Alex couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘When you asked me to stand for Congress after Lawrence’s death,’ he eventually managed, ‘I reluctantly turned the offer down so I could take on the chairmanship of Lowell’s. However, I confess I’ve often wondered if it was the right decision and whether politics was my real calling.’
‘Then perhaps it’s time for you to take on an even bigger challenge.’
‘Sadly not,’ said Alex. ‘Although the bank is finally back on its feet, I now want to take it to the next level and join the major leagues. How much do you expect the Bank of America to contribute to the Democratic cause?’
‘They’ve already given a quarter of a million towards the campaign.’
‘Then I’ll know we’ve arrived when you ask me for the same amount, and more important, when I don’t give it a second thought.’
‘I’d rather have a hundred thousand, and you as the candidate.’
‘I’m flattered, Sheldon, but the answer is still no. However, thank you for asking.’ Alex touched a button under his desk.
‘Pity. You’d have made an outstanding senator.’
‘That’s a great compliment, Sheldon. Perhaps in another life.’ They shook hands as Miss Robbins entered the room to escort Mr Woods to the elevator.
Alex sat back down and thought about how different life might have been if Lawrence hadn’t died – or even if he and his mother had climbed into the other crate. But he soon snapped out of ‘what might have been’ and returned to the real world, putting a tick on the top of the letter from the president of the Harvard Business School.
Miss Robbins had just closed the door behind her when the phone rang. Alex picked it up and immediately recognized the voice on the other end of the line.
‘Hi, Dimitri,’ he said. ‘It’s been too long. How are you?’
‘Well, thank you, Alex,’ said Dimitri. ‘And you?’
‘Never better.’
‘I’m glad to hear that, Alex, but I thought you ought to know that Ivan Donokov has been released from prison and is on his way back to Moscow.’
‘How can that be possible?’ asked Alex, turning ice cold. ‘I thought he was sentenced to ninety-nine years without parole.’
‘The CIA exchanged him for two of our agents who’d been languishing in a Moscow hellhole for over a decade.’
‘Let’s hope they don’t come to regret it. But thank you for letting me know.’
‘I only hope you don’t live to regret it,’ said Dimitri, but not until after he’d put the phone down.
Alex tried to get Donokov out of his mind while he continued signing letters. His thoughts were interrupted when Miss Robbins re-entered the room to pick up the correspondence file. ‘Before I forget, Pamela, there’s a man who’s been sitting in reception for the past three days. Do you have any idea who he is?’
‘A Mr Pushkin. He’s flown over from Leningrad in the hope that you would agree to see him. Claims he was at school with you.’
‘Pushkin,’ he repeated. ‘A great writer, but I don’t recall anyone from my school by that name. But as he’s so determined to see me, perhaps I ought to give him a few minutes.’
‘He says he needs a couple of hours. I tried to explain that you don’t have a couple of hours before Christmas, but it didn’t deter him, which made me wonder if he worked for the KGB.’
‘The KGB don’t sit around cooling their heels in reception for three days, especially when everyone can see them. So let’s see the rabbit before we shoot it. But make sure you rescue me after fifteen minutes – tell him I have another meeting.’
‘Yes, chairman,’ said Miss Robbins, not looking at all convinced.
Alex was still signing letters when there was a gentle knock on the door. Miss Robbins entered the room followed by a man he thought looked familiar, and then he remembered.
‘How nice to see you again, Misha, after all this time,’ said Alex, as Miss Robbins left the room.
‘It’s good to see you too, Alexander. I’m only surprised you remember me.’
‘Captain of the junior chess team. Do you still play?’
‘Occasionally, but I never reached your dizzy heights, so don’t bother to challenge me.’
‘I can’t remember the last time I played,’ admitted Alex, which only brought back memories of Donokov. ‘Before you tell me what brings you to Boston, how is the city of my birth?’
‘Leningrad is always beautiful at this time of year, as you will remember,’ said Pushkin, in Alex’s native tongue. ‘There are even rumours that it won’t be too long before its name will be changed back to Saint Petersburg. Another symbol to perpetuate the myth that the old regime has been replaced.’
Hearing Pushkin speaking Russian made Alex suddenly feel sad, even a little guilty, that he’d lost his accent, and now sounded like any other Boston WASP. He looked at his visitor more closely. Pushkin was around 5 foot 8, with a thick brown moustache that reminded Alex of his father. He wore a heavy tweed suit with wide lapels, which suggested either that he had no interest in fashion, or this was the first time he’d travelled outside of the Soviet Union.
‘My father worked in the docks when your father was chief supervisor,’ said Pushkin. ‘Many of the lads still remember him with respect and affection.’
‘And my Uncle Kolya?’
‘He’s now the docks’ supervisor. He asked to be remembered to you and your mother.’
I owe him my life, Alex was about to say, but stopped himself when he remembered that if Major Polyakov was still alive, that wasn’t a risk worth taking.
‘Please give him my best wishes, and tell him I hope it won’t be too long before we meet again.’
‘I’m hoping it will be sooner than you think,’ said Pushkin. ‘I see him from time to time, usually at the football every other Saturday.’
‘The two of you standing on the terraces cheering on Zenit F.C., no doubt.’
‘There are no terraces nowadays. Everyone has a seat.’
‘Can I assume my old friend Vladimir has found his way into the chairman’s box?’
‘I haven’t seen him for years,’ said Pushkin. ‘When I last heard, he was a KGB colonel stationed somewhere in East Germany.’
‘I can’t imagine that’s part of his long-term plan,’ said Alex. ‘However, I’m sure you didn’t travel all the way to Boston to reminisce. What did you mean when you said you hoped I might see my uncle sooner than I thought?’
‘You will be well aware that the new Soviet regime is very different from the old. The hammer and sickle have been run down the flagpole to be replaced with a dollar sign. The only problem is that after so many centuries of oppression, first by the tsars and then the communists, we Russians have no tradition of free enterprise.’ Alex nodded, but didn’t interrupt. ‘So nothing has really changed on that front. When the government decided to sell off some of the state’s more profitable companies, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that no one was qualified to handle such a dramatic upheaval. And dramatic is what it turned out to be, which I found out when my own company was put up for sale,’ said Pushkin as he handed over his card.
‘The Leningrad Petroleum and Gas Company,’ said Alex.
‘Whoever the new owners of LGP turn out to be, they’re going to become billionaires overnight.’
‘And you’d like to be one of them?’
‘No. Like your father, I believe that wealth should be shared among those who have made the company a success, not just handed to someone who happens to be a friend of a friend of the president.’
‘What’s the asking price?’ asked Alex, trying to find out if the meeting would be lasting more than fifteen minutes.
‘Twenty-five million dollars.’
‘And what was LGP’s turnover last year?’
Pushkin unzipped an old plastic bag, took out some papers and placed them on the desk. ‘Just over four hundred million dollars,’ he said, without needing to refer to them.
‘And the profit?’
‘$38,640,000.’
‘Am I missing something here?’ said Alex. ‘With that profit margin, the company must be worth over four or five hundred million.’