The visitor took a seat without being asked and lit up a cigarette—a known irritant to his former boss.
The GRU chief looked up. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Malenkov’s response was to take a long draw and exhale the smoke upward.
“You do enjoy taunting me, Andrei.”
“A trait we share.”
“You no longer head the SSD, my friend. You may still have the protections of the president, but such allegiances can be fleeting.”
“As they are for us all,” Malenkov replied with a stony glare. “Tell me what you want.”
The GRU chief leaned back in his chair. Malenkov enjoyed toying with him, but he did have to be careful. The sheer size of the GRU was suffocating, it’s power undeniable. Even in Vasin’s fumbling hands.
Vasin said, “When I saw that you were in town, I thought I should call you in to get a few answers.”
Two points for the home side, Malenkov thought.I know where you are, and I can control you on this turf.“Answers about what?”
“There has been an air crash in Turkey, outside Bodrum. It wasan official aircraft of the American government, carrying their secretary of commerce. All passengers and crew were lost.”
“What a tragedy.”
“Is it?” The head of Russian military intelligence reached into a drawer and produced a ceramic ashtray. He slid it across the broad oak desk. Malenkov frowned, took one last puff, then snuffed out the cigarette.
“It occurred to me,” Vasin began, “that not long ago you were in charge of our new SSD. During that time, when bad things happened in the West, you were generally responsible. But then the president ordered your removal from that position, for reasons I never understood. And just like that…” He made an exploding gesture with the tips of his fingers. “You disappeared.”
“Retirement is glorious. You should try it, Gennady.”
A dismissive shake of the head. “Is that what you call it—retirement? I hear whispers that you have been working very hard. Sources tell me that you continue to conjure discord for private parties.”
“Get your hearing checked—your sources are shit. Are you accusing me of causing this airliner to crash?”
“I am asking…no, the president of Russia is asking…didyou have a hand in it?”
“Absolutely not. If Yermilov wishes, I will tell him as much to his face. This was not my doing. Perhaps you should have a word with the man who took my place at SSD. He seems to be bungling up the department. Those two idiots who were filmed setting fire to the Lithuanian parliament building? It was inexcusable.”
“Popov,” the chief spat. “He was not my choice.”
“And he surely wasn’t mine. Would you like me to take care of him?”
Vasin’s gaze narrowed suddenly. His tension eased when he noted the smirk on his guest’s lips, although not completely. The question of whether it was black humor, or possibly something more, hung like a poised scimitar.
Malenkov said at a near whisper, “That is the problem for men like us, is it not? We enjoy playing God…until someone else takes the job.”
Vasin did a commendable job of showing no reaction. “There is another matter,” he said a bit too lightly. “Gunther Klaus.”
Malenkov grinned. “Your moneyman?”
“And formerly yours. Or perhaps you still have dealings with him.”
“If I did, would I tell you?”
Vasin frowned. “In recent years Klaus has taken up residence in Morocco. Given his level of involvement in our activities, we keep a close eye on him.”
“As you should. Is he still acting as the GRU’s banker?”
Vasin didn’t reply.
