On impulse, Holger went back into the living room and picked up the receiver of his landline. He hesitated then dialled the country code +7 and area code 812. The area code for St Petersburg had changed recently, but he knew the long number by heart.
‘Hi, Tatjana,’ he blurted in fluent Russian when the connection finally went through.
Holger knew her from his time in FE, and they had kept in touch ever since. She still gave him regular updates, notably on the new nationalistic and underground criminal movements that had sprung up like mushrooms across Russia. From an early age, Tatjana had immersed herself in the grassroots youth movements that had formed as a response to all those many young men killed in Afghanistan. Tatjana had devoted all of her youthful energy to the groups, driven by the grief and frustrations that filled the mothers of lost soldiers whom she encountered. The movements had spread across the Soviet Union like wildfire and became the kernel of the democracy movement. Their criticism of Soviet society made them, by default, naive about Western alternatives. Many a member was eager to get contacts in the West; for the intelligence services of the West, the collection of information in Russia was a baptism of fire. Tatjana, too, had longed for friendships in the West and had become one of Holger’s best sources of information 106in Russia. Over time their frequent contact evolved into a personal friendship too. Unprofessional, yes, but he had found she was the one person with whom he could discuss anything. After the divorce from Susanne, he had occasionally even hoped that she might become more than just a friend. She was a stunning woman – he could still see her beautiful Slavic features and slender body in his mind’s eye, and she had appeared more than once in his dreams.
‘Holger, moy milyy. It’s been a while; are you coming to see me soon?’
Holger felt a tug in his stomach as she used the passionate Russian words for ‘my dear’. Tatjana’s flirting made him happy, as always, and she made no bones about how pleased she was to hear from him. Holger knew their relationship could only ever be platonic and continued without answering her question:
‘Have you heard anything from Mother Russia, recently? Your friends in the Documentation Centre seem to be the only ones who know what’s going on. I’m giving a talk on the new political climate in Russia this evening, so any news would be welcome.’
‘We know them very well indeed. They are some of the nastiest guys we have over here. Their archenemies are all that is considered “anti-Russian”. Be it Jews, NATO’s enlargement into old Soviet states, Muslims, you name it. Everything and everybody are seen as a hindrance to their goal of rebuilding the Soviet empire as a powerful superpower.’
‘Go on,’ Holger said, pleased to exercise his language skills.
‘The key figures are Afghanistan veterans with a political demagogue called Andrej Nitchenko as leader. These days he styles himself as an expert in military strategy and human rights, although 107his tour of duty in Afghanistan was never burdened by his respect for the law of armed conflict. Lately, his political rallies have been full of fire and brimstone; promises of aggressive action against those exercises Poland, Denmark and Germany are conducting in a NATO framework.’
‘Multi-National Corps North-East,’ Holger said under his breath.
‘Exactly,’ answered Tatjana and carried on eagerly: ‘You have no idea what wounded pride can do to us Russians. Afghanistan was one thing. That collapse was bad enough. But the collapse of the entire Soviet empire provided a breeding ground for demagogues who saw enemies everywhere. Threats simmering on our old borders, threats stemming from our weak leaders, and threats to the very fabric of society safeguarded by the Russian Orthodox Church. It’s really dangerous. It could spur some of the more nationalistic elements to take up arms. Zhirinovsky is a boy scout compared to Andrej Nitchenko. And if only it was just about politics. He’s also involved in the black-market ecosystem – everything from drugs to weapons, pornography and human trafficking. According to press reports, his war chest is growing alarmingly. Andrej Nitchenko certainly has the will, and soon the finances, to pursue the ideas bouncing around in his echo chamber. As a matter of fact, I’m working on a report to the Documentation Centre about his party. I’ll finish it once I get head above water at uni.’
Holger glanced at his watch.
‘I would love to read it. Email it to me once it’s done. Let’s talk tomorrow if there’s anything else; I’m late already. Speak soon.’