'Gentlemen, we are discussing here a matter of approach. And we should perhaps decide among ourselves what it is we want. And the short answer is plainly revenge, and then money. The taxes on Siberian export oil levied by Moscow are very high, and we do not get even a reasonable share of it.
'It would obviously suit us much better if the oil corporations — your good selves, that is — paid a higher tariff to Siberia, and made Central Government pay a higher price for domestic oil, and then share some of their huge export tax revenues with the country of origin. That's us.'
'Of course, we are not really a country,' said Boris thoughtfully. 'We are, and always have been, a part of Russia.'
'A situation that could probably be changed,' said Sergei. 'Let's face it, Siberia really is a separate country. The Urals form a great natural barrier between us and European Russia. We're talking a twelve-hundred-mile range of mountains stretching north-south all the way from the Arctic Circle to Kazakhstan. That's a barrier, a true break point. Enough to discourage anyone from using force against us.'
'True enough,' said Jaan. 'And the Russian government knows it has no possibility of suppressing us by force. Even the mighty army of Germany never penetrated the Urals. We're safe from invasion, and the Chinese love us, so we don't have that much to fear. If we demand financial justice, Moscow essentially will have to give it to us.'
Sergei, who, with Masorin gone, was probably the most militant of them, suddenly said flatly, 'We could just round up the other two Siberian Federations and inform Moscow that we do plan to secede from the Russian Republic. Just like the smaller countries did from the Soviet Union.
'We ought not to do this in any spirit of malevolence, and we should inform them we would like to continue with trade agreements, much like the status quo. But in the absence of cooperation from Moscow, and in light of their compliance in the murder of the leader of the Ural Federal District, we intend from now on to call the shots financially on our own oil, and increase our trade with China.'
'To which they will say, No, out of the question,' said Roman, mildly.
'Then we issue our first veiled threat that there may be some interruption in production,' replied Sergei.
The room fell silent. The snow squalls lashed against the double-glazed windows, and the wind howled.
'You hear that weather out there?' said Sergei. 'That is our greatest strength. Because you have to be Siberian to work out here, to cope with the terrible conditions. I know we ship in labor for the rigs from Belarus and other cold climates. But the bedrock of our workforce is Siberian. Without native labor the entire oil industry would collapse. No one else is tough enough to stand it.'
'Gentlemen, how serious are you about a declaration of independence?' Roman was pensive.
'Not very, I don't think,' said Boris. 'But I think we all believe the threat would send a lightning bolt through the Russian government. And that would quickly bring an agreement that the Siberian Federations deserve more from the treasure that lies under their own lands. It's really the only compensation the people have.'
'I believe the intention of opening up increased trade with China would really frighten them,' said Jaan. 'We already have shortages and bottlenecks on the pipelines. If Moscow thought we intended to ship more and more oil down the new pipeline to China, I think they'd be very nervous. Especially if we were getting a much better price for it.'
'And of course we ought not to forget the new tanker terminal in Murmansk,' added Boris. 'Right now we're shipping one point five million barrels of Siberian crude a day to the United States directly from the Barents Sea to the U.S. East Coast. Moscow would hate to jeopardize that, and Murmansk is a real outpost, way down at the end of a very long pipeline. Everyone knows they're what the Americans call ‘low man on the totem pole.'
'Any shortages up there would infuriate them. But they already know the danger. And they know the sympathies of the big oil corporations are very much in favor of the Siberians. Especially as so many of us
Outside, the ice storm continued to blow out of the north. Sergei stood up and placed another couple of logs on the fire, saying quietly as he did so, 'Moscow is fifteen hundred miles from us — and if we decide to increase our production to China, there's nothing they can do about it. Except negotiate, on our terms. And the murder of Mikhallo has not helped their cause, both in this room and out there among the people.'
'Gentlemen, I think this calls for a summit meeting, in the next ten days. Is that likely to be possible?' Roman was getting down to brass tacks.
'Yes. I think we could manage that,' replied Sergei. 'Say four or five top oil executives, ourselves and perhaps three more, plus four or five major Siberian politicians, Roman and the other two Federation leaders, plus two Energy Ministers from the Ural Federation and maybe Mikhail from the Far East.'
'Place?' said Roman.
'Well, it can't be out here,' stated Boris. 'We'll be lucky to keep this little gathering under wraps, even if we get out the moment the weather slows down. I'd suggest Yekaterinburg, because it's bigger, more anonymous, and we can arrive from several different directions. It doesn't matter if any one of us is recognized, so long as no one knows we're meeting together.'
'It's important we show Moscow a united front that truly represents the will not only of the Siberian oil industry, but that of the people,' said Roman. 'They can't assassinate us all, can they?'
'I suppose not,' muttered Sergei.
Lenny Suchov was on the secure line from CIA headquarters early. Lt. Commander Ramshawe took the call.
'Guess you heard the verdict, Jimmy. It's in all the papers this morning.'
'Sure did. Murder by persons unknown.'
'Well, I called you for two reasons. First of all we got a picture of the guy who probably shot the curare into Mikhallo's neck. Only from the back. But he's a big guy, and he's leaning over talking. We've checked every inch of the surveillance film. No one else got that close all evening, at least not while Masorin was dining.
'The FBI are making formal inquiries at the Russian embassy, showing them our film, but the guy is back in Russia. And word is the White House does not want this to go much further. We got major oil trade agreements with Moscow, and the new export route from Murmansk is working well and profitably for everyone.
'Guess the President doesn't want to piss 'em off any more than we already have.'
'That'd be right,' said Jimmy. 'Anyway, in the end, it's nothing to do with us really. It's a Russian murder and a Russian matter…what else?'
'One of our guys in the Siberian oil fields thinks something is brewing up there, politically.'
'Yeah?'
'Apparently, earlier today—'
'You can't get much bloody earlier…'
Lenny chuckled. 'They are nine hours in front…'
'Oh, yeah, that's different. Carry on.'
Lenny laughed out loud. 'Pay attention, young Ramshawe,' he said. 'Otherwise I have you assassinated…as I was saying, one of our guys was out at the little airport in Noyabrsk when a private jet landed, bearing none other than Boris Rekuts. That's the new political chief who's replaced Masorin as boss of the Urals Federal District.
'Anyway, our man tracked him into the town and saw him go into the SIBNEFT offices, where he stayed for three hours. Our guy sat in his car, just up the street, in a snowstorm, and saw Jaan Valuev leave the same building — he's the billionaire who runs OJSC, one of the biggest oil companies in Russia. Our man did not see anyone else leave, and he waited until dark at four p.m. But Valuev was picked up by an articulated truck, right across the street.'
'Is all that significant?' asked Jimmy.
'Well, they were in these small SIBNEFT site offices. You know that's the enormous Siberian Oil Company. We got the biggest man in the business, Jaan Valuev, sneaking in and out of articulated trucks, and the political boss of Western Siberia showing up for just three or four hours. Sounds like a serious powwow to me.'
'You think it has something to do with Masorin?'
'I've no doubt they mentioned it. But the Siberian oil establishment is restless at the moment. They're sick of Moscow, dying to trade more with China, and when two or three very big cheeses start meeting in secret, in the wilds of the western Siberian plains, it's good to know.'
