Moments before the conductor was due to arrive in the orchestra pit, a section of the crowd began to applaud. Connor had looked up from his programme to see one or two people pointing towards a box on the second tier. Zerimski had timed his entrance to perfection. He stood at the front of the box, waving and smiling. A little under half the audience rose and cheered loudly, while the rest remained seated, some clapping politely, others continuing their conversations as if he wasn’t there. This seemed to confirm the accuracy of the opinion polls — that Chernopov was now leading his rival by only a few percentage points.
Once the curtain had risen, Connor quickly discovered that Zerimski showed about as much interest in ballet as he did in art. It had been another long day for the candidate, and Connor was not surprised to see him stifling the occasional yawn. His train had left for Yaroslavl early that morning, and he had immediately begun his programme with a visit to a clothes factory on the outskirts of the town. When he left the union officials an hour later, he had grabbed a sandwich before dropping in to a fruit market, then a school, a police station and a hospital, followed by an unscheduled walkabout in the town square. Finally he had been driven back to the station at speed and jumped onto a train that had been held up for him.
The dogma Zerimski proclaimed to anyone who cared to listen hadn’t changed a great deal from the previous day, except that ‘Moscow’ had been replaced with ‘Yaroslavl’. The thugs who surrounded him as he toured the factory looked even more amateurish than those who had been with him when he delivered his speech at the Lenin Memorial Hall. It was clear that the locals were not going to allow any Muscovites onto their territory. Connor concluded that an attempt on Zerimski’s life would have a far better chance of succeeding outside the capital. It would need to be in a city that was large enough to disappear in, and proud enough not to allow the three professionals from Moscow to call the tune.
Zerimski’s visit to the shipyard in Severodvinsk in a few days’ time still looked his best bet.
Even on the train back to Moscow, Zerimski didn’t rest. He called the foreign journalists into his carriage for another press conference. But before anyone could ask a question, he said, ‘Have you seen the latest opinion polls, which show me running well ahead of General Borodin and now trailing Chernopov by only one point?’
‘But you’ve always told us in the past to ignore the polls,’ said one of the journalists bravely. Zerimski scowled.
Connor stood at the back of the melee and continued to study the would-be President. He knew he had to anticipate Zerimski’s every expression, movement and mannerism, as well as be able to deliver his speech verbatim.
When the train pulled into Protsky station four hours later, Connor had a sense that someone on board was watching him, other than Mitchell. After twenty-eight years, he was rarely wrong about these things. He was beginning to wonder if Mitchell wasn’t just a little too obvious, and if there might be someone more professional out there. If there was, what did they want? Earlier in the day, he’d had a feeling that someone or something had flitted across his path that he’d noticed before. He disapproved of paranoia, but like all professionals, he didn’t believe in coincidences.
He left the station and doubled back to his hotel, confident that no one had followed him. But then, they wouldn’t need to if they knew where he was staying. He tried to dismiss these thoughts from his mind as he packed his bag. Tonight he would lose whoever was trailing him — unless, of course, they already knew exactly where he was going. After all, if they knew why he was in Russia, they had only to follow Zerimski’s itinerary. He checked out of the hotel a few minutes later, paying his bill in cash.
He had changed taxis five times before allowing the last one to drop him outside the theatre. He checked his bag in with an old woman seated behind a counter in the basement, and rented a pair of opera glasses. Leaving the bag gave the management confidence that the glasses would be returned.
When the curtain was finally lowered at the end of the performance, Zerimski rose and waved to the audience once again. The response was not quite so enthusiastic as before, but Connor thought he must have left feeling that his visit to the Bolshoi had been worthwhile. As he strode down the steps of the theatre he loudly informed the departing audience how much he had enjoyed the magnificent performance of Ekaterina Maximova. A line of cars awaited him and his entourage, and he slipped into the back of the third. The motorcade and its police escort whisked him off to another train waiting at another station. Connor noted that the number of motorcycle outriders had been increased from two to four.
Other people were obviously beginning to think he might be the next President.
Connor arrived at the station a few minutes after Zerimski. He showed a security guard his press pass before purchasing a ticket for the eleven fifty-nine to St Petersburg.
Once he was inside his sleeping compartment he locked the door, switched on the light over his bunk and began to study the itinerary for Zerimski’s visit to St Petersburg.
In a carriage at the other end of the train, the candidate was also going over the itinerary, with his Chief of Staff
Another first-thing-in-the-morning-to-last-thing-at-night sort of day,’ he was grumbling. And that was before Titov had added a visit to the Hermitage.
‘Why should I bother to go to the Hermitage when I’m only in St Petersburg for a few hours?’
‘Because you went to the Pushkin, and not to go to Russia’s most famous museum would be an insult to the citizens of St Petersburg.’
‘Let’s be thankful that we leave before the curtain goes up at the Kirov.’
Zerimski knew that by far the most important meeting of the day would be with General Borodin and the military high command at Kelskow Barracks. If he could persuade the General to withdraw from the presidential race and back him, then the military — almost two and a half million of them — would surely swing behind him, and the prize would be his. He had planned to offer Borodin the position of Defence Secretary until he discovered that Chernopov had already promised him the same post. He knew that Chernopov had been to see the General the previous Monday, and had left empty-handed. Zerimski took this as a good sign. He intended to offer Borodin something he would find irresistible.
Connor also realised that tomorrow’s meeting with the military leader might decide Zerimski’s fate. He switched off the light above his bunk a few minutes after two a.m., and fell asleep.
Mitchell had turned off his light the moment the train had pulled out of the station, but he didn’t sleep.
Sergei had been unable to hide his excitement at the thought of travelling on the Protsky express. He had followed his partner to their compartment like a contented puppy. When Jackson pulled open the door, Sergei announced, ‘It’s bigger than my flat.’ He leapt onto one of the bunks, kicked off his shoes and pulled the blankets over him without bothering to take off any clothes. ‘Saves washing and changing,’ he explained as Jackson hung his jacket and trousers on the flimsiest wire hanger he’d ever seen.
As the American prepared for bed, Sergei rubbed the steamed-up window with an elbow, making a circle he could peer through. He didn’t say another word until the train began to move slowly out of the station.
Jackson climbed into his bunk and switched his light off.
‘How many kilometres to St Petersburg, Jackson?’
‘Six hundred and thirty.’
‘And how long will it take us to get there?’
‘Eight and a half hours. We’ve got another long day ahead of us, so try to get some sleep.’