Why do I have a feeling that if Zerimski becomes President, he’ll close down McDonald’s?’ said Jackson. He took a bite of the hamburger.
And I thought you might need this,’ said Sergei, handing him an officer’s hat made of rabbit’s fur.
‘Did a hundred roubles cover all this?’ asked Jackson.
‘No, I stole the hat,’ said Sergei matter-of-factly. ‘I thought your need was greater than his.’
‘You could get us both arrested.’
‘Not likely,’ said Sergei. ‘There are over two million soldiers in Russia. Half of them haven’t been paid for months, and most would sell you their sister for a hundred roubles.’
Jackson tried on the hat - it fitted perfectly. Neither of them spoke while they devoured their lunch, their eyes pinned on the restaurant.
‘See that man sitting on the bench reading Pravda, Jackson?’
‘Yes,’ said Jackson between bites.
‘He was at the gallery this morning.’
‘You also catch on fast,’ said Jackson.
‘Don’t forget that I have a Russian mother,’ replied Sergei. ‘By the way, which side is the bench man on?’
‘I know who’s paying him,’ said Jackson, ‘but I don’t know which side he’s on.’
13
CONNOR WAS AMONG THE LAST to arrive at the Lenin Memorial Hall. He took a seat at the back of the room in the section reserved for the press and tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. He couldn’t help remembering the last time he’d attended a political meeting in Russia. On that occasion he had also come to listen to the Communist candidate, but that was in the days when there was only one name on the ballot paper. Which was possibly why the turnout on election day had been only 17 per cent.
Connor glanced around the hall. Although there was another fifteen minutes to go before the candidate was due to arrive, every seat had already been taken, and the gangways were almost full. At the front of the hall, a few officials were milling around on the stage, making sure everything would be as the leader expected it. An old man was placing a grandiose chair towards the back of the stage.
The gathering of Party faithful couldn’t have been in greater contrast to an American political convention. The delegates, if that was what they were, were dressed in drab clothes. They looked undernourished, and sat in silence as they waited for Zerimski to appear.
Connor lowered his head and began scribbling some notes on his pad; he had no desire to get involved in a conversation with the journalist on his left. She had already told the correspondent on the other side of her that she represented the Istanbul News, the sole English-language paper in Turkey, and that her editor thought it would be a disaster if Zerimski were ever to become President. She went on to say she had recently reported that the Communist candidate might just pull it off. If she had asked Connor’s opinion, he would have had to agree. The odds on his being required to carry out his assignment were shortening by the hour.
A few moments later, the Turkish journalist began sketching a portrait of Zerimski. Her paper obviously couldn’t afford the luxury of a photographer, and was probably relying on wire services and whatever she came up with. He had to admit that the drawing was a good likeness.
Connor checked the room again. Would it be possible to assassinate someone in a room as crowded as this? Not if you hoped to escape. Getting at Zerimski while he was in his car was another option, although it was certain to be well protected. No professional would consider a bomb, which often ended up killing innocent people while failing to eliminate the target. If he was to have any chance of escaping, he would have to rely on a high-powered rifle in an open space. Nick Gutenburg had assured him that a customised Remington 700 would be safely in the US Embassy long before he arrived in Moscow - another misuse of the diplomatic pouch. If Lawrence gave the order, they would leave him to decide the time and place.
Now that he’d studied Zerimski’s itinerary in detail, Connor had decided that his first choice would be Severodvinsk, where the Communist leader was addressing a rally in a shipyard two days before the election. Connor had already begun to study the various cranes which operated at Russian docks, and the possibility of remaining hidden inside one for a long period of time.
Heads were beginning to turn towards the back of the room, and Connor looked around. A group of men in badly cut suits with bulges under their arms were filling the back of the hall, scanning the room before their leader made his entrance.
Connor could see that their methods were primitive and ineffective, but like all security forces they probably hoped that their presence and sheer weight of numbers would make anyone think twice before trying anything. He checked the faces - all three of the professionals were back on duty.
Suddenly loud applause burst from the rear of the hall, followed by cheering. As Zerimski entered, the Party members rose as one to acclaim their leader. Even the journalists were forced to stand to catch a glimpse of him. Zerimski’s progress toward the stage was continually held up as he stopped to clasp outstretched hands. When he finally reached the platform, the noise became almost deafening.
The elderly chairman who had been waiting patiently at the front of the hall led Zerimski up the steps and onto the stage, guiding him towards the large chair. Once Zerimski had sat down, he walked slowly forward to the microphone. The audience resumed their places and fell silent.
He didn’t do a good job of introducing ‘the next President of Russia’, and the longer he spoke, the more restless the audience became. Zerimski’s entourage, who were standing behind him, began to fidget and look annoyed. The old man’s final flourish was to describe the speaker as ‘the natural successor to Comrade Vladimir Ilyich Lenin’. He stood aside to make way for his leader, who didn’t look at all certain that Lenin was the most fortunate comparison that could have been chosen.
As Zerimski rose from his place at the back of the stage and walked slowly forward, the crowd began to come alive again. He threw his arms high in the air, and they cheered more loudly than ever.
Connor’s eyes never left Zerimski. He carefully noted his every movement, the stances he took, the poses he struck. Like all energetic men, he hardly remained still for a moment.
After Zerimski felt the cheering had gone on for long enough, he waved his audience back down into their seats. Connor noted that the whole process from start to finish had taken a little over three minutes.
Zerimski didn’t begin to speak until everyone had resumed their places and he had complete silence.