“The family have asked me if you would be kind enough to deliver one of the tributes at his funeral.”
“Of course I will. Please tell them I’d be honored.”
“His wife told me Kolya’s last words,” said Elena. “‘Tell Sasha, if he’s the son of his father, he’ll make a great president.’”
* * *
Sasha issued a brief press statement to the lobby journalists at ten o’clock the following morning.
The Rt Hon. Sasha Karpenko resigned this morning as Minister of State at the F
oreign Office. He will also step down as the Member of Parliament for Merrifield with immediate effect, as he intends to return to his homeland of Russia and stand for president in the forthcoming election.
The Prime Minister, speaking from Downing Street, responded. “The government has lost a quite outstanding minister and a formidable parliamentarian. I hope and believe that those same skills will be put to good use when he returns to the country of his birth. And should he be elected to the high office to which he aspires, we can all look forward to a positive new era of Anglo-Russian relations.”
Lord Cohen was among the first to call. “If you’re looking for a campaign manager, Sasha, I’m still available.”
“I won’t get a better one, Ben, that’s for sure.”
The former Deputy Prime Minister of Russia called the following morning while he was shaving.
“I couldn’t be more delighted by the news,” said Nemtsov. “The media have gone into meltdown, and the first poll published in the morning papers has you on twenty-nine percent.”
“And how’s Vladimir faring?” asked Sasha.
“Two percent, and he was on four percent only a week ago.”
Perhaps the biggest shock for Sasha was how many heads of state and Prime Ministers called from all around the world during the next forty-eight hours to say, in less than coded language, I only wish I had a vote.
The night before Sasha was due to fly to Saint Petersburg, the Russian ambassador called.
“Sasha, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the past couple of days, but your phone’s constantly engaged. Have I missed something?” Sasha laughed. “My masters have instructed me to make sure that your journey back to Saint Petersburg is as smooth as possible. We’ll lay on a car to take you and your family to the airport, and I’ve instructed Aeroflot that the first-class cabin should be cordoned off from the rest of the passengers so you won’t be disturbed.”
“Thank you, Yuri, that’s most considerate, as I’ll have two important speeches to work on.”
“So do you want to hear the good news first, or the bad news?”
“The good news,” said Sasha, playing along.
“Over fifty percent of Russian women think you’re better-looking than George Clooney.”
Sasha laughed. “And the bad news?”
“You’re not going to be pleased to learn who Yeltsin has appointed as his new Prime Minister.”
BOOK SIX
45
ALEX AND SASHA
En route to Amsterdam, 1999
Alex picked up the phone on his desk.
“There’s someone on the line called Dimitri,” said Miss Robbins. “He says he’s an old friend, and that he wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t urgent.”
“He goes back even further than you, Pamela, and is indeed an old friend. Put him through.”