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“What about the Romanov succession? Is it clear?”
Dr. Probyn demolished the last sandwich and eyed the cakes.
“Far from it. They’re a mess, a complete mess. The surviving bits of the old family are at sixes and sevens. Claimants all over the place. Why do you ask?”
“Let us suppose,” said Sir Nigel carefully, “that for some reason the Russian people decided as a people that they wished to restore constitutional monarchy in the form of a czar.”
“Well, they couldn’t, because they never had one. The last Emperor—incidentally, that is the correct title and has been since 1721, but everyone still uses the word czar—was Nicholas the Second, an absolute monarch. They never had a constitutional one.”
“Indulge me.”
Dr. Probyn slipped the last fragment of an éclair into his mouth and took a sip of tea.
“Good cakes,” he said.
“I’m glad.”
“Well, in the extremely unlikely event of that ever happening, they would have a problem. As you know, Nicholas, along with the Czaritza Alexandra and all five of their children, were butchered at Yekaterinburg in 1917. That wiped out the direct line. All the claimants today are of indirect line, some going back to Nicholas’s grandfather.”
“So no strong, unassailable claim?”
“No. I could give you a more cogent briefing back at my office. Got all the charts. Couldn’t spread them out here. They’re quite large, lots of names, branches all over the place.”
“But in theory, could the Russians reinstitute the monarchy?”
“Are you serious, Sir Nigel?”
“We are just talking theoretically.”
“Well, theoretically anything is possible. Any monarchy can choose to become a republic by expelling its king. Or queen. Greece did. And any republic can choose to institute a constitutional monarchy. Spain did. Both in the last thirty years. So, yes, it could be done.”
“Then the problem would be the candidate?”
“Absolutely. General Franco chose to create the legislation to restore the Spanish monarchy after his death. He chose the grandson of Alfonso XIII, Prince Juan Carlos, who reigns to this day. But there no counterclaim emerged. The bloodline was clear. Counterclaims can be messy.”
“There are counterclaims in the Romanov line?”
“All over the place. Extremely messy.”
“Anyone stand out?”
“No one springs to mind. I’d have to look hard. It’s been a long time since anyone seriously asked.”
“Would you have another look?” asked Sir Nigel. “I have to travel. Say, when I return? I’ll call you at your office.”
¯
BACK in the days when the KGB was simply one vast organization for espionage, suppression, and control, with a single chairman, its tasks were so varied that it had to be subdivided into chief Directorates, Directorates, and Departments.
Among these were the Eighth Chief Directorate and the Sixteenth Directorate, both charged with electronic surveillance, radio interception, phone tapping and spy satellites. As such they were the Soviet equivalent of the American National Security Agency and National Reconnaissance Organization, or the British Government Communications Headquarters, GCHQ.
For the old-timers of the KGB like Chairman Andropov, electronic intelligence gathering, or ELINT, was hi-tech and scarcely understood, but at least its importance was recognized. In a society where technology was years behind the West save in military- or espionage-related matters, the very latest and best hi-tech facilities were nevertheless procured for the Eighth CD.
After Gorbachev’s breakup of the KGB monolith in 1991 the Eighth and Sixteenth Chief Directorates were amalgamated and renamed the Federal Agency for Government Communication and Information, or FAPSI.
FAPSI was already endowed with the most advanced computers, the country’s best mathematicians and code-breakers, and anything in interception technology that money could buy. But after the fall of Communism, this exceptionally expensive-to-run department ran into a major problem: funding.
With the introduction of privatization FAPSI literally went to the open market for funds. It offered emerging Russian business the ability to intercept, meaning steal, the commercial traffic of its rivals, domestic and foreign. For at least four years prior to 1999 it had been perfectly possible for a commercial operation in Russia to hire this government department to monitor the movements of a foreign subject in Russia whenever that foreigner made a phone call, sent a fax, cable, or telex, or made a radio transmission.