‘Gregor,’ he said when they were alone, ‘of course you know that nothing of any real importance – I mean nothing – is ever entirely secret from me? “Unknown” or “as yet unlearned” are not the same as secret. And sooner or later I learn everything. You do know that?’
‘Ah, omniscience!’ Borowitz grinned his wolfs grin. ‘A heavy load for any one man’s shoulders to bear, Comrade. I sympathise with you.’
Yuri Andropov smiled thinly, his eyes deceptively misty and vacant behind the lenses of his spectacles. But he made no effort to veil the threat in his voice when he said: ‘Gregor, we all have our futures to consider. You of all people should bear that in mind. You are not a young man. If your pet branch goes down, what then? Are you ready for an early retirement, the loss of all your little privileges?’
‘Oddly enough,’ Borowitz answered, ‘there is that in the nature of my work which has assured my future – my foreseeable future, anyway. Oh, and incidentally – yours too.’
Andropov’s eyebrows went up. ‘Oh?’ Again his thin smile. ‘And what have your astrologers read in my stars, Gregor?’
Well, he knows that much at least! thought Borowitz; but it wasn’t really surprising. Any secret police chief worth his salt could get hold of that much. And so there seemed little point in denying it. ‘Elevation to the Politburo in two years,’ he said, without changing his expression by so much as a wrinkle. ‘And possibly, in eight or nine more, the Party Leadership.’
‘Really?’ Andropov’s smile was half-curious, half-sardonic.
‘Yes, really.’ Still Borowitz’s expression had not changed. ‘And I tell you it without fear that you in turn will report it to Leonid.’
‘Do you indeed?’ answered that most dangerous of men. ‘And is there any special reason why I will not tell him?’
‘Oh, yes. I suppose you could call it the Herod Principle. Of course, being good Party Members we don’t read the so-called “Holy Book”, but because I know you for a most intelligent man I also know that you will understand what I mean. Herod, as you will know, became a mass murderer rather than suffer the threat of a usurper on his throne – even a baby infant. You are by no means innocent as a baby, Yuri. And at the same time, of course, Leonid is no petty Herod. Still, I don’t believe you’ll tell him what I predict for you . . .’
After a moment’s thought Andropov shrugged. ‘Perhaps I won’t,’ he said, no longer smiling.
‘On the other hand,’ said Borowitz over his shoulder as he turned and left the room, ‘perhaps I would – except for one thing.’
‘One thing? What thing is that?’
‘Why, that we all have our futures to consider, of course! And also because I consider myself wiser far than those three foolish “wise” men . . .’
And grimacing savagely to himself as he stamped down the corridor toward the stairs, suddenly Borowitz’s wolfs grin returned as he recalled something else his seers had told him about Yuri Andropov: that shortly after attaining premiership he would sicken and die. Yes, within two or three years at most. Borowitz could only hope it would be so … or perhaps he could do better than just hope.
Perhaps he should make preparations of his own, starting right now. Perhaps he should speak to a certain chemist friend in Bulgaria. A slow poison . . . undetectable . . . painless . . . bringing on a swift deterioration of vital organs . . .
Certainly it was worth thinking about.
On the following Wednesday evening Boris Dragosani drove his spartan little Russian puddle-jumper the twenty-odd miles out of the city to Gregor Borowitz’s spacious but rustic dacha in Zhukovka. As well as being pleasantly situated on a pine-covered hillock overlooking the sluggish Moscow River, the place was also ‘safe’ from prying eyes and ears – especially the electric sort. Borowitz would have nothing made of metal in the place – with the exception of his metal-detector. Ostensibly he used this to seek out old coins along the river-bank, especially near the ancient fording places, but in fact it was for his own security and peace of mind. He knew the location of every nail in every log in his dacha. The only bugs that could get anywhere near the place were the sort that crawled in the rich soil in Borowitz’s overgrown garden.