Free The Man from St. Petersburg by Ken Follett

strawberries and then asking cook for more toast.”
    “I’m not a growing boy anymore, Uncle Stephen.”
    I might do well to remember that, Walden thought.
    After breakfast they went into the morning room. “Our new five-year plan for the army and navy is about to be announced,” Aleks said.
    That’s what he does, Walden thought; he tells you something before he asks you for something. He remembered Aleks saying: I’m planning to read Clausewitz this summer, Uncle. By the way, may I bring a guest to Scotland for the shooting?
    “The budget for the next five years is seven and a half billion rubles,” Aleks went on.
    At ten rubles to the pound sterling, Walden calculated, that made £750 million. “It’s a massive program,” he said, “but I wish you had begun it five years ago.”
    “So do I,” said Aleks.
    “The chances are that the program will hardly have started before we’re at war.”
    Aleks shrugged.
    Walden thought: He won’t commit himself to a forecast of how soon Russia might be at war, of course. “The first thing you should do is increase the size of the guns on your dreadnoughts.”
    Aleks shook his head. “Our third dreadnought is about to be launched. The fourth is being built now. Both will have twelve-inch guns.”
    “It’s not enough, Aleks. Churchill has gone over to fifteen-inch guns for ours.”
    “And he’s right. Our commanders know that, but our politicians don’t. You know Russia, Uncle: new ideas are viewed with the utmost distrust. Innovation takes forever.”
    We’re fencing, Walden thought. “What is your priority?”
    “A hundred million rubles will be spent immediately on the Black Sea fleet.”
    “I should have thought the North Sea was more important.” For England, anyway.
    “We have a more Asian viewpoint than you—our bullying neighbor is Turkey, not Germany.”
    “They might be allies.”
    “They might indeed.” Aleks hesitated. “The great weakness of the Russian Navy,” he went on, “is that we have no warm-water port.”
    It sounded like the beginning of a prepared speech. This is it, Walden thought; we’re getting to the heart of the matter now. But he continued to fence. “What about Odessa?”
    “On the Black Sea coast. While the Turks hold Constantinople and Gallipoli, they control the passage between the Black Sea and the Mediterranean; so for strategic purposes the Black Sea might as well be an inland lake.”
    “Which is why the Russian Empire has been trying to push southward for hundreds of years.”
    “Why not? We’re Slavs, and many of the Balkan peoples are Slavs. If they want national freedom, of course we sympathize.”
    “Indeed. Still, if they get it, they will probably let your navy pass freely into the Mediterranean.”
    “Slav control of the Balkans would help us. Russian control would help even more.”
    “No doubt—although it’s not in the cards, as far as I can see.”
    “Would you like to give the matter some thought?”
    Walden opened his mouth to speak, then closed it abruptly. This is it, he thought; this is what they want; this is the price. We can’t give Russia the Balkans, for God’s sake! If the deal depends on that, there will be no deal . . .
    Aleks was saying: “If we are to fight alongside you, we must be strong. The area we are talking about is the area in which we need strengthening, so naturally we look to you for help there.”
    That was putting it as plainly as could be: Give us the Balkans and we’ll fight with you.
    Pulling himself together, Walden frowned as if puzzled and said: “If Britain had control of the Balkans, we could—at least in theory—give the area to you. But we can’t give you what we haven’t got, so I’m not sure how we can strengthen you—as you put it—in that area.”
    Aleks’s reply was so quick that it must have been rehearsed. “But you might acknowledge the Balkans as a Russian sphere of influence.”
    Aah, that’s not so bad, Walden thought. That we