"The first two cables are genuine," said the old diplomat. "The Defense Minister and I did investigate, and we found nothing suspicious. I know nothing of the other two cables."
"So you admit to misleading our ambassador. And as for knowing nothing of the other two cables, Foreign Minister, these documents came from your own ministry's message centre. The instructions to Yakolev went out under your name. And you claim to have no knowledge of them?"
"That is correct," said the old diplomat defiandy. "My aide handles all of the cable traffic in and out of my office. You have only to ask him, and he can tell you the other two cables are fabrications."
Kostiashak barked a laugh. "You mean your aide, Aleksandr Kulikov — the lackey who always kept your tea cup filled during our Politburo meetings?"
"Yes!" responded the Foreign Minister angrily. "Bring him here and he will tell you this is all some kind of fantasy!"
"I would hardly use him as a character reference, Comrade Minister. Your aide-de-camp is a French spy."
The entire room gasped again as Kostiashak pulled out yet another file and shoved it down the table. "It is all there. Transcripts of clandestine meetings with French 'diplomats,' wire taps, photographs of message drops. Yes, it is all there. Your aide-de-camp was working hand-in-glove with the French."
The Foreign Minister was not to be put off. "I demand Kulikov be brought here for questioning!"
"Unfortunately," said the KGB Chairman softly, "Kulikov is not available. Prior to my learning of this plot only this morning, Kulikov escaped on an Air France flite to Paris. My passport control officers said his special diplomatic exit visa was personally signed by you."
The old diplomat visibly sagged. He knew his survivor's luck had finally run out.
"Take him away," ordered Kostiashak.
Not wanting a truncheon in his old gut, the Foreign Minister went without complaint, looking incredibly feeble.
"There you have it, my Comrades. The Rodina has been the victim of a power-mad dog in our midst. General Secretary Vorontsky has brought us to the edge of a nuclear war through an evil conspiracy. Had it not been for the courageous actions of General Popov, I shudder to think of what might have happened."
The Science Minister shook his head and turned to Popov. "You are to be praised, General. I must confess this is all difficult to accept. We must bring General Secretary Vorontsky before us at once for interrogation."
Kostiashak looked down, and in a subdued voice he said, "I am afraid that is not possible."
The Science Minister's eyebrows went up. "Not possible?"
"That is correct, Comrade," replied Kostiashak mournfully. "I have been informed that the General Secretary's airplane crashed while on approach to the airfield at the Baikonur Cosmodrome. All on board were lost. Apparently he was en route to take personal charge of the scene at Baikonur. Alas, he will never be able to face Soviet justice."
There was a shocked pause, until the portly Mining Minister said in a daze, "Well, I am at a loss as to what we should do."
In a somber tone, Kostiashak said, "I, too, share your feelings of profound betrayal, Comrade. This has been a shameful chapter in our history. But the situation with the Americans is still tenuous. I recommend that we send a message to the American President at once. We inform him that the Soviet Union is under new leadership, and that we totally refute the hostile actions taken by the late General Secretary Vorontsky. We ask them to recall their bombers, and call for a summit meeting to demonstrate our sincerity. Speed is of the essence.''
The Mining Minister nodded. "I would agree," he said, "but we must now choose a new General Secretary."
"True," agreed Kostiashak, "and I must confess that in view of the severity of this crisis, and my position as guardian of the Party, I see no alternative nomination for the post of General Secretary than" — he paused for effect—"myself."
Fifteen minutes later, Vitali Kostiashak walked out of the Politburo conference room as the new General Secretary of the Communist Party Central Committee of the Soviet Union.
After the KGB Chairman had placed his name in nomination, the remaining Politburo members took one look at the empty chairs of the Defense and Foreign Ministers, and another look at Vitali Kostiashak sitting at the head of the table — the place reserved for the General Secretary.
They got the message.
The gauntlet had been thrown down.
If the Politburo members wanted to try to dislodge Kostiashak from the General Secretary's chair, it would mean going toe to toe with the man who controlled the gargantuan KGB apparatus. And the loser of such a confrontation would, indeed, lose everything. The idea of putting their country dachas, Western tailored suits, Zil limousines, lavishly appointed apartments, special medical clinics, and girlfriends (or boyfriends) in jeopardy had little appeal, so the remaining cabal of men inside the conference room decided that this young Kostiashak fellow would do just fine as General Secretary. The vote was unanimous.
After a quick champagne toast, Kostiashak dispatched Colonel Borisov to the Kremlin's communication centre with a message for the American President, then he brought Likady Popov into the adjoining baronial office of the General Secretary for a private word. "You should have been an actor, General," Kostiashak said with genuine admiration.
' 'I saw little choice,'' replied Popov in a straightforward manner.
Kostiashak nodded. "You have labored hard, General, and we still have much to discuss. But you must be weary. My driver will return you to your wife. Tell her the new General Secretary is in her debt for enduring your absence for so long."
Popov nodded, but did not leave. "I cannot help but wonder. What about Pirdilenko? You mentioned him. And Vostov? Both men have friends — and influence. They could talk. Make trouble."
Wistfully, the new General Secretary sighed and looked out the window. "I am afraid I did not tell you the tragic news, General. Comrade Pirdilenko's helicopter went down while en route back to Plesetsk… and Comrade Vostov, alas, he was killed during the attack by the American bomber at Baikonur.''
Popov was stunned. "Killed during the attack? But we talked to him after…"
"The Comrade Chief Designer was killed in the attack," repeated Kostiashak. Then he returned his gaze to Popov. "I know you find this distasteful, General, but in the intelligence world we refer to this as 'tying up loose ends.' "
Popov was still stunned, but nodded his understanding. Warily he eyeballed the little man. "And what about me? Am I one of your 'loose ends,' as you put it?"
The new General Secretary was gentie in his response as he touched the general's stocky shoulder. "No, my Comrade, you are not a 'loose end.' You see, Vostov and Pirdilenko were ambitious men, and as you mentioned, they could have made trouble. You, on the other hand, are not overly ambitious. Therefore you are not a threat to my plans."