‘If you value your life, wake him up.’
The First Secretary threw on a dressing gown, ran out of his bedroom and down the corridor. He knocked on the door. There was no response, so he knocked again. A few moments later, a light appeared under the door.
‘Come in,’ said a sleepy voice. The First Secretary turned the handle and entered the Ambassador’s bedroom.
‘I am sorry to disturb you, Your Excellency, but there’s a Mr Stefan Ivanitsky on the line from St Petersburg. He insists that we wake the President. He says he has an urgent message for him.’
‘I’ll take the call in my study,’ said Pietrovski. He threw back the blanket, ignoring the groans of his wife, ran downstairs and told the night porter to transfer the call to his study.
The phone rang several times before it was eventually picked up by a slightly breathless Ambassador. ‘Pietrovski speaking.’
‘Good morning, Your Excellency,’ said Ivanitsky. ‘I asked to be put through to the President, not to you.’
‘But it’s four o’clock in the morning. Can’t it wait?’
‘Ambassador, I don’t pay you to tell me the time. The next voice I want to hear is the President’s. Do I make myself clear?’
The Ambassador put the receiver down on his desk and walked slowly back up the wide staircase to the first floor, trying to decide which of the two men he was more frightened of. He stood outside the door of the President’s suite for some time, but the sight of the First Secretary hoveri
ng at the top of the stairs stiffened his resolve. He tapped gently on the door, but there was no response. He knocked a little louder, and tentatively opened it.
In the light from the landing the Ambassador and the First Secretary could see Zerimski stirring in his bed. What they didn’t see was the President’s hand slipping under the pillow, where a pistol was concealed.
‘Mr President,’ whispered Pietrovski as Zerimski switched on the light by the side of his bed.
‘This had better be important,’ said Zerimski, ‘unless you want to spend the rest of your days as refrigerator inspectors in Siberia.’
‘We have a call for you from St Petersburg,’ said the Ambassador, almost in a whisper. ‘A Mr Stefan Ivanitsky. He says it’s urgent.’
‘Get out of my room,’ said Zerimski as he picked up the phone by his bed.
The two men stepped backwards into the corridor and the Ambassador quietly closed the door.
‘Stefan,’ said Zerimski. ‘Why are you calling at this hour? Has Borodin staged a coup in my absence?’
‘No, Mr President. The Czar is dead.’ Ivanitsky spoke without emotion.
‘When? Where? How?’
‘About an hour ago, at the Winter Palace. The colourless liquid finally got him.’ Ivanitsky paused. ‘The butler has been on my payroll for almost a year.’
The President was silent for a few moments before saying, ‘Good. It couldn’t have worked out better for us.’
‘I would agree, Mr President, were it not for the fact that his son is in Washington. There’s very little I can do from this end until he returns.’
‘That problem may resolve itself this evening,’ said Zerimski.
‘Why? Have they fallen into our little trap?’
‘Yes,’ said Zerimski. ‘By tonight I shall have disposed of both of them.’
‘Both of them?’
‘Yes,’ the President replied. ‘I have learned an appropriate new expression since I’ve been over here - “killing two birds with one stone”. After all, how many times does one have the chance to see the same man die twice?’
‘I wish I was there to witness it.’
‘I’m going to enjoy it even more than I did watching his friend dangling from a rope. All things considered, Stefan, this will have been a most successful trip, especially if …’