Mikhail."
Razov's smile had all the warmth of an anaconda's. "No, Boris, it is you who is the wise one. My expertise is business and politics, but you have the vision for the great and grand future."
"A vision you will carry out as the lone defender against the corruption and materialism that is a cancer in our once-great country. We must show the world that our cause is right. Nothing must stand in the way of our plan to carve out decay where we find it."
"I want you to see something." Razov said. He punched a button on his desk. "This is my most recent speech before the army."
A picture appeared on the wall screen: Razov speaking in a large hall. The audience was made up of men in the uniforms of the various Russian armed services. Razov stepped onto the stage, and within minutes he had his audience in the palm of his hand. As he spoke, he seemed to grow to ten feet high, drawing on the power of his deep voice, impressive physique and his convictions to exhort the crowd:
"We must honor the warrior creed of our Cossack brothers. Our people threw off the yoke of the Ottoman Empire and defeated Napoleon. The Cossacks took Azov for Peter the Great and have defended the borders of Russia against intruders for centuries. Now, seven million strong, with your help, we will destroy the enemies within, the financiers, the criminals and the politicians who would grind our country to dust beneath their boots."
Before long the crowd was on its feet in a frightening example of mass hysteria. They surged toward the podium with glazed eyes, arms reaching out. They wanted to be part of him. They were chanting, "Razov... Razov... Razov... " He flicked off the television.
"You have learned well, Mikhail," Boris said.
"No, Boris. You have taught me well."
"I merely showed you how to draw upon the passions of our people."
"This is nothing compared to what is to come. But much depends on our Black Sea work. I was talking to the salvage ship when you arrived. There are many difficulties, but they are close to their goal. I told them that their lives depended on success. I will not accept failure."
"Do you wish me to look into the future?"
"Yes, tell me what you see."
Boris bent his head and touched his fingers to his brow. His eyes became glassy. Speaking as if his voice were coming from a cave, he said, "I prophesy that the day will come when you take the reins as the new tsar of Mother Russia. All our enemies will be vanquished. The United States will be the first to feel the sword of righteousness."
"What else do you see?"
His forehead furrowed as if he were in pain, and his voice became hollow. "Cold and blackness. A place of death under the sea." He reached out and grabbed Razov's arm, digging his fingers into the flesh like daggers. "There is light." The thick lips curled into a beatific smile. "Success is within reach." Life returned to the stony eyes. "The ghosts of the dead will soon bestow their blessing on our cause. They plead for you to seek revenge in their name."
Razov had been a successful gangster and was a creature of the city. Once out of his element he was practically helpless. Razov thought back to his first meeting with Boris. He had been wandering, lost and half starved, through the bleak countryside when he came upon a stream of peasants. There were dozens of them, frail and sick, some unable to walk, carried by others. When he asked where they were going, they replied that they were going to the monastery to be cured by the "mad one." Having nothing else to do, he followed. He saw the crippled throwaway their crutches and walk and blind people claim they could see. When he went up to Boris, the monk had gazed at him as if they had known each other forever and said, "I have been expecting you, my son."
Under the gaze of those remarkable eyes, Razov had poured out his story. His shock at his
Razov's smile had all the warmth of an anaconda's. "No, Boris, it is you who is the wise one. My expertise is business and politics, but you have the vision for the great and grand future."
"A vision you will carry out as the lone defender against the corruption and materialism that is a cancer in our once-great country. We must show the world that our cause is right. Nothing must stand in the way of our plan to carve out decay where we find it."
"I want you to see something." Razov said. He punched a button on his desk. "This is my most recent speech before the army."
A picture appeared on the wall screen: Razov speaking in a large hall. The audience was made up of men in the uniforms of the various Russian armed services. Razov stepped onto the stage, and within minutes he had his audience in the palm of his hand. As he spoke, he seemed to grow to ten feet high, drawing on the power of his deep voice, impressive physique and his convictions to exhort the crowd:
"We must honor the warrior creed of our Cossack brothers. Our people threw off the yoke of the Ottoman Empire and defeated Napoleon. The Cossacks took Azov for Peter the Great and have defended the borders of Russia against intruders for centuries. Now, seven million strong, with your help, we will destroy the enemies within, the financiers, the criminals and the politicians who would grind our country to dust beneath their boots."
Before long the crowd was on its feet in a frightening example of mass hysteria. They surged toward the podium with glazed eyes, arms reaching out. They wanted to be part of him. They were chanting, "Razov... Razov... Razov... " He flicked off the television.
"You have learned well, Mikhail," Boris said.
"No, Boris. You have taught me well."
"I merely showed you how to draw upon the passions of our people."
"This is nothing compared to what is to come. But much depends on our Black Sea work. I was talking to the salvage ship when you arrived. There are many difficulties, but they are close to their goal. I told them that their lives depended on success. I will not accept failure."
"Do you wish me to look into the future?"
"Yes, tell me what you see."
Boris bent his head and touched his fingers to his brow. His eyes became glassy. Speaking as if his voice were coming from a cave, he said, "I prophesy that the day will come when you take the reins as the new tsar of Mother Russia. All our enemies will be vanquished. The United States will be the first to feel the sword of righteousness."
"What else do you see?"
His forehead furrowed as if he were in pain, and his voice became hollow. "Cold and blackness. A place of death under the sea." He reached out and grabbed Razov's arm, digging his fingers into the flesh like daggers. "There is light." The thick lips curled into a beatific smile. "Success is within reach." Life returned to the stony eyes. "The ghosts of the dead will soon bestow their blessing on our cause. They plead for you to seek revenge in their name."
Razov had been a successful gangster and was a creature of the city. Once out of his element he was practically helpless. Razov thought back to his first meeting with Boris. He had been wandering, lost and half starved, through the bleak countryside when he came upon a stream of peasants. There were dozens of them, frail and sick, some unable to walk, carried by others. When he asked where they were going, they replied that they were going to the monastery to be cured by the "mad one." Having nothing else to do, he followed. He saw the crippled throwaway their crutches and walk and blind people claim they could see. When he went up to Boris, the monk had gazed at him as if they had known each other forever and said, "I have been expecting you, my son."
Under the gaze of those remarkable eyes, Razov had poured out his story. His shock at his
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