm and a leg, that tape,” said Andrey Pavlovich, “but we’ll save on image management.”
He turned to Pasha.
“Ring Tolik to help lift that lot from the nightclub, deprive them of sleep and deliver at the Dump for me and Viktor to interview tomorrow. Search their kit, and bring in a good computer buff for tomorrow evening.”
Before setting off, Pasha splashed his face with cold water.
19
It was
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