“Yes, sir.”
Guevarra watched his crew chief hurry back to begin the job, which would take but a half hour. He then looked up to the darkening sky and listened. The sound of nothing was just what he wanted to hear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CAVALRY
The president of the Russian Federation has two offices. One is located in the Russian Federation Building, ironically called the White House because of its alabaster finish, which overlooks the Moscow River where Kalinin Prospect crosses that body of water. The second office, which had been the official seat of power since the demise of the Soviet Union, is the same working space used by the leaders of the former USSR. Situated near the northern corner of the roughly triangular Council of Ministers Building, the office affords a view of Red Square that is only mildly obstructed by the monolithic Lenin Mausoleum off to the right. Directly across the square is the GUM Department Store, which, even with the depressed and stagnant economy of Mother Russia, usually has throngs of Muscovites pouring in and out of its doors.
But the square was empty as President Gennadiy Timofeyevich Konovalenko stared out upon it. No shoppers meandered away from GUM. No tourists admired the neoclassical architecture surrounding them. Moscow was asleep, its residents, except for the hardiest drunkards prowling the frigid Metro stations, at peace. At peace. The president hoped they would wake to such a reality.
The motion of an approaching Zil limousine caught his attention. It sped past St. Nicholas’s Tower and disappeared through an unseen gate in the massive stone wall that surrounded the seventy-acre Kremlin grounds. The president turned back from the window, nodding to his foreign minister. “I believe we are about to receive visitors.”
Yakovlev nodded back and sat down, shifting his chair slightly to better face the door. The president went behind his desk and sat also, rolling his sleeves back into the neat cuffs that had loosened during the hours of waiting.
“Let us hope that this is just a delay for dramatics,” Yakovlev said. They could have done without such very easily.
The president brought his hands up to his chin. His eyes were locked on the twin wooden doors leading to his secretary’s adjoining office, which itself led into a wide hallway. Not a sound could be heard. The silence lasted for several minutes before the synchronized tapping of heels upon the wooden floor began. Two distinct sets. As expected, the good interior minister had brought company.
The doors opened without a knock. “Gennadiy Timofeyevich! Your lunacy has gone on too long!”
Konovalenko barely moved as his interior minister bellowed the proclamation. At his side was a man not unfamiliar, in full uniform, a pistol at his side. At least it isn’t in his hand, the president thought. “Georgiy Ivanovich. You brought a guest.”
“I bring General Pavel Suslov,” Bogdanov said. “And the six thousand men of his division.”
The president’s eyes mockingly scanned the room and the hallway through the open doors. “I see only two men, and I am not certain they can be classified so highly in the social order.”
Bogdanov steamed. Even though the pig knew he was finished, he continued to throw insults! “They are very near, Gennadiy Timofeyevich,” Bogdanov said, continuing his intentional nonuse of the man’s title. “And they will see to your removal, and to the removal of all those who have supported your abuse of the Motherland.”
The faintest sound reached the president’s ear. He had been waiting eagerly for it. A few more minutes.
“Georgiy Ivanovich, you will be shot for this,” Yakovlev stated.
“Only if I do so myself, Igor Yureivich.” The interior minister spoke his words with almost exaggerated smugness.
“So you are here to remove me from office.” Konovalenko stood slowly and walked around the desk to face his nemesis. He gave General Suslov a cursory, a disdainful glance but saved the weight of his attention for Bogdanov. “And you believe there will be no resistance?”
Bogdanov smiled, but he might not have had he seen Suslov’s eyes narrow as a familiar sound began to reach his ears. “General Suslov’s division is the only force of consequence near the city. The Kremlin guard would not even cause them pause.”
Konovalenko saw, from the corner of his eye, Suslov’s head turn toward the window. The sound, a far-off droning, was rising. “But others will, Comrade Interior Minister.”
“What others?” Bogdanov asked with little expectation of an answer that would cause him alarm…until he heard the sound.
The president stepped back and walked to the window, his head tilting upward toward the sky. The droning was almost overhead now. “Comrades, I think you may wish to see this.”
Bogdanov went to the window, his mind racing as it began to fear what might be happening. A step behind, Suslov had already realized his fate. Yakovlev caught the look of resignation as the general passed him. He held out his hand, palm up, and took the officer’s pistol as it was handed over.
“Beautiful, wouldn’t you agree, Georgiy Ivanovich?”
Bogdanov didn’t even hear the question. His attention was fully absorbed by the sight before him. From out of the darkness dozens of dark green canopies descended into the white lights of Red Square. The nylon mushrooms collapsed as the men dangling beneath them landed and cut themselves free of the chutes. The first troops to land moved directly to the north and south ends of the square, and the second wave of paratroopers, arriving less than a minute later, went straight for the Kremlin gates.
“I don’t understand,” Bogdanov said honestly.
“The Ninety-first Guards Air Assault Division,” Foreign Minister Yakovlev informed him from behind. “The heavy equipment they could load on such short notice is landing at Shermatevo Two as we speak.”
Shermatevo Two, an airport north of Moscow normally restricted for government use, was but twenty-two kilometers away. Thirty minutes at the most. The 106th was still an hour outside the city.
“You see, there will be a fight,” Konovalenko said. “And General Shergin will be receiving a visit from the Ninety-first Guards, as well.” Those aircraft had already deposited their troops, if all was going as planned.
“But how?”
“You underestimate the power of Marshal Kurchatov, Comrade Interior Minister.” That title the president used only for the sake of convenience. It would soon be stripped from Georgiy Ivanovich Bogdanov. “Did you think he would remain silent once you cut him off?” Konovalenko laughed, still looking to the square as dozens upon dozens of loyal troops floated from the sky. “He is more a man than that. More a man than you can ever hope to be.”
“Comrade President,” Suslov began very formally. “I request permission to contact my division and have them cease their advance.”
“What? No!” Bogdanov spun around.
The foreign minister finally stood. “Your friend the general is wise, Georgiy Ivanovich. Russians fighting Russians in the streets of Moscow will produce no winners.”
“Tell them to return to base, General Suslov,” the president ordered without turning.
Bogdanov swung angrily around to face the president. “And the Americans! They assisted you with this, didn’t they?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
Bogdanov’s eyes became slits as his head shook. “You are a bigger fool than I thought. You have let the Americans destroy you, Gennadiy Timofeyevich. Possibly us all.”
Konovalenko was aware of the time. “We will know that one way or the other in a short while.” In the distance he could see more paratroopers descending toward Lubyanka Square. All around the city they would be arriving, he knew. “And you will wait here, with myself and Igor Yureivich, and greet the morning.” He turned and faced Bogdanov as the drone of aircraft continued. “What happens then… We will see, but I have placed my trust in the Americans. Enemies of ours once, yes. But now their threat to the Motherland pales when compared to the likes of you.” He looked to the general. “Suslov, present yourself to the guard to be put under arrest. Your grasp of the situation will be considered in your trial.” Back to the interior minister. “You. Have a seat.”