The President turned to the Interior Minister, a man born in a remote village in the heart of Russia, near the River Volga, who, despite his rural origins, had made his career as a Moscow policeman. After rising through the ranks of the Criminal Investigation Department, he had eventually became Moscow’s Chief of Police through peasant cunning and driving ambition, before being appointed Interior Minister. On his way he had uncovered, and now held close to his chest, the secrets of the most powerful, including the President. Behind the gray, close-cropped hair and the broad peasant face, the Interior Minister maintained a tight grip on the levers of power.

“Boris Vadimovich, what impact is this having on public opinion?” demanded the President.

“Vladimir Vladimirovich, you know better than anyone the resilience of the Russian people. We know how to suffer and even take pride in being able to endure the hardest conditions. But even the most resilient are beginning to tire of high prices, the shortage of consumer goods in the shops, the . . .”

“Don’t give me that,” the President interrupted, voice dripping sarcasm. “You can’t call a few shortages hardship! What you describe may affect the Moscow middle class, but it is irrelevant to people in the heartland of Russia. Our people.”

“Vladimir Vladimirovich, you are, of course, correct,” the Interior Minister said. “But people are no longer as tough as in Soviet days. They have been spoiled. The middle classes have traveled abroad for holidays and know what they are missing. But to hell with them! What does concern me is increasing unemployment and increased levels of poverty among the jobless.”

The President waved a hand in dismissal. “This is a fact of Russian life. It sets us apart from the softness and excesses of the West. But what about the so-called opposition? They can hardly call themselves credible if, two years later, no one has yet emerged to take that agitator Boris Nemsov’s place.”

Komarov saw the Interior Minister frown and decided to support him. “I regret, Vladimir Vladimirovich, that his killing two years ago created a martyr and a focus for those who dare to oppose you.”

“It had to be done,” the President snapped back. “He was a dangerous and destabilizing figure.”

“Of course,” Komarov equivocated. “But the minister is correct in highlighting the threat his name still poses. The memorial to him where he was killed is regularly cleared away by the police, but it is always replaced.”

“I won’t have it!” The President was getting annoyed. “The bridge is to be guarded and anyone daring to replace the memorial is to be arrested!”

“It will be done, Vladimir Vladimirovich,” said the Interior Minister, who then turned to look squarely at the Deputy President. “Don’t forget I counseled against the liquidation, but others thought differently. If he had been left alone, he would have burned out on drink and women.”