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Removing his coat and placing it on the coat rack, a gift that Alexi had received from the Science Minister to Brazil who resided in Manaus, Brazil along the Amazon, Alexi heard Orlina enter. Her heavy footsteps prevented her from ever becoming a burglar. The coat rack was given to Alexi not as a gift, but because the Science Minister had no use for it, since coats weren’t a big thing along the Amazon.
Kissing Orlina, Alexi realized that their offspring were not around, because he would surely have heard them by now.
“You took you children to Raisa’s?”
“Yes, Alexi, like you said.”
“Good, good. We must talk.” The professor put his arm around his significant other’s waist and she did likewise to him. The two lovebirds followed the aroma to the dinner table that had been handed down to them from two generations past and they considered themselves quite fortunate that they were also given four chairs.
Reaching the room that was the center for the family unity, Orlina ladled some borscht into each of the two bowls that she had set. Sitting down quickly beside her husband, anxious to find some relief to her dreary day and knowing that her husband had something important to tell her, she refrained from eating, sitting looking at Alexi with anticipation. Alexi sipped a spoonful of the beet-based soup and he savored it.
“I have been offered a new position, Orlina.”
“At the university?”
“No, at the state building.” While being caught off guard by the unexpected disclosure, Orlina knew anything was possible in Russia, that the possibility of anything happening there was the one thing it had in common with California. It was just that she had never heard of any university professors who ever worked at the state building.
“What will you be doing? Are they making you a minister?”
“Exactly, Orlina. They want me to become premier.” Orlina’s eyes stared at her husband with a curiosity and raised eyebrows, her mind wondering just how much vodka he had had that afternoon. Since she knew he was not a big drinker, she was aware that two could do the trick.
“It is true, Orlina, they want me to become premier!” Alexi’s tone immediately convinced the woman that her husband was telling the truth. In the eighteen years they had been married she had learned something about him, he was honest.
“You have not accepted?”
“No, Orlina, you know that I must talk to you first.” Smiling at her love, her eyes brightened with the delight that she was the woman of Alexi’s desires.
“Why do they want you to become premier, Alexi, you are a scientist, no?”
“Yes, Orlina, but they think I can help them bring capitalism to Russia, that I could make it work. That is what they say.”
“You do not believe them?”
“Sergotoff was the one that asked me.”
“Oh Alexi, you are right for not believing them. Why do you think they asked you?”
“I think they want me to take the blame if it did not work.”
“Then you could not take it, Alexi.”
“But there are so many people, Orlina, that are homeless. Our mother Russia needs help. We must do something for our people.”
“But what about our children, Alexi?’
“They will be better for what we do. It is for them that we must make Russia better. We must give the people hope.”
“But Alexi...”
The professor rose from his chair, and approached the dining room window and opened the handmade curtains so that the falling snow of the winter evening could be seen.
“We must protect our people, Orlina. We cannot let them live in the streets on nights like this or they may never see another morning.” Alexi stared out the window, his eyes transfixed on the falling snow. Orlina rose and moved behind her husband, her hands on his shoulders, being placed there to reassure him that whatever he decided, she would be behind him.
“I will be behind you to lead the people to a new life, Alexi.” Smiling at the consoling words of the mother of his two children, Russia’s new leader again turned his attention to the snow drifts that were building in front of his house, hoping that he could prevent the nation from drifting any further into poverty.
The drifts in front of the state building were being removed by the military, who had not been paid in two months. The lack of funding in Russia made every job seem like you were doing community service. Maybe the theory behind the communist ideology was finally taking place, that people were finally sharing. Unfortunately what they were sharing was misery.
Reaching the seventh floor office of Foreign Minister Sergotoff, the expression worn by Alexi Debenov was not something that anyone would expect to find on the face of someone who was about to become the most powerful person of a nation. Alexi knew within him that in fact he was about to become a puppet and only hoped that he could quickly tie things up so that the string would break, making him a free man. He believed in himself.
Sergotoff waited for him, staying seated behind his desk. He had his secretary bring hot tea to the office and the platter with the tea and serving cups sat on the credenza. The secretary led Alexi in and she quickly excused herself, knowing that Sergotoff wanted complete privacy.
“Sit.” Alexi removed his overcoat and sat down, again choosing the chair that he appraised at the lower value, draping the coat over his lap.
“So will you lead Russia to its new glory?”
“I will.”
Falling back in his reclining office chair, Sergotoff smiled, delighted that his patsy was such easy pickings. Debenov had always been successful, so Sergotoff knew that he would not doubt his abilities this time either, even though he didn’t have first hand knowledge about just how bad the economy was. Alexi had one special component that Sergotoff counted on and that was compassion. He knew that Alexi would relish the idea of being able to help his people move ahead. Rising from his chair, Sergotoff moved to the front of his desk and shook Alexi’s hand.
“I am pleased, Alexi. If there is anyone that can bring a new glory to Russia, it is you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“I will do my best. I will do what is best for the Russian people.”
“Yes, you will do your best. That is all you have ever known how to do, Alexi, your best. Tea?”
“Yes.”
Sergotoff moved toward the credenza and poured a small silver cup full of hot tea. Placing it on a small plate, he grabbed hold of a small sugar bowl too and brought them both to Alexi.
“Sugar?”
“Yes. Where did you get it?”
“Castro sent us a small parcel hoping that we would relent and give him more aid. It’s a tease that we cannot afford.”
“How much sugar?”
“Just enough.”
“Enough for who?”
“For the ruling elite, Alexi.”
The professor handed the bowl of sugar back to the Foreign Minister, not wanting to have something that was not readily available to everyone. Sergotoff looked at him, knowing that the new premier had nothing but disdain for him and his selfishness.
“Now, now, Alexi, you are not going to be one of those professors that if someone did not bring enough for the whole class then no one gets any?”
“Must I remind you, Sergotoff, that in the communist manifesto Marx talks about the masses? Now with capitalism we must also provide for the masses or else.”
Alexi quickly drank his tea with a total disregard for how hot it was since he knew just how cold it was outside. Placing the cup and saucer down onto the desk of his host, he quickly leapt to his feet and put on his coat.
“I will want my new office ready by tomorrow and I want the chief security officer there at sunrise, Sergotoff.”
“I will comply with your orders, premier. I will have your mansion ready by the end of the week with it fully staffed.”
“No servants, Sergotoff, I have two hands.”
“But your time will be precious, premier.”
“No servan
ts, Sergotoff, and I do not want this made public until I say it is okay.”
“Yes, but why?”
“If you want me as premier, you will not question my request.”
“Your appointment will not be announced until you want it to be,” was the reluctant response. Sergotoff never enjoyed relinquishing control of anything, and here he knew it came with the plan.
Alexi quickly turned and exited the office, his mind already on his game plan. With a smile that would befit a conquering hero, Sergotoff slid a panel of the credenza open and removed a small glass from amongst many. Walking over to his small refrigerator, he opened it and removed a bottle of vodka. Filling the glass with the clear alcohol, he returned the bottle to the refrigerator and walked his glass over to the window. Looking down, he watched professor Alexi Debenov walk through the demonstrating crowd of people angry because of the long food lines. He started to think that in just a short period of time the demonstrators seeking back pay would be in front of Alexi’s new home. The Foreign Minister swallowed the vodka swiftly, enjoying the moment, and never removed his eyes off the new premier as he disappeared into the crowd.
The offices of the premier were decorated as a tribute to the position. Filled with expensive antiques, most of which were of the same period as the pieces in Sergotoff’s office, filled the room and Alexi knew that he could not co-exist with such opulence while the people he believed he would be serving were suffering. Alexi immediately recognized the artwork that hung from the walls as he entered as being works created by Polish artists. He thought that there certainly should be more than enough artwork around that had been created by Russian artists that they did not need to bring in the artwork from countries that they extended an influence over at one time or another. Replacing these works of art and returning them to Poland became an immediate priority for Alexi, right after getting Russia on the right track.
Sitting down and trying to get comfortable in the large leather swivel chair that was now his was fun. Maybe he could enjoy this job; maybe it did not just have to be a job, a goal. Looking around, he found the intercom and immediately struck it, trying to reach someone at the other end.
“Premier?” beckoned the voice of Volitov Rashankoff, his new aide.
“Volitov, bring me those computer printouts that I asked for.”
“Right away, premier.”
Falling back into the comfort of his new chair, Alexi took her for a spin, doing a three-sixty swivel several times. Finally stopping, the dizziness that filled his head caused him to see several images of Volitov, who carried the printout under his arm. Shaking it off and now only seeing one Volitov with just one printout, Alexi realized that there was not as much work as he had thought there was going to be.
Approaching the table, Volitov placed the printouts down on the desk.
“Thank you, Volitov.”
“It was no trouble, premier.”
“Please call me Alexi.”
“Okay, Alexi, it was no trouble. If you are looking for someone to help you establish a policy for developing Russia with a free enterprise system, Mikhail Goodonov is your man.”
“He’s my...”
“...nephew,” interjected Volitov, not missing a beat in Alexi’s cadence.
The premier leaned back in his seat, amazed at his aide’s knowledge. Alexi started to wonder how this man, an aide, could know such information? Was his previous position in the government with the KGB?
“How did you know he was my nephew?”
“Before the Soviet Union subdivided, I was a KGB agent. I ended up with this job when, as they say in America, the KGB downsized.” Alexi was proud of himself for having played “What’s My Line” and having guessed Volitov’s previous position correctly.
“What made you think he is the best suited for what I need, Volitov? I never told you why I wanted this list.”
“But premier, just follow the logic. You wanted a list of people who were university educated, who had a background in economics and business, who had spent time either in North America or Europe and who had actually made at least some business transactions in those areas. It only made sense that you were looking for someone familiar with the free enterprise system.”
Leaning forward and momentarily looking into Volitov’s eyes, Alexi studied his aide with amazement. He again let the chair fall back so that he might ponder what he was dealing with here. Was Volitov a plant? Was the KGB still worried that the university professors were revolutionary radicals or was Volitov actually excessed to the state building because of too many spies and not enough money?
“Why do you think my nephew would be the perfect person to help?”
“He has done wonderful in America. He owns land, apartment buildings, stock. He even owns his own business consulting firm.”
Flabbergasted by the disclosure, information about things that he himself did not know about his nephew, Alexi caused the chair to fall when he attempted to lean back and it was already as far back as it could go without breaking the laws of physics. Volitov quickly rushed to the assistance of his boss and helped him to his feet.
“Thank you, Volitov.”
“It is my job.”
“Mikhail was always such a clown as a child. It was hard for me to believe what you have told me.”
“Alexi, he has done well. When we tried to call him back, he refused on the grounds that his body chemistry had changed and now he could only reside in seventy degree weather.”
“Where is my nephew spying?”
“His assignment is Los Angeles.”
Alexi’s expression upon hearing the answer let Volitov know that his answer struck a cord with his superior.
“I find it so hard to believe that he is the one to help lead Russia to a new economic glory. Mikhail, who would have thought?”
“You sound like he exceeded your expectations.”
“Volitov, the way Mikhail liked to have fun, no one had any expectations. When the family learned he had become a spy we all laughed. He couldn’t even keep that secret.”
Volitov had to laugh and he tried to cover it with his hands. Not knowing Alexi well enough, he had sucked up enough in his young life to know that you did not score points laughing at the boss.
“Let it out, Volitov. My family laughed so don’t bother trying to hide it, you might end up with the hiccups doing that.”
The aide let go and while not from the belly, there was enough air behind it to make Alexi realize just how funny others thought it was.
“You think that is funny, wait? When he was just a boy and we told him about the Bay of Pigs, he thought we were talking about a sausage company.” Volitov this time let it all go at once, not needing one word of prodding from his superior.
“Get me all the particulars about my nephew, where he lives, his routine, where he likes to eat...”
“That has already been taken care of, sir. It is at the back of the files on your desk.” The new premier smiled with his newfound authority and pleased to find someone from the KGB doing something worthwhile for a change.
“Make my reservations to Los Angeles for next week and have our spy network inform him. This must be kept under wraps.”
The castle stood alone atop a small hill in the dark snowy night with its gray dark stone helping to create a rather depressing sight for someone looking at the scene. Even with the snow falling on it, the scene would not bring back memories of good times in New England. With only one road leading to it, the estate was easy to guard. It needed to be guarded too because it was one of the retreats that members of the communist party had set up for themselves when they were in complete control. This particular set aside catered to those who loved skiing and hunting and was hidden on the eastern slope of the Ural Mountains about twenty miles north of the town of Yekaterinburg.
The black limousine that entered the compound was five years old, a sign of the austerity problems that had struck at the government since the disintegration of the
Soviet Union. Five years ago the passenger, Serge Sergotoff, would never have been seen in the back seat of a car more than a year old. Maybe the good old days were coming full cycle and were just in front of him.
The limousine came to a complete stop in front where a path had been cleared and was protected by a wide canopy. Exiting the luxury sedan and heading for the warmer confines of the castle, Sergotoff was welcomed by a servant who was dressed in red. The communist party decided that even with the partition of the Soviet Union, it was cheaper to stay red.
The warmth from the burning fires in almost every room within the castle circulated throughout the ancient structure. Knowing that he was overdressed, Sergotoff removed his scarf and hat in unison and handed it to the servant. He then removed his heavy overcoat and handed that too to the obedient man. Sergotoff, feeling comfortable now as his driver entered carrying two bags, moved into a large living room where his Moscow colleagues awaited him, enjoying their vodka while the fires were aglow.
Everyone raised their glasses as Sergotoff entered and they saluted him, capping it off by swallowing sips of their drinks. That act was a pleasure for Sergotoff’s eyes because it told him that he was still in control and that they knew it. It was nice pulling the strings from behind the scenes.
“So Alexi has decided that his nephew will be his advisor?” questioned Trotsky.
“Yes, Roman, Mikhail Debenov is the premier’s choice. How did you find out?”
“Medansky told me.” Sergotoff looked at the KGB head and smiled.
“Putting Volitov in Debenov’s office was smart. How did he gain Alexi’s confidence so quickly?”
“Simple. He told him that he was there because the KGB was downsizing.”
“You mean Debenov knew that he came from the agency?”
“Yes,” confirmed Medansky, who added, “and the premier is leaving for Los Angeles next Tuesday to meet with his nephew.”
Listisch raised his glass and the others followed to join in a toast when Yalantov realized that Sergotoff was empty handed.
“Wait! The Foreign Minister does not have something to drink.” Yalantov, with a clap of his hands, drew a servant into the room and by merely pointing a finger at Sergotoff and his own glass he got his message across. Leaving the group of seven to look around at one another with no one quite knowing what to say, the servant went about his duties, being underpaid and with no union steward on the premises to complain to.