You must excuse me, Comrades. Affairs of state got in the way of my hour in the gym this morning, so Ive been making up for it. Good to see you again, Major Ashimov. You must be feeling like a cat at the moment, a tomcat, naturally.
Very much so, Comrade President.
Putin turned to Greta. Major Novikova. He offered his hand. I hear good things about you, even if you are GRU.
It was his little joke, a reference to the intense rivalry between the KGB, to which he had once belonged, and GRU Military Intelligence.
Greta said, It would have been an honor to have served under you.
Yes, well, in Afghanistan, this one did. He tapped Ashimov on the shoulder. And Captain Levin, the boy wonder. He swiveled to look at Volkov. All of us served, in good times and in bad served Russia and each other. I expect nothing less from you in this present matter.
There was a moments silence. Ashimov said, It would be our honor.
Putin nodded, turned to Volkov and handed him an envelope. There is what you asked for. Read it.
Volkov opened the envelope and took out a document, which he unfolded.
Aloud, please.
From the Office of the President of the Russian Federation at the Kremlin. The bearer of this letter acts with my full authority. All personnel, civil or military, will assist in any way demanded. Signed, Vladimir Putin.
It may help, it may not. Its in your hands now. Putin stepped behind the secret door and it swung noiselessly back into place. It was as if he had never been.
Volkov replaced the letter in the envelope and gave it to Ashimov. Such power. You must guard it well. Now, on your way.
He turned, opened the secret door and disappeared as completely as had his master.
So there we are, Ashimov said. What happens now?
Im taking you out, Igor said. Theres a very acceptable nightclub called the Green Parrot. Its owned by the Mafia, but they know me.
There is a purpose to this, I presume?
You want to see Max Zubin perform, dont you?
On the way to the club, it was Greta who said, Were being followed.
Good for you, but its all right. Theyre my people. Theyll arrange Zubins onward transportation to Station Gorky.
I dont understand, Greta said. If Zubin is so important, why is he allowed to have so free a life? To perform in public and so on?
Because of his mother, Ashimov told her. Bella Zubin.
Greta was astounded. The actress?
The great actress, Ashimov said. One of Russias finest. Unfortunately, she dabbled too much in politics and was sent to the Gulag.
I thought she was dead.
No, very much alive at eighty-five and living in a comfortable condominium by the river. Her son would not wish to see her returned to a more uncomfortable situation. Thats why we could trust him not to make a run for it when he was playing Belov in Paris the other year.
Greta shook her head. I remember seeing her play the Queen in Hamlet when I was a little girl. She was wonderful.
Its a hard life, Greta, Ashimov said, but some things are more important.
The Green Parrot was up a side street in an old brownstone house, a neon sign advertising the fact over an arched doorway. Levin parked outside and the doorman stepped out.
You cant park there. Clear off.
The other limousine pulled in behind them and three men in black leather coats got out. The doorman took one look and hurriedly backed off.
Sorry, Comrades. He opened the door behind him, the three men went in first and Levin, Ashimov and Greta followed.
The club was small, curiously old-fashioned, a little like some joint in one of those cinema noir, black-and-white thrillers from the Hollywood of the forties. The headwaiter even wore a white tuxedo as if doing an impersonation of Rick in Casablanca. He turned, saw Levin and his party, and his face fell.
The tables were crowded, but one of Levins men brushed past the headwaiter as he came forward, ignored the bearded man at the microphone who seemed to have the audience in stitches with his humor, and leaned down to a table of five people in the front, three women, two men. Whatever he said was enough. They vacated the table at once and moved away.
The man at the microphone said, I know I can be bad, but this is ridiculous.
Levin called, Max, youre looking good. How about the piano? A Foggy Day in London Town. You know how I love all those old numbers. Lets all cheer for Fred Astaire. The Yanks are our friends now.
He sat down with Ashimov and Greta; the three minders stood against the wall.
Max Zubin shook his head and, waving at the audience, said, The GRU, my friends, what do you expect? My master calls and I obey.
He went to the piano at the back of the stage, a baby grand. A drummer and a double bass player were already there, and Zubin sat down and started a driving, complex version of Foggy Day that wouldnt have been out of place in any great piano bar in London or New York.
Levin called the headwaiter over. Vodka, on the house, and dont forget the boys behind me.
It is my pleasure, Captain.
And a little beluga on toast, the way I like it.
Of course.
There was a roar of applause as Zubin finished and Levin stood up, clapping. Marvelous, he called. More.
Zubin moved into Night and Day and waiters appeared hurriedly with glasses of vodka on a tray, each glass in a larger glass with crushed ice, one waiter handing them out to the security guards, the other to the party at the table, the third distributing the beluga caviar.
As they started on the feast Ashimov said, You live well, my friend.
I could be dead tomorrow, thats what I learned in Afghanistan and Chechnya. He crunched toast and savored the beluga.
Wonderful, isnt it? Greta said, as she followed suit.
It was in the Chechen capital I got a taste for it. We took the Grand Hotel in a firefight a very bloody firefight. Found the beluga in the icebox behind the bar in the main kitchen. A few of us survived that fight. Not many. The Twenty-first Independent Parachute Company, made up of anyone they could reach out and grab. We were wolfing that caviar down when we heard the piano start to play in the anteroom. We went out to see what was going on and there he was, an infantry captain named Max Zubin.
And what was he playing? Greta asked.
As Time Goes By. I swear to God, just like in Casablanca. You know the old movie? Ive seen it in American, and Ive seen it dubbed with Bogart speaking Russian and its just as fantastic. He stood up, applauded and called, Max, lets do the Grand in Chechnya, in memory of the Twenty-first and all those guys we left. Lets do As Time Goes By.
He sat down, snapped his fingers for another vodka and ate some more toast and caviar, somehow managing to hum the tune at the same time.
An enthusiast, Ashimov told Greta.
The crowd seems to like it.
And indeed they did, large sections singing along, some in English, others in Russian. Zubin finished on a high. People cheered, stood up and clapped. He waved to everyone, nodded to the double bass player, who put his instrument down and took over the piano, then came down from the stage, shaking hands on the way, and sat down at the spare seat at the table.
Levin smiled. You havent lost your touch. He handed him a vodka, which Zubin swallowed in one gulp, then reached for another. Why are you being so nice to me, Igor?
Levin said, Lets put it this way. The beard suits you, but its time to take it off again.
Christ, no, Max Zubin groaned. Not that.
Im afraid so. Surely you remember Major Ashimov from Paris? Ill let him explain.
The Zubin apartment was a time capsule from another age. Even the maid was aging and could have been out of a Chekhov play. The interior was more thirties than anything else, with a grand piano covered by photos of the great and the good in silver frames.
Levin, Ashimov and Greta were admitted by the maid, who viewed them all suspiciously.
Is my mother at home, Sonia? Zubin asked.
Where else would she be? She is preparing to go to bed.
Id like a word.
What a ridiculous time to call. Ill tell her youre here.
She went out and he lit a cigarette. You must excuse Sonia. Shes a failed actress who became my mothers dresser.
Greta moved to the piano and examined the photos. Zubin sat at it and started to play Falling in Love Again.
Marlene Dietrichs national anthem, Greta told him.
Youll find her and my mother amongst the photos there.
Marlene Dietrichs national anthem, Greta told him.
Youll find her and my mother amongst the photos there.
Greta was working her way through and picked one up. My God, this is her with Laurence Olivier.
In London, where we did The Three Sisters, a voice interrupted. I made the mistake of coming back.
And there she was in the flesh, wearing a silk robe, her hair tied back, powerful and thrilling in spite of her age.
Ashimov stepped forward. You look like some great warrior queen.
Dont try flattery, Major. I remember you well from that affair in Paris. So, you need my son again?
Im afraid so.
She turned to Greta. And whos this one?
Major Greta Novikova of GRU.
Typecasting, but good bone structure.
Greta couldnt think of a thing to say. Bella did a surprising thing. As Sonia came in with the ritual glasses of vodka on a tray, the old actress patted Igor Levin on the cheek.
He looks in on me from time to time, this one. A nice boy in spite of himself.
Levin took her hand and kissed it. No man could have a greater compliment.
They all took their vodka. So, this is State business?
Direct from Putin himself.
Well, to hell with him and to hell with the lot of you. Where are you taking him?
Station Gorky in Siberia, Levin said.
For a while only. Youll see him again soon, Ashimov said.
And Im supposed to believe that? She turned to Zubin. Youll have to get rid of the beard. A pity. It suits you. She turned to Levin. Can I have him for tonight?
Where would he go? Levin smiled. His escort will be downstairs.
I thought so. All right, the rest of you can get out. Id like some time with my son.
Which they did, there was not much else to say. She turned to Zubin, who was still playing, and raised her glass to Sonia, who came over with the vodka bottle.
If it wasnt for me, you could make a run for it.
Things are as they are, Mama, so running is out of the question.