FOREWORD Read online

  Potter cut him off. “A military coup,” he said thoughtfully, twisting the pencil between his fingers. “That wouldn’t help relations with the U.S., would it?” His face seemed to glow with the prospect.

  “I’m not sure that’s the issue, Al.” Gellis lit a cigarette, ignoring Potter’s disapproving frown. “Whoever takes over will have more important things to worry about than us. Like addressing the problem of crime and corruption. Making sure state employees get paid. Ending the Ukrainian conflict. Reviving the economy. They couldn’t afford to fight another Cold War even if they wanted to.”

  Potter’s lip curled into a smirk. “Our readers don’t care about that. That’s our angle, Richie. Life in Russia under a military dictatorship. I want you do a feature on all the leading contenders from the Army, where they stand politically and, most importantly, what their attitude is towards us. Get Mary Lou to help you put it together. Once you’ve done that, I want you to fly out to Moscow, call in some of those contacts you have out there, get us a head start on the Washington Post for once. Maybe even get an exclusive interview with the next Russian premiere, huh?”

  Gellis’ expression failed to hide his displeasure with being told to sensationalize what was –could be , he corrected himself – an extremely grave situation. But, until a more discerning employer discovered him, he had no alternative but to follow orders.

  “Consider it done.”

  “Good man.”

  THE KREMLIN, MOSCOW

  Yazov knew he had to move not only quickly but smartly if he were to save Russia. That meant applying subtlety of a nature not usually associated with military officers. Staging a straightforward military coup would have been easy to organize, but the inherent risks were too grave to consider. Any sign of gunplay at this particularly sensitive time could trigger a catastrophic civil war.

  No. If he were to succeed, Yazov knew he had to be seen to abide by the constitution. Well, at least the letter, if not the spirit. He needed a tangible justification for his seizure of power, and that would require many other people to play their parts, not least of all new President Nikolai Pushkin. Of course, Yazov had his doubts that such a ploy would work, but he’d already shown his cards to other senior members of the Russian Government, so if he were to back down now, his career would be finished anyway. He had passed the point of no return, and that was the bottom line. He wondered if the same thoughts had occurred to other men who had led coups in the past. Some of them, of course, didn’t live long enough to tell their tales. And the successful ones were usually too proud to admit they’d had doubts. Yazov didn’t consider himself to be a man of considerable pride – other than that which was professional – but neither was he unequivocally altruistic. The realization that he actuallywanted to be Russia’s savior took him by surprise, even though he knew he was the only man up to this not inconsiderable task.

  It was this train of thought that had led to him requesting a meeting with President Pushkin in the office where, less than twenty-four hours earlier, the late former leader had breathed his last breaths.

  “Gennady Andreiovich,” Pushkin smiled coldly at the heavily built General. “How may I help you?”

  Yazov had carefully rehearsed his approach, even down to the timing of facial expressions. Given the lack of scope for error in these circumstances, one could never rehearse too much. He saluted his new Commander-in-Chief, who gestured him to a chair.

  “I am here because I believe I can help you, sir.” Yazov knew Godonov’s successor to be an insufferably vain man who, like all vain politicians, was acutely susceptible to shows of deference. Pushkin had what Americans might have termed a ‘small man complex’. At barely five feet tall, he restricted his public appearances to occasions where he didn’t have to risk sharing a stage with speakers noticeably taller than himself. But he more than compensated for his vertical shortcomings with staggering ambition. Lacking the charisma and authority that Russians tended to seek in their leaders, he had worked his way up the notoriously greasy pole of Russian politics purely by cunning and ruthless deceit, traits he’d perfected in his former incarnation as a local party boss for the Communists, Yazov supposed. The General knew that Pushkin had no real convictions other than a personal belief that he was intellectually superior to those around him. To a certain extent, that arrogance was his major strength. But Yazov also knew that, cleverly exploited, it could be his greatest weakness.

  “How might you do that?” Pushkin arched his eyebrows, reclining smugly into his chair. ThePresident’s chair, he reminded himself with no small measure of satisfaction.

  “I wish to serve my nation, as I have always done,” Yazov stated firmly. “But I also wish to help you consolidate your position, sir. There are those who would wish to see you destroyed. I am in a position to identify these traitors. It would bring great sadness to me to do so, for several of them are esteemed colleagues. But it would bring me even greater sadness to see them destroy our country purely because of their own personal ambitions. You are the constitutional successor to the former President. If we stray from the constitution at the first time of asking, what hope is there for any of us?”

  Pushkin tilted his head to one side. “You surprise me, General. But you please me also. You are obviously an intelligent man. And a patriot. I have always thought highly of you, and now perhaps is the time to bring you into my counsel.” He paused dramatically, as if about to impart a deep, personal secret. “As a military man, what do you suggest I do about the Ukrainian situation?” His tone actually said: Let’s see how smart you really are…

  Yazov had to be careful how he played this. The President wouldn’t be as easily sold on his strategy for ending the conflict as others had been. This situation called for a more sophisticated approach, although in essence it remained very much similar to the strategy he had already employed with others that day to great effect. Lead him to the brink of the abyss, then pull him back.

  “Before we can even consider the Ukrainian situation,” Yazov began, “we have to address the problem of morale in the armed forces.”

  “They will be paid,” Pushkin promised with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I shall make it a priority.”

  “That is only part of the problem, sir. You see, since Gorbachev, the armed forces have lacked decisive political leadership. In the past three decades, we have been involved in as many pointless, costly wars. For what reason? In each case, to satisfy a political agenda that, by its very nature, soon rendered itself obsolete. Some people, particularly in the military, see you as just another faceless bureaucrat who will use them to satisfy yet another disposable agenda. I have heard them say as much. I know differently, of course, but I’m going to find it difficult to convince them that you offer the best hope this country has. Especially when mine is a minority opinion among the General Staff.”

  Fear crept into Pushkin’s eyes, and his back appeared to stiffen. Good. “What are you saying, General?”

  “I’m afraid that certain elements of the military will use this period of instability to overthrow the legitimate government. Yourgovernment, sir.”

  The concern was real and evident now. “How do we stop them?”

  Yazov snorted bitterly, noting the subtle transition fromI toWe . This was easier than he had expected. The seeds of paranoia had been planted firmly in Pushkin’s mind. It was now time to nurture them.

  “You can’t. If you attempt to suppress a military coup, you risk triggering a civil war. If you attempt to identify its leaders before they’ve even made a move, you will attract accusations of victimization and oppression, and that could have the same effect. Historical fact, sir: the military have been extensively involved in almost every major change in Russia’s political system.”

  “Butpolitical will rolled up Communism, did it not?” the President pointed out.

  “Would it have done so had the military not supported Gorbachev when the hardliners tried to oust him in ‘91? Or had it not supported Yelts
in in ’93?”

  Pushkin hung his head in desolation, the implications of Yazov’s grim analysis quickly sinking in. His own challenge to the General’s intellect had backfired on him in a way that he could not have anticipated. Now he was looking to Yazov for guidance. “Gennady Andreiovich, you know the military. What can we do?”

  This was the moment. Yazov’s heart was racing, knowing that his nation’s future, and indeed his own, would be decided by the President’s reaction to his proposal. He hid his anxiety behind a suitably neutral expression. “You have to end the Ukrainian war, sir. End it decisively. Conclusively. You have to show the courage to consider extraordinary measures for an extraordinary situation and demonstrate the hand of firm leadership to those who doubt you.”

  The General explained what he had in mind, just as he had done to the General Staff earlier in the day. As he did so, he watched the color drain from Pushkin’s impassive face.

  “This will work?” was the final, deadpanned response.

  Yazov spread his arms wide. His laugh sounded more like a bark. “There are no guarantees, sir. There never are. But this strategy certainly provides your best chance to consolidate your position by winning the unqualified respect of the military and rendering your political opponents impotent. You will go down in history as the man who led Russia to victory at the eleventh hour. Otherwise you have just two choices. Surrender and go down in history as the President who lost the war, or fight on and bankrupt the nation. The truth of the matter is that we will ultimately lose in any case. We can no longer afford fuel and supplies for our front line troops, never mind the cost of maintaining our equipment.” He didn’t need to add that the Ukrainians were receiving military advice, supplies and equipment from their friends in Berlin and Paris (Yazov didn’t know that they were also receiving covert assistance from the Americans).

  Pushkin spent a few moments in the realms of deep, dark contemplation. He had already heard a similarly grim analysis from his intelligence chief, but hearing it from an officer of Yazov’s standing merely clarified the issue for him. All things considered, the potential benefits of Yazov’s radical plan far outweighed the risks, especially when juxtaposed against his extremely credible warning of an imminent coup.

  The President’s response was characteristically brusque.

  “When?”

  “The necessary arrangements can be made immediately. They will take several hours to effect.”

  “And what of the Americans?”

  “The Americans will offer no opposition. Naturally, they will make diplomatic protests, very likely call for an emergency debate at the United Nations.” Yazov gave a nonchalant shrug. “But no more than that, I am certain. They will understand. They have no desire to see Russia sink into anarchy or to see this war perpetuated. An unstable Russia is not in their interests. That is why they have invested so much money in this country. Besides, the Americans have too many domestic concerns of their own to risk a confrontation over this.”

  Pushkin acknowledged the truth of that statement. His American counterpart was twenty points behind in the polls, thanks to a recession that was laughably insignificant compared to the economic meltdown being experienced by Russia. And, with only five months until Edward Mitchell sought reelection, it was doubtful that the American leader would risk opening a potentially dangerous can of worms by rattling his saber on the international stage.

  “Do it.”

  Yazov offered a stiff salute to his commander-in-chief. “Yes, sir. You will need to give final authorization once preparations have been finalized.”

  “I understand. We will speak again at that time.”

  The General turned to leave the President’s office.

  “One more thing, General.”

  Yazov stopped.

  “The conspirators you spoke of. Who are they?”

  Feigning reluctance, Yazov named over a dozen leading military and political figures. In less than a minute, he had ruined the careers of every serious contender for the Presidency, plus a few men who hadn’t even considered themselves in contention. The logic was seamless. Once Pushkin had fired them from whatever positions they held, Yazov would be in an ideal position to capitalize upon their collective bitterness. Without knowing it, Pushkin was just about to consolidate Yazov’s power base.

  As he left the office, Yazov allowed himself a rare smile, borne more out of relief than triumph. He reflected that, all in all, today was a day of which Machiavelli himself would have been proud.

  III

  FIRST WARNING

  “Oh, thou hast a damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me Hal, God forgive thee for it. Before I knew thee Hal, I knew nothing, and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked.”

  (William Shakespeare: King Henry IV)

  THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON D.C.

  Dawn was still a couple of hours away, but the lights were already on in the Oval Office where the President had gathered his advisors to discuss the sudden change of government in Russia.

  Each of them had been woken by a call from the White House Signals Office and the grim mood was at least partly reflective of the tiredness they all felt.

  “What do we know about Pushkin?” The President stifled a yawn as he pitched the first ball of the day.

  “Not enough.” The catcher was Bradley Copeland, who at only 38 years old was one of the youngest men in living memory to hold the office of Secretary of State. This was his first major crisis - if that’s what it was - since the sudden death of his predecessor three months earlier. Obviously keen to impress at the first time of asking, he had yet to learn that the diplomatic rules that applied to the international arena were equally valid - if not more so - in the White House. One of those rules was never to commit to a position until you had checked your territory for bear traps. More than one person in the room sensed that his enthusiasm was in danger of leading him straight into one.

  All eyes turned to him for clarification. He cleared his throat, perceptibly nervous. “Um… As you know, Pushkin is widely perceived as a caretaker Prime Minister, at best a unity figure to hold things together until someone more able is found. He’s got a pretty low profile, even in Russia. I met him once, at a state dinner, and found him somewhat…” He searched for the right word, so important in these situations. “Intense.”

  “Intense, huh?” Mitchell grunted, noting how cleverly Copeland had managed to remain vaguely noncommittal and thus avoid the first rank of bear traps. “Can he hold things together over there, Tony?”

  Anthony Bishop was Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. A career spook who had the alert look that came from years of working in the field, he had never felt entirely comfortable in the company of bureaucrats and politicians conditioned to mask their true feelings. To a man such as Bishop, paranoia was second nature, and the ability to read people a crucial survival technique. He couldn’t always read politicians, so adept were they at deception, and that was enough to put him on guard.

  “Our Russian experts – such as they are – reckon he’s got a fifty-fifty chance,” he stated. “It all depends on how the Army react. They supported Godonov because there was no viable alternative. With the vacuum his death is bound to have created, they may feel compelled to make a move. They don’t know Pushkin. Sure as hell they won’t trust him.”

  As with Copeland, Bishop’s reluctance to commit to anything didn’t go unnoticed by the President, who not for the first time wondered if anybody in this room – indeed in this business – had the guts to stick out their neck on an issue. One of the unspoken rules of politics was that a leader would carry the can if he acted on the bad advice of his staff, but the advisors would take the credit were the leaders successful. How did Bishop made the transition from spy to politician? Mitchell wondered with a trace of sadness, already knowing the answer. Like any good spook, which the DCI had certainly been, he was merely adapti
ng to his environment.

  “There aren’t any real contenders from the army,” the Secretary of Defense pointed out. His name was Paul Nielsen. A thirty-year Washington veteran, he had preceded Bishop as CIA Director and was probably one of the least popular members of Mitchell’s administration. His appointment to one of the key cabinet posts had been little more than an olive branch to a hostile Congress in return for its approval of the President’s flagship welfare reform bill. Mitchell didn’t like Nielsen much. He always gave the impression – intentionally or not – that he was holding something back. And some of his political opinions were somewhere to the right of Genghis Khan. One political opponent had once said of Nielsen that you could hear him ooze into a room before you even saw him. Nielsen’s narrow gray eyes and angular features, crowned by a thin layer of wavy black hair, did not lend themselves to the image-conscious world of the professional politician, hence the reason why he had always tended to maintain a low public profile. But he liked things that way; no recognition equated to little accountability.

  “Mind you,” he added, “there is one guy we should keep an eye on. His name is General Gennady Yazov. He’s the commander of the Strategic Rocket Forces. Not one of the key commands these days, but the guy’s got charisma and the troops seem to like him.”

  The President saw Bishop nod in agreement. Even Copeland’s eyes came to life at the mention of the RVSN General. “Tell me about him,” Mitchell said, wondering if he was the only person in the room who had never heard of this Yazov character.

  “I’ve seen his file,” Bishop offered. “He’s a tough son-of-a-bitch, and a damn smart cookie to boot. Chemistry degree from Moscow University, first in his class in Strategic Doctrine at the Frunze Academy. He speaks fluent English, demands very high standards of his men, but he’s always kept a distance from the political arena, so no real enemies in the Duma. All the same, if the military makes a move, it’s a good bet he’ll be involved somewhere. Our sources say that he’s probably the most influential figure within the General Staff these days.”