Blood Stones by Evelyn Anthony Page B

deal with people in a bureaucracy like the one that was strangling Russia. It had been hard enough in the days of Gorbachov; now conditions were chaotic in the new Russia under Yeltsin. They already had their guaranteed outlet into Europe and the Middle East through Ivan Karakov.
    Why the hell should they listen to him? He made an effort, telling himself that just because he was upset about losing so much hair, he mustn’t anticipate failure. Failure carried its own aura. He had to walk into the Ambassador’s office, and impress him with his confidence and self-belief. He had the power and influence of Diamond Enterprises behind him. In the early years, he had seen them topple governments … He twitched at his tie, jammed a brown trilby on his head, and set off for the Embassy.
    â€˜As you can appreciate, Mr Andrews, the situation here is so volatile, it’s extremely difficult to get anyone to make a decision about anything.’ The Ambassador was a distinguished career diplomat, a lifelong Russophile who was liked and trusted by the new men in power and many of the old ones trying to wrest it back.
    â€˜I think’, he said slowly, ‘your best bet is to see D. V. Borisov. He’s not the nominal head of the Ministry, but he has the final yea or nay about what happens in that department. He’s been up to Archangel to see the mines recently.’
    â€˜Borisov …’ Andrews frowned. ‘That name rings bells …’ The Ambassador looked at him with respect. He wasn’t just a businessman with a lot of international muscle. He had wider knowledge.
    â€˜It should do,’ he said. ‘Igor Borisov was head of the KGB under Brezhnev. This is the son. He’s a scientist and an engineer. He’s said to be a liberal in spite of the family background. Shall I put in an unofficial word for you? I’ve met him several times. He’s a remarkable man.’
    Andrews said, ‘I’d be most grateful, Sir Peter. I haven’t got an easy job ahead of me.’
    The Ambassador smiled. ‘Well, you’d be the judge of that. But one thing I can tell you: nothing is for ever in Russia at the moment. Anything can change, with or without reason from our point of view. Yeltsin or Rostopchine. Personally I put my money on the President. They don’t come any tougher or more cunning. Perhaps I should have said clever.’
    Andrews knew the interview was at an end. ‘One last thing,’ he said. ‘Whose man is D. V. Borisov?’
    The Ambassador got up. Andrews did the same. ‘No-one knows,’ he answered. ‘That’s what makes him so interesting. If you find out, please let me know.’
    They shook hands. ‘Goodbye, Sir Peter, and thank you. I know my Chairman will be very grateful for your help.’
    â€˜I only hope it can produce a meeting for you. We’ll do our best. Good luck, and don’t hesitate to call on us if you feel we can do anything more. We’ll be in touch.’
    Andrews waited for two days. He bought some presents for Susan and the child still at home; he wrote to their son in Canada, and sent postcards to the university student who he knew wouldn’t have bothered to read a letter, but would love the view of Lenin’s tomb. He was going through the Socialist Worker phase. And, late in the morning of the third fruitless day, when he was starting to despair and wondering whether to chase up the Embassy, he got an invitation to visit D. V. Borisov at the Nuclear Energy Ministry Mining Division on Upinsky Street. He had been given exactly twenty minutes’ notice.

5
    Paris was hot and empty in August. Elizabeth flew into Charles de Gaulle, and the estate agent met her with a car. He was a tall man, hair slightly greying, and he had a most attractive smile. ‘Madame Hastings? I am Jean Pierre Lasalle. How was your flight?’
    â€˜Perfect,’ Elizabeth said. ‘It took longer to go