December. James Steel
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Название: December
Автор: James Steel
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Приключения: прочее
isbn: 9780007346318
isbn:
Krymov ignored the servant, thrust his chest out and looked Sergey straight in the eye. A moment of understanding passed between them before Krymov flung open the sauna door and they both strode into its swirling steam.
Krymov’s sweating face leered up close to Sergey’s.
Sergey could see that the pores in the President’s vodka-raddled skin had opened up like moon craters. He was out of breath and his eyes were crinkled up with pleasure.
Sergey was retelling a scene from Peculiarities of the National Hunt—a cult Russian comedy film—in which the pilot of a nuclear bomber is trying to explain to his squadron leader why he has a smuggled cow strapped into the bomb bay of his aircraft.
‘We’ve been infiltrated!’ shouted Sergey with just the right note of defensive indignation in his voice.
Krymov screamed with laughter and fell off the bench that he was sitting on. Sergey lay back on his bench, snorting weakly with laughter. Both were exhausted by their humour-making and silence settled on the banya for a minute.
Eventually Krymov clambered off the floor, poured himself another shot of vodka and stretched his sweaty, white, flabby body out, face down on his front on his bench, with a joyful sigh.
The two lay still for a while before Krymov muttered, his chin tucked down by his shoulder, ‘Come and whip me.’
Sergey heaved himself to his feet, pulled a bunch of birch twigs from a holder on the wall and began expertly to flutter them rapidly over Krymov’s back, starting at his shoulders, drawing the blood to the surface and cooling it at the same time with the airflow. Krymov groaned at the sensation.
‘Shaposhnikov, you are good to me,’ the President muttered, incapacitated with pleasure.
There was a pause as Sergey continued his work; brow furrowed with concentration.
Krymov continued, ‘Everyone needs someone close to them.’
Krymov’s industrially proportioned wife was known as ‘Mrs Stale Bread’. They slept in separate beds and hardly said a word to each other. He didn’t seem to need intimacy and no one expected it from him, so Sergey’s eyes flicked up in surprise from his work when the President returned to the subject in a slurred voice.
‘It does get to me, you know, reviving Russia…there’s so much to do…she needs such a great big kick up the arse…get her going, up there again as a superpower.’
Sergey moved this gentle flagellation down past Krymov’s shoulders, wondering where his train of thought was going. He was so absorbed in the challenge of misleading Krymov that it came as a distasteful shock when he really did open up, as if he was breaking the rules of the game.
‘Hmm, they do say that everyone needs someone to trust…but you see, you have to be careful who you trust.’ Krymov pulled his chin away from his shoulder and rested his head on his hands so he could speak freely. Sergey continued his work.
‘You see, I always think about Ivan the Terrible…’ Sergey knew Krymov admired him, ‘…how he was betrayed by Prince Kurbsky.’
Sergey tensed at the mention of his name. Kurbsky was the most famous traitor in Russian history, who had abandoned the Tsar and run away abroad to join the hated Polish enemies of the Motherland.
‘His most trusted adviser!’ continued Krymov, twisting round and resting on an elbow so he could look Sergey in the eye.
Sergey stopped flapping his twigs and stood looking down on Krymov, who became more animated as the idea gripped him.
‘His closest adviser! A man as close as this!’ He gestured to Sergey standing next to him. ‘A traitor!’ He sat up and swung his legs round onto the floor, staring accusingly at Sergey.
The sudden mood swing caught Sergey off guard. Was Krymov being serious? Was this an elaborate setup?
What he was saying was just too close to reality to be coincidence. Was this why Krymov had hauled him all the way back to Moscow: to spring this trap on him?
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