Pipeline (12 page)

Viktor Zhironovsky, one of the richest and most powerful political men in Russia, sat comfortably on one of the couches. A lit cigar was resting in the ashtray as the chairman of Volga Gaz nonchalantly swept through the day’s
Izvestia,
one of Russia’s most respected newspapers. A few years ago, the newspaper had been the first acquisition in Volga Gaz’s burgeoning media empire.

“Am I late?” Piotr Rudzhin immediately blurted out, concerned to see the chairman so clearly comfortable. He must have been here for at least a half hour, Rudzhin thought. He glanced at his watch.

“Calm down, Piotr. I’m early. I try to be here before all my lunches. It’s one of the few places where I can find both a little beauty and a little quiet. And you know what? There is another benefit. This room has no cellular reception. If they want me, they have to drag themselves over here!”

Rudzhin was not entirely sure who “they” were. But, obviously,
whoever had a claim on the chairman’s time was in danger of being put on the list of “them.” Not a good list to be on.

Rudzhin went over and leaned down to greet the seated man with a kiss on both cheeks. Chairman Viktor Zhironovsky didn’t have to get up. Notwithstanding Rudzhin’s political successes, the gestures of respect would flow only one way in this meeting. Zhironovsky was the elder.

And infinitely more powerful.

Viktor Zhironovsky changed the subject. Though the informal tone of his voice remained the same, it was clear that he was all business now. “Tell me a little about life at the Ministry of Interior. What is the gossip these days?”

Zhironovsky poured a small amount of vodka for his guest and handed the tiny glass over to Rudzhin with a smile.

“Mr. Chairman, what could I possibly tell you that you do not know? You are being humble,” teased Piotr, raising his glass to the chairman’s health. He understood that this was Zhironovsky’s way of testing him. His value as one of Zhironovsky’s political under-studies would increase if he was able to deliver some nuggets of information that the chairman did not have.

“No, Rudzhin, you would be surprised,” Chairman Viktor Zhironovsky intoned modestly. “My life is becoming hostage to natural gas—price, extraction, transportation, delivery, export, distribution. All the time. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Of course, it’s all important. But this wonderful underground gas of ours is an all-consuming affair. It would be nice to hear a little about other things.”

Rudzhin smiled. He marveled at the chairman. Even when the two were alone, Zhironovsky could not stop working the network. He did a lot more than natural gas—Viktor Zhironovsky was building a company whose control and influence was extending beyond energy and into the media and politics.

Zhironovsky was the closest advisor to Russia’s popular president Oskar Tuzhbin. There had long been rumors that Zhironovsky
would be Russia’s new President when Tuzhbin ended his second term in two years. In a particularly Russian twist on democratic government, the new buzz around town was that President Tuzhbin and Viktor Zhironovsky would swap jobs.

The younger Rudzhin admired the fact that Zhironovsky never took any information for granted. Like a shark in search of food, he was perpetually on the move.

“Let’s see, Mr. Chairman. I can think of three things of interest from this morning. First, I got a good preview of the new crime statistics that will come out next Monday. Not a good thing, sir. The Militsiya report a nineteen percent increase in aggravated assault, a fourteen percent increase in robbery, a twenty-one percent increase in street muggings, and even a seven percent increase in murder. Our economy grows. The country is clearly more prosperous. But crime is going the wrong way.”

“Christ,” said Zhironovsky, shaking his head. “You see, I did not know that. The president thinks he can get away with blaming crime on Chechen mafias and gangs. But this won’t fly. For God’s sake, we are going to have to find a way to strangle the street crimes. People need to feel safe in the street. Thanks for telling me. I’ll talk to the president.

“Okay, so what is the other stuff?” Zhironovsky insisted. He was impressed and wanted more. Clearly, Piotr was getting early warning access to important information.

“The lottery for the European Cup was held five minutes before I left the office. Dynamo Moscow plays Manchester United in Manchester for its first game.” Rudzhin’s wry smile showed that he was pleased with himself. He knew the chairman was a wild soccer fanatic and, given what had just been said about cell phone access in the restaurant, chances were good that Zhironovsky wouldn’t yet have this information.

“Shit!” Zhironovsky reached for the newspaper, folded it into a tube, and whipped the leather couch. “How do we always get this bad luck? Can you explain to me how we get Manchester United
as our first pick? Why can’t we get Belgrade Sporting or Bucharest Steaua as our first game? You want to know what the problem is with being Russian? It’s bad luck. The Italians, or Spaniards, or Germans don’t have bad luck. Only we do. Bad luck and cold winters.

“Shit!” Zhironovsky spat out again. “There are two pieces of bad news, Rudzhin. You are making an old man lose his appetite before we sit down for lunch.”

Viktor Zhironovsky looked at Rudzhin with newfound admiration. What was the third piece of news his young friend would have?

“Well, the last bit will make you smile.” Rudzhin looked him straight in the eye. “I just finished a phone call with my old friend Uggin.”

Rudzhin took in a breath to allow for a dramatic pause.

“Yes, Mr. Chairman, Uggin has succeeded in getting the Bolivians to sign a gas deal with Chile. Bolivia is on the cusp of being able to get its gas out to the Pacific. Meanwhile, in Peru, the legal process for Humboldt’s formal approval began right on time, three days ago. This means that the president submitted the bill to Senator Luis Matta and the Congress now has thirty days to approve the contract. We expect no delays. And, as Schutz said, we are well positioned to win.”

Viktor Zhironovksy’s mouth curled into a huge smile. This was indeed a third piece of information that made him very, very happy.

“Good news, Rudzhin. Very good!” Zhironovsky’s brow then furrowed in momentary concern.

“Is there…do you think…that anybody suspects that Anfang…”

Rudzhin cut him off, waving his hand in the air.

“Absolutely not. There were no questions. No requests for clarification. Not even a hint. Our links to Anfang Energie are completely confidential. And our negotiations with the Bolivians are done.”

He looked at the chairman with a smirk.

“We have successfully provoked a race between Peru and Bolivia. We’ll see which country gets their gas to market first. When Anfang wins the Peru contract, it won’t matter to us which country wins or loses. In either case, Volga Gaz wins because we will effectively own the production from both of Latin America’s most important gas producers.”

Zhironovsky lifted his vodka glass in Rudzhin’s direction. He swilled down the clear liquid. “To you, my dear Piotr.”

Rudzhin smiled broadly at the gesture. Compliments were rare from this man.

“Mr. Chairman, I wish to tell you that I am very pleased with Uggin’s work.”

“Agreed. He has shown his loyalty. He did well on the Ukrainian shutdown. And he is now doing a good job. But, Piotr, reassure me. You know how much our effort in Latin America means to me. Are you sure he’s trustworthy? He married a foreigner, you know.”

Rudzhin looked Viktor Zhironovsky straight in the eyes. “He is my oldest friend. I trust him completely. Full stop.”

But Rudzhin knew this probably wasn’t enough for the chairman of Volga Gaz. He would have preferred not to tell him, but it was important that Zhironovsky understood that he too was a thorough man.

“And…I plan to take out some insurance.”

Nothing more needed to be said. Zhironovsky’s eyes spoke the deep admiration for his younger colleague. The chairman was a believer in covering all the bases. Rudzhin had just done that.

“Good, then on Friday we’ll stick to our plan of taking him out for his congratulatory lunch.” Zhironovsky leaned forward as his eyes retracted in concentration.

“Now let me tell you about something else. Sit back, because you won’t believe it.”

Zhironovsky poured more vodka before continuing.

“The day before yesterday, I was asked to attend a meeting with the American governor of Alaska. Governor Whitley is a nice man,
elegant, late fifties, educated at Berkeley, and of the same political party as President Eugene Laurence. But there is also something unusual about the governor.

“You see, the governor likes Russia,” Zhironovsky continued. “He always has. He is one of the few Americans who believe that a strategic alliance with Russia would be good for the United States.”

The chairman could see that his young friend was intrigued.

“Governor Whitley reports that the bedlam and chaos of the energy blackouts two months ago in California have made a profound impression on the White House. He says that President Laurence sees himself as the man history has destined to resolve America’s long-term energy problem.”

Piotr Rudzhin interrupted, his voice laden with concern. “So the American president is going to promote a major program of renewable energy, right? This is what I feared would happen after California. The more the Americans realize their dependence on outsiders for energy, the greater their political clamor for conservation and renewable resources.”

Zhironovsky raised his hand outward, imitating a policeman’s signal to stop traffic. The older man was smiling.

“Actually, my young friend, you are dead wrong. And this is what is so interesting. According to the good governor of Alaska, it seems that America’s politicians are drawing very different conclusions. Because of its worldwide abundance and its clean burn, the lesson they seem to be learning from their California crisis is that natural gas must replace oil as the key energy currency of the future.”

“There cannot be better news,” Rudzhin said, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Yes, there can,” Zhironovsky answered fast, revealing just the slightest irritation that the cadence of his good story was interrupted. “And I’m about to give it to you.

“You see, given their realization of natural gas’s growing importance, it seems that Governor Whitley’s long interest in a Bering Strait crossing—first a pipeline and then rail transportation—is
suddenly being taken very seriously in Washington. Remember, dear boy, the influential female head of the CIA is from Alaska too.”

Rudzhin was stunned.

“Mr. Chairman, how real can this be? It seems outlandish.”

“According to Governor Whitley, they are dead serious. Why shouldn’t they be? They need gas and we have more of it than anybody else in the world.”

“The notion seems almost unreal—” Zhironovsky did not let Piotr finish his thought.

“Look, we build pipelines across frozen Siberia. The Brits and the French build a tunnel in the English Channel. Technology has made the issue of length irrelevant in discussions about bridges and tunnels. The engineering here is easy; it’s the politics that are complicated.”

“How will this affect our Latin American project?” Rudzhin interrupted again, nearly breathless. The whole thing was too much for him to digest in one fell swoop. He was thinking out loud, not the right thing to do with Viktor Zhironovsky. Piotr Rudzhin should have known better than to continue.

“Do you think we should slow down in Latin America?” Rudzhin asked anxiously. “If a Bering Strait crossing is truly a possibility, we may need to reconsider our intentions in Peru. We have always known that, if Anfang’s connection to Volga Gaz gets out, the political aftershocks would wipe away any possibility of advancing our work in Latin America. It was a risk we were willing to take from the beginning. But do we now want to expand that risk to this new project? Do you think that we may be overreaching, sir?”

Viktor Zhironovsky’s eyes turned suddenly cold. His green irises were like light beams locking in on Rudzhin.

Rudzhin immediately regretted the tone of his question. He knew the instant it came out that he had crossed a line.

Zhironovsky looked sharply at his younger colleague. Never allowing his eyes to move from Rudzhin’s, the plump, white-haired chairman uncrossed his legs and slowly got up from the sofa. He
began pacing the length of the room, engrossed in thought. But his eyes never loosed their grip on Piotr Rudzhin.

Circling behind Rudzhin’s sofa, the old man lined himself up behind the young deputy minister of the interior. He stopped, and silence enveloped the room. Piotr Rudzhin felt an iron grip press in on the right side of his neck, just at the edge of the clavicle. Finally the chairman spoke. The tone was somewhere in the decibel range of a low-pitched growl.

“Piotr, I will consider that question not to have been asked. Don’t let our closeness fool you into thinking that you are intimate with me. I like you. I have helped you. I will continue to help you. But you are not my advisor. You are not my confidant. You are not my friend. You will learn from me. But do not ever doubt me. If you doubt me in private, I can only conclude that you could also doubt me in public. And that is not possible. Do you understand that, Piotr?”

Rudzhin felt an iron thumb digging under his neckline.

“Yes, Mr. Chairman. I understand you very clearly.”

“Rudzhin, understand that we Russians live under constant threat. We had an empire—first czarist, then Soviet—which we proceeded to lose. Not once, but twice. Under our belly, we have Islamist countries that used to be part of our national territory. Today, they pray five times a day for our destruction. To our east, we have a billion and a half Chinese. To our west and south, we have the Baltic countries, Georgia, Ukraine, Bulgaria, and Romania. All of them formerly under our control. All are flirting with the United States and Europe today because they want investments, money, and membership in the European Union.”

Zhironovsky had more.

“But, most of all, Rudzhin, the United States is masterminding the expansion of NATO right up to our borders. They are sticking their missiles into our asshole. They expanded their NATO military alliance to Bulgaria, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Romania, Slovakia, and Slovenia. Now they talk of Ukraine and Georgia joining the alliance.