“So, negative feelings toward America.”
“Extremely negative. Within both the government and the general population. Everyone in Russia feels betrayed by America. The media is full of anti-American propaganda, of course. Day and night, because all media is state-run now.”
“What are they saying?” Hawke asked.
“That the Americans are stupid, greedy, and the cause of more instability around the world than any other nation. That they rubbed Russia’s nose in it at the end of the Cold War, but now Russia is strong and rich once more. And now the revanchists shall have their revenge.”
“Revenge?” Hawke asked. “Revenge for what?”
“For kicking their bloody arses in the Cold War, Alex. And then having the cheek never to let them forget who’s boss,” Stefan said.
“And do we have any idea how they intend to exact that revenge?” Hawke asked.
“No. Exactly what they intend, we’ve no idea. We’re hoping that Red Banner will help us find out.”
“The Pentagon doesn’t see them starting a shooting war,” Brock said. “They’re in no position to do that now. Someday soon, perhaps, but not now.”
“What about the so-called Third Man?” Hawke asked.
“Now you’re getting to it, Alex,” Stefan Halter said. “You’re referring to the three chaps Yeltsin met with at that Belarussian hunting resort. The vodka-fueled meeting where they unilaterally decided to abolish the Soviet Union. There was Kravchuk from the Ukraine and Shushkevich from Belarus. And a third man, as you say, who has never been identified.”
“But who has long been rumored as the power behind the throne,” C said. “A virtual Tsar who rules but is never seen or heard. A man who destroyed the old Soviet Union so that he might one day reign over the New Russia.”
Stefan Halter smiled at the group assembled. “He’s called the Dark Rider by the KGB.”
“Stefan,” C said, “perhaps a brief explanation of the Dark Rider concept would be helpful.”
“Certainly. Historically, two types of leaders rise to the pinnacle of power in Russia. In my country, we call these two types pale riders and dark riders. The pale rider is a benevolent soul, weak-willed, concerned more about the well-being of his countrymen than the welfare of the state. The last Tsar, Nicholas II, who forfeited his entire empire to the Bolsheviks in 1917, is a good example.
“A more recent example would be Yeltsin, a corrupt, good-hearted drunkard. A dark rider always comes on the heels of a pale rider. He is tough and single-minded, interested only in consolidating power and in the security of the state. The power of the state to enforce its will on the people is his raison d’etre. He will sacrifice all, including personal ethics, honesty, and human lives, for the good of the state. Putin was a dark rider. But not quite dark enough for some. That’s why they got rid of him.”
“And Rostov?”
“So, too, is Rostov, a few shades darker. But rumored to drinking heavily lately and getting long in the tooth, I think. The natives are restless, from what I gather.”
“And the Third Man?”
“The darkest of the dark. It would save a great deal of time if I could tell you his identity. Unfortunately, I cannot. It’s the most closely held secret in the Kremlin.”
“Where do we start looking?” Hawke asked. “Russia is a sizable country.”
“My lack of an answer constitutes my single greatest failure as a counterintelligence agent, sir. I have no earthly idea. But I can tell you this. Rostov may be strong and tough, but he comes with strings attached. He is still a puppet. Perhaps one of the
“Maybe the military has gained the upper hand and will attempt to seize power. Maybe there will be some preemptive Russian strike against the West. That revenge motive we discussed is very powerful right now. I simply do not know. But if you can learn the identity of the real power behind the throne, you will gain critical understanding of what is going on within the Kremlin walls. That knowledge is vital to Red Banner’s mission. Key to it, in fact.”
Hawke thought for a moment, then looked directly at Halter.
“Stefan, have you heard of a man named Korsakov? Count Ivan Korsakov?”
“Of course. Korsakov is one of the most interesting figures in modern Russia. Not so much beyond our borders, as he is a very private individual. An absolute genius, from an ancient family rich beyond measure. Beloved across the width and breadth of the country for his philanthropy, his kindnesses to the poor. But you won’t find his name on any schools or hospitals. Always anonymous.”
“What’s his background? Is he political?”
“Not at all. First and foremost, he’s a scientist and inventor. Recently nominated for a Nobel. But he’s a great businessman. A poet, a gifted composer as well. As I said, he’s a descendant of one of Russia’s oldest, most powerful families. The Korsakovs rose to the heights of power around the time of Peter the Great, who in 1722 made them barons and later counts. They conquered Siberia, for one thing, brought it under the control of the Tsars.”
“I see.”
“Why are you so curious about him, if I may ask?”
“His daughter, Anastasia, has recently become a friend of mine. She has invited me to visit their country estate outside St. Petersburg. I was thinking of going for a few days’ visit before my arrival in Moscow. I was wondering if it would be worth the time. Her father will apparently be there.”
“Alex, if you have the opportunity to meet and gain the confidence of Count Korsakov, you will have advanced the cause of Red Banner enormously. No one knows more about what really goes on inside Russia than that man. He is privy to the darkest secrets imaginable. He may even be able to lead you to the Dark Rider.”
C had lit one of his poisonous black cheroots. He inhaled, expelled a cloud of smoke, and said, “Just how close are you and the count’s daughter, Alex?”
“She’s invited me for some Christmas house party, that’s all. They have some kind of winter palace out in the countryside. Why?”
“Just curious. If you have a relationship with her, it could be very helpful to the cause.”
Hawke stared at his superior angrily but said nothing. C hadn’t put him in this position. He’d brought it on himself.
Pippa smiled at Alex. “She’s a painter, isn’t she? Anastasia, I mean.”
“Yes. She is.”
“I’ve seen her work at a small gallery over on Front Street. Male nudes. Some figure studies that looked vaguely familiar, Alex. Quite exciting. There was one large one that I almost thought could have been-”
Hawke’s eyes blazed.
“Pippa, may I speak with you privately for a moment?” Alex said. “Outside?”
“Of course,” she said, following him to the door.
“My apologies, gentlemen,” Hawke said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. “I’ll be back momentarily.”
“Fucking hell, girl,” Hawke said to her when they were safely outside the sound-proofed room and away from the Marine guards. He had to restrain himself from slapping her face.
“What is it, Alex?” she asked, an innocent smile flitting across her face. “Have you fallen in love with this little Russian princess?”
“Damn it, Pippa.”
“Don’t be embarrassed, darling. You know I’d recognize your-I mean, you-anywhere.”
38
