Consequences Unforeseen

Moscow 12th June 1991 - Reflections - Playing tourist

Moscow 12th June 1991 - Reflections - Playing tourist

 

It took his eyes several moments to adjust to light outside of the Presidential limo. Darkened one way glass all but forced the use of internal lighting inside the vehicle and the sudden brightness of the Moscow noon assaulted him.

He chided himself but was too slow, beaten to it by his Uncle John's voice in his head shouting. “For fuck’s sake ye arse. Ye’ve turned into an amateur wi’ all the vodka and chit chat of the last twenty four hours. Ye shoulda’ been ready for the light; its no’ as if it was a surprise now was it?”

Bill Douglas laughed at himself and his struggle to get his vision back under control and satisfied himself by shutting his Uncle’s intrusion back down where it belonged – in his subconscious. He blinked and shielded his eyes against the glare of the reflected light bouncing off the paving of the road and walls of the surrounding Kremlin buildings.

It was just approaching one o’clock and he expected to see and feel the sun high in the sky and at least be able to blame that for his temporary blindness. Not so lucky though because the sky was in reality a thinly veiled gray in color with strong sunlight filtered through high moisture laden clouds. These being the source of the God awful glare.

There was no welcome or sultry surprise waiting for him either. He felt sure that Aleksandra had no way of knowing exactly when he would be arriving back in town and Fraser despite the urgency of the meeting he had called, would have no intention of leaving the comfort of his Rublyovka home to come meet him. Venturing so close to the Kremlin with so many soldiers on alert and on display was also a deterrent.

“Fuck them both,” he thought to himself. “Let’s take the scenic route and think on all the shit that poured from Gorbachev’s mouth over the journey.” He felt that he needed a breathing space for just his own thoughts to process the shock he felt over the sheer stupidity of Joe Minor, his ‘new’ bosses’ boss in telling the Russian of an intended attempt on his life.

The scenic route it became and so, a half hour later, no particular feelings of urgency entered his head as he wandered aimlessly into the crowds and ventured on into Tverskaya Street and towards the so called new City Hall.

The street market was in full swing with the clamor and bustle of the procedings overseen by buildings so beautiful and ornate they belied and belittled the wretched makeshift stalls of the street sellers.

Reality was that the two century old buildings had witnessed these scenes before and with only the generations changing. Certainly successions of Russian political factions had added to the substance of the structures but the corrupt doings within their walls had the potential to bring the world crashing down around them. Popov and his City Councilors sat inside at that very moment plotting their actions to come if and when Yelstin won today’s elections.

This place was devoid of tourists and no one bothered him as he meandered through the stolid and grey crowds of those not yet designated as beggars. The distinction only existing in the minds of the stall owners who considered themselves steps above those with no recycled underwear or shoes to sell.

He took the mile long walk with an occasional glance at the meager wares on display. Here and there the transactions were fierce and loud with bartering over empty jars. bottles of colored preservatives, or self brewed vodka. All normal and unimpressive.

He knew that none of the people here cared a shit about Gorbachev and what was going down today in their city. They were only focused on making a transaction that might keep them from the cold for one more night. Such poverty on open display so close to the seat of power was not lost on Bill Douglas.