The two organizations he named were the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service and the Federal Security Service, successors to the First and Second Chief Directorates of the old KGB.
“Neither, sir. I’m from America.”
General Petrovsky showed no fear. He just stared at his visitor hard, looking for a trace of threat, for his family was next door and the man could be a paid assassin. But he could work out that the impostor carried no bomb or gun.
Monk began to talk, explaining how the black-covered file in his case had come to the embassy, then London, then Washington. How it had been read by less than a hundred people in two governments. He made no mention of the Council of Lincoln; if General Petrovsky wished to believe Monk represented the U.S. government, it would do no harm.
“What’s your real name?”
“Jason Monk.”
“You’re really American?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, your Russian’s damn good. So, what’s in this Black Manifesto?”
“Among other things, Igor Komarov’s death sentence on you and most of your men.”
In the silence Monk heard the words in Russian “That’s my boy” coming through the wall. Tom and Jerry on the television. Tatiana squealed with laughter. Petrovsky held out his hand.
“Show,” he said.
He spent thirty minutes reading the forty pages, divided into twenty subject headings. Then he tossed it back.
“Bullshit.”
“Why?”
“He couldn’t get away with it.”
“He has so far. A private army of Black Guards, all superbly equipped and paid for. A bigger but less well trained corps of Young Combatants. And enough money to drown in. The Dolgoruki godfathers struck their deal with him two years ago. A war chest of a quarter of a billion U.S. dollars to buy supreme power in this land.”
“You have no proof.”
“That manifesto is proof. The reference to rewarding the fund providers. The Dolgoruki will want their pound of flesh. All the turf of all their rivals. After the extermination of the Chechen and the banishment of the Armenians, Georgians, and Ukrainians, that won’t be a problem. But they’ll want more. Revenge against those who have pers
ecuted them. Starting with the Collegium of the anti-gang units.
“They’ll need fodder for their new slave camps, to mine the gold, salt, and lead. Who better than the young men you command, the SOBR and the OMON? Of course, you won’t live to see that.”
“He may not win.”
“True, General, he may not. His star is falling. General Nikolayev denounced him a few days ago.”
“I saw that. Damn surprising, I thought. Anything to do with you?”
“Maybe.”
“Smart.”
“Now the commercial TV stations have stopped broadcasting him. His magazines have ceased production. The latest opinion polls put him at sixty percent, against seventy last month.”
“So, his ratings are falling, Mr. Monk. He may not win.”
“But if he does?”
“I can’t go against the entire presidential election. I may be a general, but I’m still just a policeman. You should go to the acting president.”