Kings of Many Castles Read Free

with the president. The navy physician had to be concerned about Ruth Anandale’s recovery not to have done so.
    “He doesn’t want her moved, not even to the embassy. He’s bringing in some sterilisation equipment and more staff, to clean up the room that she’s in. Liaise with him, Wendall. I want the bestequipped air ambulance brought in, ready the moment it’s possible to move her.”
    James Scamell decided it was time to move the discussion on to practicalities. “I’ve spoken with the foreign ministry people who’ve arrived: Boris Petrin himself. It’s touch and go whether Yudkin’s going to make it.”
    Anandale was a consummate politician and it only took him seconds to refocus his mind. He nodded at the most obvious inference from the Secretary of State’s remark. “Goodbye to a second term reelection for Lev Maksimovich.”
    “There’s temporary provision but not a proper successor in waiting,” said Scamell.
    “What about the communist party candidate?”
    “Petr Tikunov,” identified Scamell. “A popular deputy in the Duma. The communists are well organized—better than Yudkin, even—and there’s a huge number of people who’ve come to think that communism wasn’t such a bad way of life after all. At street level everyone had some sort of job and some sort of income.”
    “Where’s that leave us?” demanded Anandale, his reasoning in perfect synch with the circumstances.
    “With a need to readjust,” replied North, eager to get back into the discussion. He was an intense, quickly-blinking man anxious to share the president’s reelection and the rarified atmosphere of being at the epicenter of World events.

    “Easily possible,” picked up Scamell. “No treaty’s been signed; can’t be now. We’ve still got our Star Wars preparations which we’re sure as hell going to need if Yudkin dies and is succeeded by the opposition.”
    “The peacemaker becomes the iron man,” headlined North. He decided to wait until there was a more positive prognosis about Ruth Anandale’s recovery before hinting at the huge sympathy vote that could be manipulated.
    There was another silence.
    Anandale said, “We know who the son of a bitch is who did it?”
    “The two bombs were Chechen,” reminded North, uncomfortably.
    “That’s your job, Wendall. I’ve got a personal interest in knowing everything about whoever organized it and why. I don’t give a damn about Russian jurisdiction or hurt feelings. And I want to know how people who were supposed to be protecting me—and my wife-let a guy with a godamned gun within kewpie doll shooting range of us.”
    “Yes, sir,” said North.
    “My wife might die,” said the president, in near conversation with himself. “Someone’s going to pay for that, pay for it personally. You hear me, Wendall?”
    “Yes, Mr. President, I hear you.”
     
    In Washington CIA Director Jack Grech personally took the call from FBI Director Paul Smith.
    Grech said, “We got a lot of problems here.”
    “You going over to head things up personally?” asked Smith.
    “I need to speak to people first,” evaded Grech. All the Secret Service precautions were based upon Agency—and Russian—advice, leaving the Agency in the clear.
    Paul Smith decided an FBI director could do himself a lot of political good riding in with the cavalry, particularly when the gunman was already in custody. Smith said, “I think I’ll start making plans.”
    “I guess I should, too,” said Grech.

3
    Charlie Muffin’s office in the new British embassy on Protocnyj Pereulok was in complete contrast to the cobwebbed broom cupboard he’d been dismissively allocated in the old legation on Morisa Toreza, actually with an unobstructed view over the Smolenskaya embankment to the Moskva river and with a separate annex for direct, security-cleared telephone, e-mail and fascimile links to his London riverside headquarters at Millbank. He even had his own coffee percolator. Peter