Yes, we need them very much."Arthur's never given any clue who the others are. Nothing," deVille was saying, "only that there are seven of us.""We must be patient," Suslev said, relieved that Arthur was correctly cautious too, for part of the plan was that the seven should never know each other, should never know that Suslev was Sevrin's controller and Arthur's superior. Suslev knew the identities of all the Sevrin moles. With Arthur he had approved all of them over the years, continually testing them all, honing their loyalties, eliminating some, substituting others. You always test, and the moment a spy wavers that's the time to neutralize or eliminate him—before he neutralizes or eliminates you. Even Ginny Fu, he thought, though she's not a spy and knows nothing. You can never be sure of anyone except yourself—that's what our Soviet system teaches. Yes. It's time I took her on the trip I've always promised. A short voyage next week. To Vladivostok. Once she's there she can be cleansed and rehabilitated and made useful, never to return here.He sipped his vodka, rolling the fiery liquid around his tongue. "We'll give Arthur half an hour. Please," he said, motioning to a chair.DeVille moved the newspaper out of the way and sat in the armchair. "Did you read about the bank runs?"Suslev beamed. "Yes, tovarich. Marvelous.""Is it a KGB operation?""Not to my knowledge," Suslev said jovially. "If it is there's promotion for someone." It was a key Leninistic policy to pay particular attention to Western banks that were at the core of Western strength, to infiltrate them to the highest level, to encourage and assist others to foment disaster against Western currencies but at the same time to borrow capital from them to the utter maximum, whatever the interest, the longer the loan the better, making sure that no Soviet ever defaulted on any repayment, whatsoever the cost. "The crash of the Ho-Pak will certainly bring down others. The papers say there might even be a run on the Victoria, eh?"DeVille shivered in spite of himself and Suslev noticed it. His concern deepened. "Merde, but that would wreck Hong Kong," deVille said. "Oh, I know the sooner the better but . . . but being buried so deep, sometimes you forget who you really are.""That's nothing to worry about. It happens to all of us. You're in turmoil because of your daughter. What father wouldn't be? It will pass.""When can we do something? I'm tired, so tired of waiting.""Soon. Listen," Suslev said to encourage him. "In January I was at a top echelon meeting in Moscow. Banking was high on our list. At our last count we're indebted to the capitalists nearly 30 billions in loans—most of that to America."DeVille gasped. "Madonna, I had no idea you'd been so successful."Suslev's smile broadened. "That's just Soviet Russia! Our satellites are in for another 6.3 billions. East Germany's just got another 1.3 billion to purchase capitalist rolling mills, computer technology and a lot of things we need." He laughed, drained his glass and poured another, the liquor oiling his tongue. "I really don't understand them, the capitalists. They delude themselves. We're openly committed to consume them but they give us the means to do it. They're astonishing. If we have time, twenty years—at the most twenty—by that time our debt will be 60, 70 billions and as far as they're concerned we'll still be a triple-A risk, never having defaulted on a payment ever … in war, peace or depression." He let out a sudden burst of laughter. "What was it the Swiss banker said? 'Lend a little and you have a debtor—lend a lot and you have a partner!' 70 billions, Jacques old friend, and we own them. 70 and we can twist their policies to suit ourselves and then at any moment of our own choosing the final ploy: 'So sorry, Mr. Capitalist Zionist Banker, we regret we're broke! Oh very sorry but we can no longer repay the loans, not even the interest on the loans. Very sorry but from this moment all our present currency's valueless. Our new currency's a red ruble, one red ruble's worth a hundred of your capitalist dollars. . . .' "Suslev laughed, feeling very happy. ". . . and however rich the banks are collectively they'll never be able to write off 70 billions. Never. 70 plus by that time with all the Eastern Bloc billions! And if the sudden announcement's timed to one of their inevitable capitalistic recessions as it will be … they'll be up to their Hebrew bankers' noses in their own panic shit, begging us to save their rotten skins." He added contemptuously, "The stupid bastards deserve to lose! Why should we fight them when their own greed and stupidity's destroying them. Eh?" DeVille nodded uneasily. Suslev frightened him. I must be getting old, he thought. In the early days it was so easy to believe in the cause of the masses. The cries of the downtrodden were so loud and clear then. But now? Now they're not so clear. I'm still committed, deeply committed. I regret nothing. France will be better Communist.Will it?I don't know anymore, not for certain, not as I used to. It's a pity for all people that there must be some "ism" or other, he told himself, trying to cover his anguish. Better if there were no "isms," just my beloved Cote d'Azur basking in the sun."I tell you, old friend, Stalin and Beria were geniuses," Suslev was saying. "They're the greatest Russians that have ever been."DeVille just managed to keep the shock off his face. He was remembering the horror of the German occupation, the humbling of France, all the villages and hamlets and vineyards, remembering that Hitler would never have dared attack Poland and start it all without Stalin's nonaggression pact to protect his back. Without Stalin there would have been no war, no holocaust and we would all be better off. "Twenty million Russians? Countless millions of others," he said."A modest cost." Suslev poured again, his zeal and the vodka taking him. "Because of Stalin and Beria we have all Eastern Europe from the Baltic to the Balkans—Estonia, Lithuania, Latvia, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Rumania, Bulgaria, all Poland, Prussia, half of Germany, Outer Mongolia." Suslev belched happily. "North Korea, and footholds everywhere else. Their Operation Lion smashed the British Empire. Because of their support the United Nations was birthed to give us our greatest weapon in our arsenal of many weapons. And then there's Israel." He began to laugh. "My father was one of the controllers of that program."DeVille felt the hackles of his neck rise. "What?""Israel was a Stalin-Beria coup of monumental proportions! Who helped it, overt and covert, come into being? Who gave it immediate recognition? We did, and why?" Suslev belched again, "To cement into the guts of Arabia a perpetual cancer that will suppurate and destroy both sides and, along with them, bring down the industrial might of the West. Jew against Mohammedan against Christian. Those fanatics'll never live at peace with one another even though they could, easily. They will never bury their differences even if it costs them their stupid lives." He laughed and stared at his glass Wearily, swirling the liquid around. DeVille watched him, hating him, wanting to give him the lie back, afraid to, knowing himself totally in Suslev's power. Once, some years ago, he had balked over sending some routine Struan figures to a box number in Berlin. Within a day, a stranger had phoned him at home. Such a call had never happened before. It was friendly. But he knew.DeVille suppressed a shudder and kept his face clear as Suslev glanced up at him."Don't you agree, tovarich?" the KGB man said, beaming. "I swear I'll never understand the capitalists. They make enemies of four hundred million Arabs who have all the world's real oil reserves one day they will need so desperately. And soon we'll have Iran and the Gulf and the Strait of Hormuz. Then we'll have a hand on the West's tap, then they're ours and no need for war—just execution." Suslev drained his vodka and poured another.