friends want to fuck her. Mostly she doesn’t let them. What more should I want from life?’ he demands in low, swift tones.
‘How’s Ludmilla?’
‘Dead.’
‘I’m sorry. What did she die of?’
‘A military-grade nerve agent called cancer. Four years ago. For two years I mourn her. Then what’s the point?’
None of us ever met Ludmilla. According to Arkady she was a lawyer like Prue, practising in Moscow.
‘And your young Dimitri – he’s Ludmilla’s son?’ I enquire.
‘You like him?’
‘He’s a fine boy. Seems to have a great future.’
‘Nobody has.’
He punches a little fist swiftly across his lips in a gesture that has always signalled tension, then stares sharply over the trees at his villa and its floodlit lawns.
‘Does London know you’re here?’
‘I thought I’d tell London later. Speak to you first.’
‘Are you freelance?’
‘No.’
‘A nationalist?’
‘No.’
‘So what are you?’
‘A patriot, I suppose.’
‘What of? Facebook? Dot-coms? Global warming? Corporations so big they can gobble up your broken little country in one bite? Who’s paying you?’
‘My Office. I hope. When I get back.’
‘What do you want?’
‘A few answers. From old times. If I can get them out of you. Confirmation, if you’re willing.’
‘You never lied to me?’ – like an accusation.
‘Once or twice I did. When I had to.’
‘Are you lying now?’
‘No. And don’t you lie to me, Arkady. The last time you lied to me, you bloody nearly ended my beautiful career.’
‘Tough,’ he remarks, and we share the night view for a while.
‘So tell me this.’ He takes another pull of vodka. ‘What sort of bullshit are you Brits selling us traitors these days? Liberal democracy as the salvation of mankind? Why did I fall for that crap?’
‘Maybe you wanted to.’
‘You walk out of Europe with your British noses stuck in the air. “We’re special. We’re British. We don’t need Europe. We won all our wars alone. No Americans, no Russians, no anyone. We’re supermen.” The great freedom-loving President Donald Trump is going to save your economic arses, I hear. You know what Trump is?’
‘Tell me.’
‘He’s Putin’s shithouse cleaner. He does everything for little Vladi that little Vladi can’t do for himself: pisses on European unity, pisses on human rights, pisses on NATO. Assures us that Crimea and Ukraine belong to the Holy Russian Empire, the Middle East belongs to the Jews and the Saudis, and to hell with the world order. And you Brits, what do you do? You suck his dick and invite him to tea with your Queen. You take our black money and wash it for us. You welcome us if we’re big enough crooks. You sell us half London. You wring your hands when we poison our traitors and you say please, please, dear Russian friends, trade with us. Is this what I risked my life for? I don’t believe so. I believe you Brits sold me a cartload of hypocritical horseshit. So don’t tell me you’ve come here to remind me of my liberal conscience and my Christian values and my love of your great big British Empire. That would be an error. Do you understand me?’
‘Have you finished?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t think you were ever working for my country, Arkady. I think you were working for your own country and it didn’t deliver.’
‘I don’t give a fuck what you think. I asked you what the fuck you want.’
‘What I’ve always wanted. Do you attend reunions of your old comrades? Get-togethers, medal ceremonies? Celebrations of old times? Funerals of the great and good? An honoured veteran like yourself, it’s practically mandatory.’
‘What if I do?’
‘Then I would congratulate you on living out your cover as a body-and-soul Chekist of the old school.’
‘I have no problem with cover. I am a fully established Russian hero. I have no insecurities.’
‘Which is why you live in a Czech fortress and keep a stable of bodyguards.’
‘I have competitors. That is not insecurity. That is normal business practice.’
‘According to our records you attended four veterans’ reunions in the last eighteen months.’
‘So?’
‘Do you ever discuss casework with your old colleagues? Even new cases, for that matter?’
‘If such topics arise, maybe I do. I never raise a topic, never provoke one, as you well know. But if you think you’re going to send me on a fishing expedition to Moscow, you’re out of your fucking mind. Get to the point, please.’
‘Willingly. I came to ask you whether you are still in touch with Valentina, pride of Moscow Centre.’
He is gazing ahead of him, jaw struck imperiously forward. His back is soldier straight.
‘I never heard of this woman.’
‘Well, that’s a surprise