‘So who is “we” — exactly?’ Kate asked.
‘We anarchists. We are a collection of individuals who oppose institutions that enforce order by infringing upon liberty. We are anti-technologists, laissez-fairists, syndicalists, individualists, pacifists, vanguardists. We are punk rockers, squatters, far left Libertarians, atheists, radical ecologists, tax resisters, draft resisters, resisters of every sort. We are united not by what we are for, but by what we are against, which is any form of coerced social organization.’
‘But what about criminals?’ Kate asked. ‘It’s those same “social organizations” that get murderers off the streets so they don’t kill again.’
‘Which, do you suppose, would kill more people — murderers running rampant on anarchistic streets, or national armies fighting territorial wars across continents?’
‘So you are out to destroy every nation on earth?’
‘We must’ Kartsev replied. ‘If any archist institutions survive at all they will sprout order, and hierarchy, and power-mongering. Society will organize around them like crystals form in a liquid solution.’
‘But what about peoples’ rights? Don’t people have the right to choose their form of government?’
‘“Rights” are an archist concept. Rights are only important when you are confronted with superior power. Rights are what is left to the people after the government has taken what it wants. Your country’s Bill of Rights, for example, defines your cherished freedoms by limiting the legal power of government to encroach upon them. But all those rights may still be overridden by the government in certain circumstances, and guess who it is that retains the power to interpret when? The state. What we Anarchists say is there is no need for rights when there is no state to encroach upon your freedom.’
Kate opened her mouth for another question, but Kartsev said, ‘Oh! We’re here.’ The car slowed and turned through a gate. Two guards in long black overcoats stood at the gate with assault rifles dangling from slings over their shoulders. The private drive then wound through a park-like forest.
‘Where are we?’ Kate asked. Her voice quivered slightly.
‘My dacha.’
Kate had last been to a dacha one month before to do a story about how ordinary Russians spent their leisure time. The one she’d been shown was an unimpressive little cottage crammed together with other similar shanties on a poorly maintained dirt road. Kartsev’s enormous manor came slowly into view. They pulled up to the front steps. More guards with assault rifles descended the steps from the house.
The car stopped, and they got out. Instead of heading toward the ‘dacha’, Kartsev led her along a path of neatly brushed mulch into the thin woods that surrounded the mansion. Kartsev seemed content to stroll without talking. Kate spent her time watching for dangers and trying to conclude why it was everything would turn out all right.
It was an overcast day — slightly cool, slightly humid. The sound of their footsteps crunching in unison and those of the two guards who followed was the only sound Kate heard. The path ended at the edge of the Russian forest. The slender white birch trees were widely spaced. The ground was nearly clear of brush. It was a young forest, she thought. The trees were not very tall. Kartsev looked out of place in his expensive dark suit. He walked with his hands clasped behind him. Kate’s eyes were level with his, which meant he wasn’t much over five foot four.
‘So, what do you think of my country home?’ Kartsev asked.
Kate shrugged. ‘Seems a bit remote. Lonely.’
‘Oh, but we’re not alone.’ Kartsev stopped. He held his arms out to the empty woods around them. ‘We are surrounded, you see, by the social scientists from Russia’s past. Fellow Russians,’ he said as he looked around at the thin trees and bare forest floor, ‘who launched their own grand experiments in the past. Like their work, the project in which I am engaged will be a great service to mankind. It will expand our knowledge base, and all knowledge is, of course, good. I intend to keep accurate records — journals — for posterity as well as for my own analysis, unlike the less scientific of my predecessors.’
Again he looked around as if he were speaking of people whom he thought were present. Kate felt nervousness fray the calm she’d managed to attain. A sudden sense of uncertainty on finding herself in the presence of madness. ‘Mr Kartsev,’ she said calmly, quietly, ‘there’s nobody else here.’
‘But that’s where you’re wrong, Miss Dunn. You are very wrong indeed. You see, when I looked for a place to build my dacha this site seemed perfect. A great tract of completely unspoiled government land.’ He looked around the beautiful woods with a smile of satisfaction. ‘They had been trying to privatize the parcel for some time, but had gotten no takers. There were rumors of environmental problems — of chemical or radiological wastes which are commonplace concerns in Russia these days. One local rumor even had it that there had been a chemical weapons plant located behind the barbed wire fences. But I had an advantage, you see. I was with the KGB… or I had been in my earlier days. You never really quite leave, you understand. So, I knew the true story behind this parcel, and the more I thought about it, the more the idea of building here appealed to me. The more appropriate it seemed, in feet.’
‘Well… what was here?’ Kate asked The serene woods betrayed no signs of the secrets they held.
‘This was the main Moscow burial ground first of the NKVD, and then of its successor — my own KGB. You are standing, right now, atop the final resting place of almost a million of my fellow countrymen. They were brought here by the truckload for decade upon decade. Here lie the great experimenters of the past. My brethren in the quest for social knowledge and advancement.’ He beamed from ear to ear.
Kate halted and turned to face him. ‘What do you want with me?’
‘I want you to spread the word.’
‘What word?’
‘Anarchy.’ His lips still retained their curl from his earlier smile, but his eyes — magnified slightly by thick lenses — seemed devoid of humor. ‘You in the Western media are my trigger. I want you to spread the word of our grand experiment. My country is filled with the failed structures of seventy years of Communism. They are holding it back. We have maintained a social safety net and haven’t allowed Russia to fall hard enough or far enough to break those institutions and organizations into pieces so that new ones can sprout up from their rubble. “Destruction is the mother of creation.” ’
‘So that’s what you propose to do? Let everything fell apart so new “structures” can replace them?’
‘No. I don’t plan to let them fall at all. I plan to quite actively tear those structures apart. In a few months’ time, Russia will be a country with nothing left but people. No government to speak of. No large employers. No political parties. No religions or organizations or associations of any kind.’
Kate stared at him in disbelief, then laughed nervously. ‘You’re kidding, right? I mean that’s just… rhetoric.’ The mild-mannered Kartsev smiled. ‘Do you realize what that would mean?’ she asked.
He spread his hands and shrugged. ‘Anarchy.’
‘And… death. Disruption. Homelessness. Disease. Ruin! People will starve to death!’
‘Oh, it will be much worse than you can even imagine. Packs of people, roaming the streets for something to eat. Anything. Anybody. Funeral pyres will light the night, Miss Dunn.’