maneuvers through the nets. After all, Volescu might think he was brilliant, but he was no Bean.
7
AN OFFER
From: PeterWiggin%[email protected]
To: Vlad%[email protected]
Re: my brother’s friends
I’d like to have a chance to talk with you. Face to face. For my brother’s sake. On neutral territory.
Peter arrived in St. Petersburg ostensibly to be an observer and consultant at the Warsaw Pact trade talks that were part of Russia’s ongoing effort to set up an economic union to rival the western European one. And he did attend several meetings and kept his suite humming with conversations. Of course, his agenda was quite different from the official one, and he made good headway with—as expected—representatives from some of the smaller or less prosperous countries. Latvia. Estonia. Slovakia. Bulgaria. Bosnia. Albania. Croatia. Georgia. Every piece in the puzzle counted.
Not every piece was a country. Sometimes it was an individual.
That’s why Peter found himself walking in a park—not one of the magnificent parks in the heart of St. Petersburg, but a smallish park in Kohtla-Järve, a town in northeastern Estonia with delusions of city-hood. Peter wasn’t sure why Vlad had chosen a town that involved crossing borders—nothing could have made their encounter more obvious. And being in Estonia meant there’d be two intelligence services watching them, Estonia’s and Russia’s. Russia hadn’t forgotten history: They still watched over Estonia using their domestic spy service rather than the foreign one.
This park was, perhaps, the reason. There was a lake—no, a pond, a skating pond in winter, Peter was sure, since it was almost perfectly round and over-equipped with benches. Now, in the summer, it was undoubtedly advertised with a “suck blood and lay eggs all in one place” campaign among the mosquitos, which had shown up in profusion.
“Close your eyes,” said Vlad.
Peter expected some kind of spy ritual and, sighing, complied. His sigh left his mouth open, however, just enough to get a good taste of the insect repellant that Vlad sprayed in his face.
“Hands,” said Vlad. “Tastes bad but doesn’t kill. Hands.”
Peter held out his hands. They were sprayed, too.
“Don’t want you to lose more than a pint during our conversation. Horrible place. Nobody comes here in summer. So it isn’t prewired. Lots of clear meadows. We can see if anybody’s watching us.”
“Are you that closely watched?”
“Russian government not as understanding as Hegemon. Suriyawong stays in your confidence because you believe he always opposed Achilles. But me? Not trusted. So if you think I have influence, very wrong thinking, my friend.”
“Not why I’m here.”
“Yes, I know, you’re here for the trade talks.” Vlad grinned.
“Not much point to trade talks when smuggling and bribery make any kind of customs collection a joke anyway,” said Peter.
“I’m glad you understand our way of doing things,” said Vlad. “Trust no one that you haven’t bribed within the last half hour.”
“Don’t tell me you really have that thick a Russian accent, by the way,” said Peter. “You grew up on Battle School. You should speak Common like a native.”
“I do,” said Vlad—still in a thick Russian accent. “Except when my future depends on giving people no reason to remember how different I am. Accents are hard to learn and hard to hold on to. So I will maintain it now. I am not by nature a good actor.”
“May I call you Vlad?”
“May I call you Peter?”
“Yes.”
“Then yes also. Lowly strategic planner cannot be more formal than Hegemon of whole world.”
“You know just how much of the world I’m Hegemon over,” said Peter. “And as I said, that’s not why I’m here. Or not directly.”
“What then? You want to hire me? Not possible. They may not trust me here, but they certainly don’t want me going anywhere else. I’m a hero of the Russian people.”
“Vlad,
7
AN OFFER
From: PeterWiggin%[email protected]
To: Vlad%[email protected]
Re: my brother’s friends
I’d like to have a chance to talk with you. Face to face. For my brother’s sake. On neutral territory.
Peter arrived in St. Petersburg ostensibly to be an observer and consultant at the Warsaw Pact trade talks that were part of Russia’s ongoing effort to set up an economic union to rival the western European one. And he did attend several meetings and kept his suite humming with conversations. Of course, his agenda was quite different from the official one, and he made good headway with—as expected—representatives from some of the smaller or less prosperous countries. Latvia. Estonia. Slovakia. Bulgaria. Bosnia. Albania. Croatia. Georgia. Every piece in the puzzle counted.
Not every piece was a country. Sometimes it was an individual.
That’s why Peter found himself walking in a park—not one of the magnificent parks in the heart of St. Petersburg, but a smallish park in Kohtla-Järve, a town in northeastern Estonia with delusions of city-hood. Peter wasn’t sure why Vlad had chosen a town that involved crossing borders—nothing could have made their encounter more obvious. And being in Estonia meant there’d be two intelligence services watching them, Estonia’s and Russia’s. Russia hadn’t forgotten history: They still watched over Estonia using their domestic spy service rather than the foreign one.
This park was, perhaps, the reason. There was a lake—no, a pond, a skating pond in winter, Peter was sure, since it was almost perfectly round and over-equipped with benches. Now, in the summer, it was undoubtedly advertised with a “suck blood and lay eggs all in one place” campaign among the mosquitos, which had shown up in profusion.
“Close your eyes,” said Vlad.
Peter expected some kind of spy ritual and, sighing, complied. His sigh left his mouth open, however, just enough to get a good taste of the insect repellant that Vlad sprayed in his face.
“Hands,” said Vlad. “Tastes bad but doesn’t kill. Hands.”
Peter held out his hands. They were sprayed, too.
“Don’t want you to lose more than a pint during our conversation. Horrible place. Nobody comes here in summer. So it isn’t prewired. Lots of clear meadows. We can see if anybody’s watching us.”
“Are you that closely watched?”
“Russian government not as understanding as Hegemon. Suriyawong stays in your confidence because you believe he always opposed Achilles. But me? Not trusted. So if you think I have influence, very wrong thinking, my friend.”
“Not why I’m here.”
“Yes, I know, you’re here for the trade talks.” Vlad grinned.
“Not much point to trade talks when smuggling and bribery make any kind of customs collection a joke anyway,” said Peter.
“I’m glad you understand our way of doing things,” said Vlad. “Trust no one that you haven’t bribed within the last half hour.”
“Don’t tell me you really have that thick a Russian accent, by the way,” said Peter. “You grew up on Battle School. You should speak Common like a native.”
“I do,” said Vlad—still in a thick Russian accent. “Except when my future depends on giving people no reason to remember how different I am. Accents are hard to learn and hard to hold on to. So I will maintain it now. I am not by nature a good actor.”
“May I call you Vlad?”
“May I call you Peter?”
“Yes.”
“Then yes also. Lowly strategic planner cannot be more formal than Hegemon of whole world.”
“You know just how much of the world I’m Hegemon over,” said Peter. “And as I said, that’s not why I’m here. Or not directly.”
“What then? You want to hire me? Not possible. They may not trust me here, but they certainly don’t want me going anywhere else. I’m a hero of the Russian people.”
“Vlad,
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