The Blind Spy Read Online Free PDF Page A

and he took care about his appearance and his physical fitness. His eyebrows were artfully shaped to eliminate the wild-growing hairs that age unleashed and the skin of his face had a polished, pampered appearance. General Antonov, on the other hand was ruddy in complexion and had allowed the hairs of his advancing age to grow like weeds in an abandoned courtyard. The one general affected a modern, careful appearance, while the other seemed to seek the virtues of a rugged lack of vanity.
    ‘You’ll be meeting with some colleagues, first,’ Golubev said. ‘The prime minister has been detained.’
    ‘Colleagues?’ Antonov queried. ‘For how long?’
    ‘ Patriotiy ,’ Golubev replied almost mutely, as if embarrassed at the mention of this informal, almost underground group which was definitely not part of his modern Russian vision. ‘We are waiting for the prime minister’s call,’ he added.
    ‘Ah,’ Viktorov said. ‘Our Patriotiy friends. That’s the reason for the map, then.’ He was pleased to be meeting with fellows and, no doubt, old colleagues too from the Patriotiy .
    Golubev didn’t reply. But the generals relaxed into their seats as the nervous ministry man ordered coffee to be brought.
    The Patriotiy were the core, Viktorov ruminated as he waited for the coffee to arrive. They were the promise. They were like a rare seed preserved in one of Russia’s frozen storage units that guarded the planet’s ecological and agricultural future. Like these rare seeds, the Patriotiy were the guardians of Russia’s past and the hope for its future. They were the only ones left with any power who were true to the memory of their own people where Russia’s former might was concerned. And for a moment Viktorov felt a brief affinity for the GRU boss Antonov, a veteran like himself of Afghanistan.
    The Patriotiy consisted mainly of these veterans from the Afghan war which had ended so bitterly for the Soviet Union and damaged its self-image so catastrophically ever since the 1980s. Most importantly in this all-but-secret society of the new Russia, members of the Patriotiy didn’t believe that the loss of empire was anything other than a temporary historical mistake. In any democratic country, they would have been way outside the political process, on some semi-lunatic fringe. In the Russia of the twenty-first century, however, they were at the centre of power, though invisibly so to all but a few. Afghan veterans like himself and Antonov, who had risen in Putin’s Russia through the organs of the security services, the Patriotiy were now in control of several intelligence departments and government ministries and had brought their grudges of lost empire with them.
    Coffee arrived, delivered by an attractive woman in uniform whom Viktorov smiled at with an avuncular look that didn’t – and didn’t intend to – disguise the lust that lurked behind it. And then the room began to fill up with a dozen or more men in their sixties or seventies and a few younger men. Most of them were in uniform; lesser generals, colonels, retired or not retired. Greetings were exchanged, old links renewed. Two more uniformed female assistants had now materialised to help Golubev distribute files to all the men. Viktorov gave his trademark smile to the woman who approached his table. He took a file and slipped a pair of reading glasses over his nose. The title in bold Cyrillic on the cover was: Reappraisal. The Weakness of Ukraine – Political, Economic, Ethnic and Military .
    Viktorov and the others leafed through their files without yet reading them closely. ‘Who wrote this?’ Viktorov snapped at Golubev.
    ‘A think tank at the Ministry of the Interior,’ was the reply. ‘Along with some of your own intelligence staff, General.’
    Behind my back, Viktorov thought. The prime minister’s mind games had begun. But he snorted loudly and confidently, though whether at the words ‘think tank’ or the fact that Interior people