Free The Senility of Vladimir P by Michael Honig Page B

bones of which he was so vain. He was loyal, or always had been, and had served in a series of roles for which Vladimir required someone safe, solid and unimaginative. But when people started saying things so stupid to prove their loyalty, it was time to be careful of them.
    â€˜What about Gena Sverkov?’ suggested Narzayev.
    â€˜Lightweight,’ muttered Vladimir dismissively, amidst chuckles from his cronies, Narzayev included. Vladimir considered that all his prime ministers, including those with whom he had alternated the presidency, were lightweights – which was the reason he had chosen them.
    â€˜Seriously, though, Vova, Sverkov’s someone we can control. That way we can preserve your legacy.’
    Vladimir knew what Narzayev meant by that – their interests. And it was no small thing. If the wrong person got his hands on the Kremlin after he was gone, there was no telling what might happen. It wasn’t just a matter of losing influence or money. In Russia, anyone could end up in jail, no matter how high they had flown, once the political wind changed. Vladimir knew that better than anyone. The most important thing was to make sure that whoever came after you wouldn’t allow any investigations to be made, as he had guaranteed to Boris Nikolayevich and his family when he had taken the throne. The difficulty in ensuring this was one of the reasons Vladimir had never dared to retire, not after the third presidency, nor even after the fourth, when he had certainly considered it.
    â€˜Fedorov?’ said Serensky.
    Vladimir snorted. ‘Too liberal.’
    â€˜Repov?’
    â€˜He hasn’t been the same since the plane crash.’
    â€˜Well, if we can’t find someone, the risk is it’ll be Lebedev.’
    Vladimir was silent.
    â€˜He’s so corrupt himself he couldn’t come after any of us,’ said Serensky. ‘At least that’s one thing. Every pie there is, he’s had his finger in it.’
    â€˜Lebedev has rotten values,’ said Vladimir. ‘He turns the order of things on its head. Lebedev’s only after money and power, and the greatness and stability of Russia is merely a means to that end. In that situation, chaos follows. Why is there no chaos now? Because I’m dedicated to the greatness and stability of Russia, and money and power – if there is any – follow from that.’
    There was quiet for a moment, then Luschkin burst out laughing. Vladimir silenced him with a glance.
    Yet Vladimir had a haunting, taunting feeling that it would be Lebedev who would succeed him, this man who, alone amongst all the others, he had somehow failed to cut off at the knees, that somehow it was inevitable, just as it had been inevitable in the last days of the Soviet era that Boris Nikolayevich would somehow rise up and overthrow Mikhail Sergeyevich once Mikhail Sergeyevich had turned him out of his government. That was why Vladimir kept bringing Lebedev into the Kremlin, loathe him though he did. But that wasn’t a solution. Deep in his gut, Vladimir had a horrible ­premonition that somehow Lebedev would find a way up after he had gone. Maybe not at once. Maybe Vladimir would be able to determine who succeeded him at first, but after that, he knew, his grip on the Kremlin would loosen. At the first election, Lebedev probably wouldn’t even run. Another few years of putting more money away, buying more supporters, strutting the stage as Uncle Kostya, everyone’s favourite relative . . . and then he would strike.
    â€˜I should write a testament,’ said Vladimir grimly. ‘Like Lenin. “Anyone but Lebedev.”’
    â€˜Didn’t do much to keep Stalin out,’ observed Narzayev.
    Vladimir looked around disconsolately. ‘Lebedev will drag Russia into the mud. After me we need . . .’
    The four men watched him, wondering what he was going to say. But he had no words for it. After him, he wanted