The Senility of Vladimir P (14 page)

‘Trikovsky!' muttered Vladimir.

‘He was one of the oligarchs,' explained the gardener to Sheremetev. ‘Look, Trikovsky wasn't perfect, I'll be the first to admit it. To become one of the oligarchs meant by definition that you had committed economic crimes. And personally, he was somewhat of an egomaniac. But I do think, by the time your patient here went after him, he had developed a kind of democratic vision, maybe some kind of personal conversion, and . . . who knows? Maybe, he could have made a difference. In any case, they had no right to do what they did to him. He wasn't a saint, but he wasn't the devil, either.'

‘You think you're a saint,' said Vladimir.

Sheremetev went to say something, but the gardener quickly held a finger to his lips.

Vladimir snorted. ‘You've turned all holier than thou all of a sudden.'

‘We shouldn't listen —'

‘
Shhhh
h
!
' Goroviev leaned forward slightly, one hand holding Sheremetev back, frowning as he tried to catch every word.

‘You think, all you have to do is say the word “democracy”,' said Vladimir, ‘and suddenly you're the nation's saviour.'

Trikovsky shook his head. ‘That's not true.'

‘A real convert, aren't you?' said Vladimir sarcastically.

‘I'm not saying I haven't done certain things that I regret, Vladimir Vladimirovich,' replied Trikovsky.

Vladimir laughed. ‘Certain things!'

‘A man can change course. What I may have done in the past as I constructed my business were things that the conditions of the time made —'

‘Sure,' said Vladimir, cutting the oligarch off. He enjoyed doing it. Who else told an oligarch to shut up? Outside these walls, in their mansions and the boardrooms of their corporations, they were king. But not here. Not in the Kremlin. Behind the red brick walls, there was only one boss. ‘
There were conditions at the time
. . .' he parodied. ‘Listen to me, Leva. You can be a businessman or a politician, but not both. We have to make a choice in life. One or the other. Riches or public service.' Vladimir shrugged, not betraying by even the faintest hint of a smile the patent falsity – proven above all by himself – of what he was saying. ‘You've made your choice, I think.'

‘All I'm saying, Vladimir Vladimirovich, is in a democracy, any person can speak. Anyone can run for office, businessman or not.'

‘We saw that with Boris Nikolayevich. Anyone can do anything, say anything. What a fucking disaster! He turned Russia into a living corpse, every day being eaten away a little more by mad dogs like you. Which is why you put him there the second time, you and your friends, so you could keep on eating.'

‘We put you there, too.'

‘Ha!'

‘Yes. What do you think Boris Nikolayevich would have done if we'd told him to choose someone else?'

Vladimir smiled. ‘The old man didn't know what day it was.'

‘He knew enough to listen to us,' replied the oligarch.

‘Then you should have told him to get rid of me while you still had the chance, because I'm telling you this now, and for the last time, Leva.' Vladimir wagged a finger. ‘Stay out of politics. It may be true the old man would never have chosen me as his successor if it wasn't for you and the others. Fine. I couldn't care less. That's between you and him. As far as I'm concerned, you were the means, not the reason. The reason I was put in this place was to bring order and stability to Russia, to stop it becoming a place where every mad bird could peck out its eyes. And that's what I'm doing!' He slapped a fist into the other palm. ‘I'm putting an end to it. You'll thank me one day. Even you, Lev Fyodorovich.'

‘I think there's a way we can do this,' said Trikovsky. ‘You're —'

‘No. There's no way. I'm not bargaining. I'm not negotiating. You see – you're thinking like a businessman. That's why you shouldn't be in politics.'

‘You don't bargain in politics?'

‘You do what I say in politics. And do you know what you're going to do? You're going to go to your television station and your newspaper and fire the nest of oppositionists who work there. Then you're going to make sure the rest say what I want them to say. Monarov will talk to you from time to time so there's no misunder­standing. And as far as politics is concerned, that's it. That's as much as you're going to do. Apart from that, you're going to look after your bank and your oil company and your nickel mine and you're going to make a lot of money, because while you're taking care of business, I'll be taking care of politics, and Russia will have order, and when Russia has order, businessmen can make money, those who allow them to do so are rewarded, and everyone will be happy, including you. That's what you're going to do, and that's what all your friends are going to do.'

‘And if I don't?' said Trikovsky quietly.

Vladimir sighed. ‘Have your companies been audited by a tax prosecutor? Show me a company in Russia that comes out of that clean and I'll show you a cow that shits gold.'

Trikovsky shook his head. ‘My companies don't owe any tax.'

‘No?' Vladimir laughed. ‘My guess is that if the tax prosecutor comes visiting he'll find that you owe plenty of tax, taxes you haven't even heard of yet.' He laughed again. ‘You'll owe so much tax that it will bankrupt your whole company if you have to pay it. Of course he's totally independent, Leva, so I can't be sure. Call it a hunch.'

‘That's an outrage!'

‘The state might be prepared to take the business off your hands in lieu of the taxes, but as for you, Lev Fyodorovich, we don't tolerate tax cheats in Russia. This isn't London. Here, we make examples of them! But all of this is so unnecessary. Why are we even talking about it? You'll stay out of politics, you'll support me whenever I tell you to, and I'll support you in your business. You'll do what I tell you, you'll make a lot of money, and you'll be happy.'

‘No one would tolerate what you're talking about!' retorted Tri­kovsky. ‘Confiscating an entire corporation of this scale on the basis of falsified investigations? You can't do it. I have support in the duma.'

‘Oh, you have support in the duma?'

‘If you do this to me, every other businessman in Russia will be threatened. Do you know what that will do for investment?'

Vladimir smiled. ‘And where will they take their money, Leva? Where else can they do what they're allowed to do in Russia? Where else can they make such profits? With order and stability in Russia, they can do even more of it. Do you think they'll throw themselves after you? No, they'll watch you go down. And as for your support in the duma . . . you know, I'm a specialist in human relations. In this job, you have to be. One thing I've noticed about people with a lot of money, is that they think people are personally attached to them. After a while, after you've had enough yes-men around for long enough, it's easy to mistake subservience for loyalty. Me, when I find myself starting to think that someone is loyal to me, I immediately remind myself that his loyalty only goes as far as the next commission that's going to land in his Swiss bank account. So let's remember what you are. You're a crook. You're an embezzler. When the Russian state was drowning in debt, when the Afghan veterans and their war widows were starving in the winter, you and your friends, in the goodness of your hearts, paid Boris Nikolayevich ten kopecks on the ruble for your mines and your oil wells and your banks.
That's
what people are going to remember when the tax prosecutor comes calling, Lev Fyodorovich. Now, how many of your friends in the duma are going to want to associate themselves with that? And by the way, how many of them would welcome their own visit from the tax prosecutor?'

Trikovsky gazed at him incredulously. ‘Do you really think this is the way to save Russia? To have you and your KGB henchmen deciding everything?'

‘Do you think it's to have you and your fellow crooks doing it?'

‘I'll take my chances with the people.'

‘Of course you will. With your newspaper and your television station to tell them what to think, just like any other citizen, huh? You gave an election to Boris Nikolayevich —'

‘And to you.'

‘Exactly.' Vladimir sat forward. ‘Do you think – do you
really
think – I'll ever take the risk that one day you'll take one away from me? Use your brains, Leva. By the time he was finished, Boris Nikolayevich was nothing but an alcohol-soaked sponge. Do I look like an ­alcohol-soaked sponge? What you could do to him, you can't do to me. That's why you chose me, remember?'

The oligarch didn't reply. Vladimir watched him, letting the silence stretch out, relishing the encounter more and more.

‘He seems to be talking to Trikovsky,' murmured Goroviev to Sheremetev, finally letting go of his wrist. ‘Is that possible? That he thinks he's talking to him?'

Sheremetev didn't reply.

Vladimir was silent, as if aware that he was being overheard.

‘You know,' mused Goroviev quietly, watching the ex-president, ‘I wonder about him. How did he become what he was? Sure, a Soviet KGB officer, he was never exactly going to be a natural democrat. But to turn out to be so brutal when he got power, and so corrupt . . . Did the KGB make him like that, or was it natural to him from the start?'

‘We should go,' said Sheremetev nervously. ‘If he gets upset —'

The gardener leaned across him, putting his face closer to the ex-president's. ‘You were corrupt, weren't you, Vladimir Vladimiro­vich? Corrupt on a scale no one could have imagined.'

‘Me?' said Vladimir.

‘Yes, you.'

Vladimir laughed.

Goroviev sat back. ‘See, Nikolai Ilyich? He's not upset. He's laughing.'

‘Still, we should —'

‘Your nephew is right, Nikolai Ilyich. He crucified us, and the Russia we live in is his. The question is, was it only because of him, or was it inevitable in some way that this would happen to us? Can one man alone do what he did to us? If he had tried to do the opposite, would the KGB boys have brought him down and put someone else in his place?'

‘I really don't know, Arkady Maksimovich,' replied Sheremetev, wanting only for this conversation to end. He made to stand, but Goroviev pulled him back.

‘I've asked myself, a thousand times,' he said earnestly. ‘And the truth is, I don't know. It would be easier if the answer was yes, that everything is his fault. It would be easier if he was the only one we had to hate. But one man can't do everything, he can't be responsible for every ill. And yet . . . he could have made a start. If he was different, more of a democrat – or not even that, but if he was honest, at least, and not so greedy for wealth, if he had the minimum of human decency – he could have nudged us away from authoritarianism and corruption. A nudge from him, then a nudge from someone else, then more of a nudge, and by now, we would be a free country with a true leader at its head instead of a vaudeville thief like Lebedev. But instead of holding us back, nudging us away a little, he opened the floodgates and we were swept away. So for that, he's guilty. Yes. Guilty as charged.'

For a moment, Sheremetev's curiosity overcame his discomfort. He gazed at Goroviev, thinking of what the gardener had told of him of his life. ‘Do you hate him, Arkady Maksimovich?'

Goroviev smiled slightly. ‘There was a time, Nikolai Ilyich, if had been sitting this close to him, I would have strangled him with my bare hands. And if I'd had to have strangled you to get to him, I would have done that too. But now . . .' Goroviev shrugged. ‘Yes. I hate him. I hate him for what he was, what he wasn't, what he did, what he didn't do but should have done. I don't forgive him. He's beneath forgiveness. But the thing is, Nikolai Ilyich, for how long did he rule us? How many decades? The thing your nephew is really saying . . .' The gardener stopped himself. ‘How old is he, by the way, your nephew?'

‘Twenty.'

Goroviev nodded. ‘Of course. You told me. That's young. Very young. Well, what he's really asking is the question every one of the young generation should be asking of us: how did we let this man do this to us? This small fearful personality who aspired to be a Chekist even when he was a boy. How did we put such a man, a man of so few attainments, such limited vision, at the top? Why did we tolerate him? How did we give him the time and opportunity to put Russia against a cross and put the nails through her hands, like your nephew said? It didn't happen in one night – it took years. Where were we?'

A smile crept across Vladimir's lips.

Goroviev leaned forward. ‘Isn't that right, Vova? All those things you did, bit by bit, one after the other, and we were like blind men, sleepwalking, watching you do it but not seeing. How could we let you?'

Vladimir sneered at Trikovsky, who for some reason was wearing a pair of overalls now. ‘You didn't
let
me do anything, Leva. I saw what had to be done and I did it in the only way it could be done.'

‘And that's it, is it? For how long? Where does it end, Vova?'

Vladimir narrowed his eyes.

‘Control us, control the duma, control the press. And then?'

‘What
the
n
?'

‘Does it go on forever? Is this Russia? Is this all there is?'

‘
All
there is? First, I'll put order and stability into the country. Then we'll see. That's the only way.'

‘The only way? To take twenty percent off every contract in the country? To have men who spent twenty years sitting behind a desk in the KGB supposedly running the nation's biggest companies, when all they're really doing is siphoning off the profits into bank accounts in Switzerland? To send the tax prosecutors after honest Russians while telling them to ignore the biggest crooks in the land? To whisper into the ear of a judge what the verdict and sentence on a young journalist will be before the trial has even begun? What kind of a Russia is that, Vladimir Vladimirovich?'