'And where will the money come from to achieve these wonders?' Piotr asked. 'Our little nest back there cost twenty-five billion rubles! Do you really believe that if Dogin wins he can cut enough fat from the government and from foreign adventures?'
Pavel blew out smoke and nodded.
Piotr frowned. He cocked a thumb over his shoulder. 'That isn't what I overheard back there. Number Two was talking to an aide about the thieves-in-law. That's where he plans to get the money, and it's a dangerous association to—'
Pavel reacted instinctively as the Volkswagen suddenly angled in front of him. He pushed down hard on the brake and spun the wheel to the right. As he did so, he heard a pop and thick green smoke began pouring from under the dashboard.
'What is it—?' Piotr coughed.
'Open a window!' one of the men yelled from the back as they all began to gag.
But Pavel had already fallen against the wheel, barely conscious. There was no one steering as the truck struck them from behind.
The Volkswagen was partly in the right lane as the truck drove the van into it. The left side of the van's front fender struck the car, skidding and sparking along its right side. Pointed toward the side of the bridge, the van hit the low concrete barrier and rode up and over, propelled by the truck. The right tire exploded, the axle hooked over the top of the barricade, and the van plunged nose-first into the choppy river.
There was a hiss as it struck the water, the van standing upright for a long moment before falling over on its back. Steam and air bubbles rose from the sides, mixing with the dissipating green smoke as the van bobbed belly- up on the surface of the river. The rest of the van was entirely submerged.
The burly trucker and the young blonde woman who had been driving the Volkswagen were the first ones to reach the shattered railing. They were joined by other motorists who scurried from their cars.
Neither the man nor the woman said a word to each other. They just watched as the van drifted to the southwest, twisting slowly in the current, the air bubbles dwindling and the smoke now just a faint wisp. The vehicle was already too far away for anyone to dive in and attempt to look for survivors.
The two drivers assured those who asked that they were all right. Then they made their way back to their vehicles to await the police.
No one had seen the truck driver drop a small, rectangular box in the river as he turned away.
CHAPTER ONE
Tall, powerfully built Minister of the Interior Nikolai Dogin sat behind the centuries-old oak desk in his office in the Kremlin. There was a computer in the center of the heavy, age-toned desk. To his right was a black telephone and a small, framed photograph of his parents sat on his left. The snapshot had a horizontal crease in the center. It had been folded by his father so he could carry it in his shirt pocket during the War.
Dogin's silver-gray hair was brushed straight back. His cheeks were sunken and his dark eyes looked tired. His plain, brown GUM department store suit was wrinkled, and his light brown shoes were scuffed— a careful, studied rumpledness that had worked so well for so many years.
But not this week, he thought bitterly.
For the first time in thirty years of public service, his man-of-the-people image had failed him. With his characteristic intensity, he had given his people the nationalism they had said they wanted. He voiced renewed pride in the military, and fanned suspicion of old enemies. Yet the people had turned on him.
Dogin knew why, of course. His rival, Kiril Zhanin, had cast out a tattered net one last, glorious time to try and snare the flounder of Old Peter's fairy tale, the fish-of-the-sea that would make every wish come true.
Capitalism.
While Dogin waited for his assistant, he looked past the seven men seated before him. His dark eyes were focused on the walls, on a history of the success of totalitarianism.
Like his desk, the Walls reeked of history. They were covered with ornately framed maps, some of them centuries old, maps of Russia under different Czars going back to the reign of Ivan. Dogin's tired eyes took them all in, from a faded vellum map painted, it was said, with the blood of captured Teutonic Knights, to a cloth map of the Kremlin which had been sewn inside the pant leg of a murdered German assassin.
The world as it was, he thought as his eyes settled upon a map of the Soviet Union that Gherman S. Titov had carried into space in 1961. The world as it will be again.
The seven men sitting on sofas and armchairs were also drawn with age. Most of them were fifty or older, some of them were over sixty. Most wore suits, some had on uniforms. None spoke. The silence was broken only by the hum of the fan in the back of the computer— and then, finally, by a knock on the door.
'Come in.'
Dogin felt his heart sink as the door opened and a fresh-faced young man stepped in. There was a profound sadness in the youth's eyes, and Dogin knew what that meant.
'Well?' Dogin demanded.
'I'm sorry,' the young man said softly, 'but it's official. I reviewed the figures myself.'
Dogin nodded. 'Thank you.'
'Shall I make the arrangements?'
Dogin nodded again and the young man backed from the office. He shut the door quietly as he left.
Now Dogin looked at the men. Like him, their expressions hadn't changed. 'This was not unexpected,' said the Minister of the Interior. He moved the photograph of his parents closer, running the back of his fingers down the glass. He seemed to be speaking to them. 'Foreign Minister Zhanin has won the election. It's the time, you know. Everyone's giddy with liberty, but it's liberty without responsibility, freedom without sanity, experimentation without caution. Russia has elected a president who wants to create a new currency, make our economy a slave to what we can sell abroad. Eliminate the black market by making the rubles and goods it holds utterly worthless. Eliminate political rivals by making it impossible to oust him lest it upset foreign markets. Eliminate the military as an adversary by paying the Generals more money to serve his policies than to protect Mother Russia. 'Like Germany and Japan,' he tells us, 'an economically strong Russia needs fear no enemy.' ' Dogin's eyes narrowed as he looked at his father's image. 'For seventy years we feared no enemy. Your hero Stalin did not rule Russia, he ruled the world! His name itself came from stal— steel. Our people were made of it then. And they responded to power. Today, they seek comfort and respond to audacity and empty promises.'
'Welcome to democracy, my dear Nikolai,' said General Viktor Mavik, a barrel-chested man with a booming voice. 'Welcome to a world in which NATO courts the Czech Republic, Hungary, Poland, nations of the former Warsaw Pact, to join the Western alliance without so much as consulting us.'
Deputy Finance Minister Yevgeny Grovlev leaned forward, his sharp chin resting on his thumbs, his slender fingers steepled under his hooked nose. 'We must be careful not to overreact,' he said. 'Zhanin's reforms won't happen fast enough. The people will turn on him faster than they did on Gorbachev and Yeltsin.'
'My adversary is young but not stupid,' Dogin replied. 'He wouldn't have made promises without agreements being in place. And when he pulls them off, the Germans and Japanese will have what they failed to obtain in World War II. The United States will own what it failed to get during the Cold War. In one way or another, they will all possess Mother Russia.'
Dogin turned his eyes to one more map: the map of Russia and Eastern Europe on his computer screen. He pressed a key and Eastern Europe grew larger. Russia vanished.
'A keystroke of history and we're gone,' he said.
'Only by our inactivity,' said lanky Grovlev.
'Yes,' Dogin agreed. 'By our inactivity.' The room was growing stuffy and he dabbed the moisture on his upper lip with a tissue. 'The people have thrown off their mistrust of foreigners for the promise of wealth. But we'll show them that isn't the way.' He looked out at the men in the room. 'The fact that you or your candidates lost the election shows how confused our people have become. But the fact that you are here this morning indicates that
