Heads You Win Read online

  “Gudanov was magnificent,” said Sasha.

  “We’ve got a problem with him that I may need to discuss with you, but now is not the time. What I would like to know, Sasha, is have you made a decision yet?”

  “Before I answer that question, Yuri, I’d be fascinated to hear what you think of my chances.”

  “As you well know, minister, I am not allowed to express an opinion. I’m but a humble mouthpiece for the government I serve. But,” said Yuri, switching languages, “if I were a betting man, which of course I’m not, I would place a small wager on you being my boss by this time next year.”

  “Only a small wager?”

  “Ambassadors always have to hedge their bets,” said Yuri, without even the suggestion of a smile.

  Sasha laughed, and wondered how many other politicians he’d delivered those same words to in the past six months.

  “And could I make a small request,” said Yuri. “It would be helpful if I could be briefed before you make any official announcement.”

  “If I do decide to stand, I’ll make sure you see any statement long before I release it to the press.”

  “Thank you,” said Yuri. “There’s one more thing I need to ask you before—”

  “Ambassador, what a fantastic party,” said a man who seemed not to have noticed they were deep in conversation and might not have wanted to be interrupted.

  “Thank you, Piers,” said the ambassador. “It was good of you to come.” The moment had passed, and Sasha slipped away, as the editor of the Daily Mirror wasn’t one of the four people he needed to speak to. He began to make his way slowly toward the exit, stopping to exchange a few words with several other guests, paying particular attention to those who spoke to him in Russian, as his constituency boundaries might be about to change. As he glanced back into the drawing room, he saw the man he had avoided staring at him.

  The clock in the hall chimed once, reminding Sasha he had a vote in the Commons in thirty minutes’ time. Within moments the party would be denuded of politicians of every color as they made their way back to the House for a three-line whip, not that Sasha had any idea which bill they would be voting on.

  As he stepped out of the front entrance of the embassy, his car appeared from nowhere, and Arthur leaped out to open the back door. Sasha was just about to get in, when a voice he recognized called out his name.

  “Sasha!” He turned to see Fiona running down the steps. “Can I cadge a lift?”

  “Of course,” said Sasha, standing aside to allow his old nemesis to join him in the back seat.

  “Good evening, Arthur.”

  “Good evening, Miss Hunter.”

  “I would have liked to stay a bit longer,” Fiona said as the car moved off, “but the chief wouldn’t appreciate it if I missed a three-liner. But more important, Sasha, when are you going to answer the only question that was on everybody’s lips at the party?”

  “And what were they saying about my chances?” asked Sasha, falling back on the old political trick of answering a question with a question, although he knew Fiona wouldn’t be fooled.

  “Everyone who spoke English was in favor of your standing, as were half of the Russians, although one of them,” she said, taking a card out of her bag, “Ivan Donokov, is certainly no friend of yours. He asked me the strangest question: Had you ever lived in America?” Sasha looked puzzled. “I told him not that I was aware of. I then pressed him on what he thought of your chances should you throw your hat in the ring.”

  “And how did he respond?”

  “He acknowledged you were probably the front-runner, but said there was a dark horse coming up on the rails.”

  “Did he name the horse?” asked Sasha, trying not to sound anxious.

  “He thought that an old friend of yours called Vladimir—”

  “He’s no friend of mine,” said Sasha. “In any case, that man’s only interest was becoming head of the FSB, and now he’s achieved that, he won’t be looking further afield, just making sure he clings on to his job.”

  “That wasn’t Donokov’s opinion. In fact he was fairly sure Vladimir was also gazing across Red Square, his eyes now fixed on the Kremlin.”

  “But that’s not realistic.”

  “Why not, if he’s got Yeltsin backing him?”

  “But why would Yeltsin even consider backing such a flawed individual?”

  “It seems Yeltsin’s daughter and son-in-law were about to be arrested and charged with fraud, and Vladimir somehow managed to make the problem disappear. I’m told the video of a call girl caught performing her particular special services on the desk of the prosecutor general’s office is well worth watching.”

  “But that’s no reason to back someone for president who’s totally unsuitable for the job.”

  “How would you feel, Sasha, if you were president and your daughter was likely to end up in prison for several years?”

  “I’d allow the law to take its course.”

  “I do believe you would,” said Fiona, “which only proves how lucky they’d be to get you. But are you also willing to sacrifice the Foreign Office, when you could end up with nothing?”

  “Did Donokov let you know where he stood?” asked Sasha, once again not answering her question.

  “No. But surely if he’s the deputy director of the FSB, he’ll be backing his boss.”

  “It doesn’t always work that way in Russia. So did he offer an opinion on my chances?” repeated Sasha, still gnawing at the same bone.

  “No, but he did say that if you don’t stand, he wasn’t in any doubt who would be the next president.”

  “I can’t think of a better reason to stand,” said Sasha, lowering his guard. He’d never thought for one moment that Vladimir could be a serious candidate, but accepted that if he did stand, it would be a no-holds-barred contest, because wrestling was the one sport Vladimir had excelled in.

  “If you do decide to stand,” said Fiona, interrupting his reverie, “I can only hope you win. You’d be sorely missed in the House, and would have made a damned good Foreign Secretary. But Russia is a far greater challenge. And if you were to become president, relations with the West would improve overnight, which can only be good for everyone concerned, including the Russian people.”

  “That’s kind of you to say so, Fiona. And now that I know who I’m likely to be up against, I could do with one or two of your particular political skills.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Fiona, as the car swept through the members’ entrance and into Old Palace Yard. As Sasha climbed out of the car, the division bell began to ring, so they parted and went their separate ways.

  Ironic, thought Sasha as he entered the “Ayes” lobby, that it wasn’t what he’d gleaned at the embassy party that had helped him to finally make up his mind, but a piece of information picked up in the back of a car from the most unlikely source.

  * * *

  When Sasha told Elena that he would be returning to their homeland to run for president, it was as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said.

  “Of course, Mama, I’d understand if you felt you didn’t want to come with me.”

  “I will be going with you,” she said quietly.

  Sasha was at first surprised, then delighted, and finally sad when she told him the reason for her change of heart. “I’m so sorry,” he said, embracing his mother. “Uncle Kolya was such a fine man, and we both owe him so much.”

  “The family have asked me if you would be kind enough to deliver one of the tributes at his funeral.”

  “Of course I will. Please tell them I’d be honored.”

  “His wife told me Kolya’s last words,” said Elena. “‘Tell Sasha, if he’s the son of his father, he’ll make a great president.’”

  * * *

  Sasha issued a brief press statement to the lobby journalists at ten o’clock the following morning.

  The Rt Hon. Sasha Karpenko resigned this morning as Minister of State at the F