"And you think Likhatchev is?" Orlov countered as he struggled to keep this debate going and his chance to turn the situation around alive.
The major did not hesitate to respond. "Ours is a nation that has a habit of placing its people in circumstances in which they have only bad choices from which to pick. Right now, right here," Petkovic stated with the conviction of a zealot, "the choice lies between a government that is incapable of meeting even its most basic obligations to the Russian people, or to a leader who is willing and able to lead us back to greatness."
In the course of this speech, it became obvious to Orlov what had happened in his absence. Petkovic was the one who had fermented the revolt against him. The question that the Russian colonel now had to find an answer to was just how committed the remainder of the special-response team was to this course of action and what he could do to rally those who were not. "You understand what will happen to you if General Likhatchev fails in his bid to oust the government in Moscow?"
Before Petkovic or any of the other commandos could reply, the female staff captain stepped forward. With one hand, she raised the flashlight so that it was once more shining squarely in Orlov's face and blinding him. But he was not so dazzled by this move that he could not see the pistol she held against her hip, at the ready, in her other hand. "I have not come out here to chair a debate," she snapped. "My orders are to bring you back alive. However, if that proves to be impossible, then I have the freedom to take whatever action is necessary to end the threat that you represent."
Behind him, Orlov could feel the barrel of Moshinsky's weapon rubbing up against him as the commando slowly leveled it in an effort to bring it to bear. While the man did his best to conceal what he was about to do, Orlov forced himself to remain as calm as this tense state of affairs permitted.
Unfortunately, there were simply too many eyes watching every move. From somewhere off to his right, Orlov heard a mutineer jerk back the bolt of his assault rifle in order to chamber a round. This sound galvanized those who had been lulled by the exchange between their colonel and the female captain to bring their weapons up again and train them upon Orlov and his small party. For her part, Captain Zudiev took two steps forward, raising her pistol and cocking it as she did so. She pressed the muzzle against Orlov's forehead. "No more discussion," she hissed. "Submit or die."
With his options narrowed to those two extreme alternatives by a person holding a gun to his head and seeming more than ready to use it, the choice was easy. As long as he remained alive, there was a chance.
Reaching around, the Russian colonel placed his hand on Moshinsky's arm and forced it and the assault rifle down. "This is not the time for martyrdom," he whispered to his dedicated companion.
It wasn't until he was seated on the soft, leather sofa in a small room not far from General Likhatchev's office that Demetre Orlov realized just how exhausted he was. How long had it been, he wondered, since he had last slept. Thirty-six hours? Forty-eight?
He was still pondering this when Likhatchev entered the room carrying a fresh bottle of vodka in one hand and two glasses in the other. Even before Orlov managed to shake off his inattentiveness and roust himself from the sofa in an effort to come to attention, the General was motioning to him to stay seated. "You have traveled a long way to reach us here," Likhatchev stated in his characteristically cheerful voice. "Rest a bit."
Lifting his hand to accept the glass the General offered him took more effort than the Russian colonel dared admit. As Likhatchev filled Orlov's glass, he told the Russian colonel how happy he was to see him there. Orlov waited until after he took a long, hard swig of alcohol before he responded. "Had your staff officer not reached my team before I did, I am sure you would be singing a far different tune."
Rather than anger Likhatchev, Orlov's statement provoked laughter. As the General stood in the middle of the room, looking down into his glass while swirling the clear liquid about in it, his mood changed. "Would you really have gone through with it?"
Orlov looked up at him. "I expect you know me better than to ask such a question."
Shifting his gaze from his drink to the man on his sofa, Likhatchev nodded. "Yes, I suppose I do. That is why I need you with me again, Demetre."
With nothing more to lose, Orlov felt no compunction about holding back any of his thoughts or mincing his words. "To do what? Go back to Moscow and execute the very men who sent me out here to kill you?"
"No, no, my friend," the General replied as he stepped over to a chair and sat down. "As of late, we have been killing far too many of our own. The old ways of bringing about change in Russia must come to an end. We must stop branding those who oppose us as Reds or Whites, revolutionaries or counterrevolutionaries, traitors or patriots, so that we can justify killing them. We must find a way to pull our people together, under the flag of a truly just and benevolent government that holds the welfare of the nation and its people sacred. Bringing peace, prosperity, and justice is what I need you to help me do."
Now it was Orlov's turn to laugh before taking another sip of vodka.
"What do you find so funny about that?"
Leaning forward, Orlov slammed his empty glass on the table next to the sofa. "I find it funny, my good General, that you are prepared to vaporize the very people to whom you wish to bring peace and justice."
Easing back in his seat, a confident smile lit Likhatchev's face. "Do you really think I would turn such weapons upon our own people?"
"Fine!" Orlov exclaimed, throwing his hands out. "So you don't vaporize Moscow. So instead, you lay waste to Washington, or perhaps to London, which leaves them no choice but to wipe out your beloved people. Either way, you have not accomplished a damned thing."
Likhatchev smiled again as he shook his head. "Demetre, Demetre, Demetre," he repeated in a disappointed tone. "Have I not taught you anything?" Looking back over at the exhausted and bedraggled commando, Likhatchev explained. "It is a bluff, my friend. I would no more launch those missiles than…"
Likhatchev hesitated for a moment. Before continuing, he took a sip. As he did so, he eyed Orlov. After wiping a drop of vodka from the corner of his mouth, he reached over for the bottle, picked it up and began to pour the colonel of commandos a fresh drink. "I was about to say," he stated sadly, "that I would no more launch those missiles than you would shoot me."
Taking up his glass, Orlov took a sip. "I see you have not forgotten," he said in a firm tone.
"No, I have not forgotten, Demetre. You are perhaps the best soldier I have ever known. That's including myself," he said, tapping his chest.
For several minutes, neither man spoke. Each sat across from the other, nursing his drink while sizing up the other. Orlov finally broke the deadlock. "If you have your missiles, which you say you don't intend to use, of what use am I to you? Why didn't you simply instruct that female captain of yours to gun me down? You know that leaving me alive is a gamble."
"In order to win big," Likhatchev stated as his previous relaxed and easygoing mood returned, "one has to gamble big. Besides, I would have hoped that you would have figured that out on your own." Pausing, the General shrugged. "Of course, given your trials and tribulations over the past twenty-four hours, I can excuse a momentary lapse of insight. You see," he continued as he leaned forward toward Orlov, "once the government in Moscow realizes that a sizable portion of its own military has come over to me, they will have an excuse to step aside."
"Step aside?" Orlov echoed. "You expect the President to simply step aside and name you as his successor?"
Likhatchev smiled. "That is the way things are done these days. Gorbachev came to power with a mandate to save the Soviet Union. When he saw that he could not do so, he wisely decided to relinquish his hold on power to Yeltsin, the man of the hour. After it became clear that Yeltsin did not have the ability to turn things around, an arrangement was made that allowed him to retire from public life while giving Putin and the hardliners their chance. After he failed, Putin took the wise precaution of leaving office before he was thrown out. Now, with our country on the brink of total collapse, our current President is more than ready to yield. As with those before him, once he understands that he will be allowed to retire to a nice, comfortable dacha, where he will be free to enjoy the wealth that he managed to skim off the top of foreign loans and aid that passed through his hands, he will gladly go in peace."