No, conditions on the Russian Presidents plane were stricter, more regimented. On the other hand, Zubin didnt find himself sitting at the back with the rabble, as they were known in Russian political circles. After all, he was Josef Belov, which secured him three vacant seats, and, following whispered instructions, he sat in the third one next to a window and blanked off from people.
Rising up out of London, he wasnt as excited as hed been the previous evening, but calm and serious, considering the situation. There had been no security check at RAF Northolt, but it had been obvious that there wouldnt be, not for VIPs, so the Colt.25 theyd given him and the Codex Four mobile were at the bottom of his briefcase. Hed also discovered a couple of pairs of plastic handcuffs, a street map of central Moscow, his route from the Excelsior to his mothers apartment clearly marked and onward to the Belov Complex, a spray can of CS gas and some night glasses.
It was mad, the whole idea that it could be got away with, but the other future was too awful to contemplate. He was staring into space thinking about it when someone sat beside him. He turned and found it was Volkov.
Yes, General, he said. How can I be of service?
Oh, you already have. Volkov was in a jovial mood and took two vodkas from a passing waiter and gave Zubin one.
A fine performance. The President is very pleased with you, and tomorrow at the Kremlin will be your biggest performance ever. Signing the Belov Protocol in front of the worlds cameras. The President will decorate you. Hero of the Soviet Union.
Ah, I thought wed done away with that?
Well, something similar.
May I see my mother? Zubin held his breath and hoped, but Volkov was in high good humor.
You may order your chauffeur to take you to your mothers apartment on the way to the Excelsior when we get in, but fifteen minutes only, Zubin, at least for now. He waved for two more vodkas and passed one over. Everythings worked out perfectly. Youve been splashed all over Russian television in the company of the President and the British Prime Minister in London. Its made you quite a star, and news of the Belov Protocol with ordinary people has done even more. Its made you a hero. He smiled jovially and tossed down his vodka. A great triumph for us all.
He got up and walked away and Zubin sat there, trying to take it all in, then leaned back in his seat and wondered what Dillon was up to.
Dillon arrived at Farley the following morning, rain driving in. He parked the Mini Cooper, got out, a raincoat over his shoulders, and ran across to the operations room under the control tower, the rain heavy. The Citation X stood a few yards away, its RAF rondels proud, and as Dillon went up the steps, Squadron Leader Lacey emerged from behind some bushes, wearing a flying jacket, standard uniform underneath, medals clear, his Air Force Cross well on display.
You look good, Dillon said.
You know how it is, Sean, its special this one, so it seems fitting we do it right. Parrys got things moving along. Well be out of here fast.
Youre pushing it, arent you?
There are headwinds across Europe, and a front from Siberia westwards later today you know how it is. Billys waiting inside.
Hes what?
Apparently there was some confusion over the time.
Dillon walked into the operations room and found Harry and Ferguson having coffee.
Youre a little tardy this morning, Ferguson said.
Dillon shook his head at Harry. Where is he?
Back room, changing. You really think hed have gone for that? Go on, get on with it. I cant wait to see you dressed as a Russian.
Billy adjusted his tie and pulled on his sergeants tunic. Hey, Ive got campaign medals Ireland, the first Gulf War.
How would you know?
Dillons uniform hung by a locker, quite spectacular. Levin must be quite a guy, Billy said. Hes got more medals than me, and his uniform is prettier.
If you say so. Dillon started to change and pulled on his jackboots.
Billy said, Oh, I do, and another thing. Dont try to pull a stunt like that again. Its a good thing Harry has an old-fashioned sense of family honor.
Your choice.
Dillon tightened his tie, pulled on the tunic and buttoned it. He fastened his belt with the holstered pistol, then adjusted his cap. When he checked in the mirror, a rather sinister-looking man stared out at him, a figure of grim authority.
Dillon, thats you, Billy said. That is very definitely you. Now lets move it.
They went out and found Lacey back with Harry and Ferguson. Very smart, he said. The Russians do like their uniforms, dont they?
What about me? Billy asked.
Good turnout, Sergeant, a credit to the squadron. The Quartermasters bag is on board, the Embassy boxes. Could we go, please?
There was a slight pause, then Harry said, Just get on with it.
Ferguson said, Keep the faith.
Billy led the way up the Airstairs door. Dillon followed, Lacey after him, turning to close the door, then moving to the cockpit to join Parry as the engines throbbed. Billy and Dillon belted in on either side of the aisle.
Dillon said, Are you all right, then?
What in the hell do you think? Billy leaned back, closed his eyes and the plane surged forward.
At Moscow in late afternoon verging into early evening, the Putin plane landed at the airport with the usual pomp and ceremony associated with the homecoming of the President after his appearance on the world stage.
He went down the steps, met the usual functionaries and generals, rather more of those these days or so it appeared, and moved to his limousine. Lesser mortals had disembarked and stood waiting, amongst them Max Zubin. He was conscious of a strange air of fatalism. He was here, this was it; what would be, would be. Always the actor, always playing a part. And then it struck him, a sudden thought, and he smiled and murmured to himself.
Hey, in Chechnya they cast you as a paratrooper, Max, no stand-ins. That was a charnel house and you were a hell of a good paratrooper. They gave you a medal, you, Max Zubin, Yiddish boy, actor, pianist, comedian. If you could do that, you can do this.
He began to walk, the briefcase Billy Salter had given him in his hand. He followed the crowd through, and a strange thing started to happen when he entered the terminal. Various officials, scanning the crowd, jumped to attention when they saw him, and started clapping.
Its Belov, someone cried, and as he went forward, people turned and smiled and there was shouting and applause and then, moving into the VIP tunnel, he reached the end and there was his chauffeur, Ivan Kurbsky.
Ive got your suitcase, Max, he said, and led the way.
Max. In one shocking moment, everything was different.
Zubin tried a recovery, putting on his best Belov voice. What on earth are you talking about, Kurbsky?
Oh, come off it, Zubin. Im ex-KGB. General Volkov always felt you needed a proper minder. He appointed me himself.
Mikhail, my mothers driver, does he know, too?
That prick? No way. Youre all mine, Max.
But why are you telling me now?
Because, frankly, seeing you there on television with the President, the Prime Minister, all those toffs, it just doesnt feel right. You getting all that attention and me getting nothing at all. I figured it was time to remind you who you are.
As if I could, Zubin said.
And as soon as youve signed that protocol of theirs tomorrow, you know whats going to happen to you? Its back to Station Gorky for you, thats what you and your mother.
Both of us? Youre sure about that?
I wouldnt bet against me, Zubin. They reached the limousine, he put the suitcase in the boot and opened the rear door. So, in you get, big man. Enjoy your brief moment of fame.
But Volkov had promised him fifteen minutes with his mother, and there was nothing Kurbsky could do about that. When Zubin rang the doorbell, his mother answered quickly. Her face lit up and she pulled him inside. I saw you on television, with the President and the British Prime Minister. What a performance!
She embraced him. He pushed her away gently and said urgently, Shut up, Mama, I only have a few minutes. Ive just discovered that Kurbsky is ex-KGB, working for the government. Ive also discovered that after signing this wretched protocol tomorrow, Im being shunted back to Siberia, and you with me.
She was shocked. Siberia! For Gods sake, no.
How would you like to leave with me tonight and fly to London to a new life?
What are you talking about?
He told her quickly.
So, he said, the RAF plane is booked out at seven-thirty. Ill be back at seven. You must be ready. You can take nothing, only the clothes youre wearing. If you wont do this, then neither will I. Well go to Siberia together.
Like hell we will. She flung her arms around his neck. London. God, it would be the most marvelous thing in the world to spend my final years there and know you were safe.
Ill see you at seven, then. He kissed her and there was a knock on the door. He opened it, found Kurbsky there, turned and kissed her hand. Good night, Mama.
God bless you and good luck tomorrow.
She closed the door and Zubin turned to Kurbsky, who was smiling cynically. Right on time.
Only doing my job. Lets get you to the Excelsior and tuck you in for the night. And dont forget, Ill be in a room down the hall.
At the Excelsior, it was a reprise of the airport. Kurbsky parked in a lay-by at the front and carried Zubins suitcase in. The two doormen applauded; inside the two porters on reception clapped. The duty manager appeared to shake Zubins hand vigorously.
Mr. Belov wonderful, unbelievable. Let me get you your key. May I show you to your suite?
That wont be necessary. Zubin took the key. Kurbsky can see to the suitcase, and he walked to the lift.
As they went up, Kurbsky said, Its all gone to your head, hasnt it?
If you say so.
Theyll knock that out of you when you get back to Siberia. What he didnt add was that after a proper interval, a convenient accident would be arranged for both of them, Max and Mama. Kurbsky opened the door. In you go. You be a good boy.
That wont be necessary. Zubin took the key. Kurbsky can see to the suitcase, and he walked to the lift.