"Mikhail Eduardovich?"

"Ah." It was the Agriculture Minister. "Good morning, Filip Moiseyevich."

"I am worried," the man said quietly.

"About what?"

"I fear they-the Defense Council-may be thinking about atomic weapons."

"They cannot be so desperate." If you are an agent provocateur, Comrade, you know that I've been told this. Better that I should know now what you are.

The man's open Slavic face did not change. "I hope you are right. I have not managed to feed this country for once to see someone blow it up!"

An ally! Sergetov told himself "If they put it to a vote, what then?" "I don't know, Misha, I wish I did. Too many of us are being swept away by events."

"Will you speak out against this madness?"

"Yes! I will soon have a grandchild, and he will have a country to grow up in even if it means my life!"

Forgive me, Comrade, forgive me for all the things I have thought of you before.

"Always the early bird, Mikhail Eduardovich?" Kosov and the Defense Minister arrived together.

"Filip and I had to discuss fuel allocations for food transport."

"You worry about my tanks! Food can wait." Defense walked past them into the conference room. Sergetov and his compatriot shared a look.

The meeting came to order ten minutes later. The General Secretary began it, immediately turning over discussions to Defense.

"We must make a decisive move in Germany."

"You have been promising us one of those for weeks!" Bromkovskiy said.

"This time it will work. General Alekseyev will be here in an hour to present his plan. For the moment, we will discuss the use of tactical nuclear weapons at the front and how to prevent a NATO nuclear response."

Sergetov's was one of the impassive faces at the table. He counted four who displayed obvious horror. The discussion that followed was spirited.

Alekseyev rode with the division commander for the first few kilometers, past the Indian Embassy and the Justice Ministry. The latter drew an ironic look from the General. How fitting that I should pass that building today! The command vehicle was essentially a radio with eight wheels. Six communications officers rode in the back to allow the commander to run his division right from here. The communications officers were from the front, and loyal to the combat officers who'd brought them back.

Progress was slow. The combat vehicles were designed for speed, but speed also made for breakdowns, and at anything over twenty kilometers per hour the tanks would tear the pavement apart. As it was, they motored along placidly, attracting small knots of people who watched and waved and cheered as the soldiers passed. The procession was not as precise as one of the parades for which the Taman Guards practiced every day. If anything this made the people more enthusiastic. Here were real soldiers going to the front. KGB officers stood along the route, "advising" the officers of the Moscow Militia to let the division pass-they'd explained the reason, the foulup in the eastern rail network, and the traffic policemen were only too happy to make way for the soldiers of the Motherland.

Alekseyev stood up in the gunner's hatch as the column reached Nogina Square.

"You've done well to get your men to this level of training," he told the divisional commander. "I want to dismount and see how the rest of your troops are doing. I will see you again at Stendal." Alekseyev told the driver not to stop. He jumped off the command vehicle carrier with the agility of a young corporal and stood in the street, waving the vehicles past, saluting the officers who rode proudly in their vehicles. It was five minutes until the second regiment reached him, and he waited for its second battalion. Major Sorokin was in the battalion command vehicle, and leaned over to grasp the General's hand and pull him up off the street.

"An old man like you could get hurt that way, Comrade General," Sorokin warned.

"You young buck!" Alekseyev was proud of his physical condition. He looked at the battalion commander, a man newly arrived from the front. "Ready?"

"I am ready, Comrade General."

"Remember your orders and keep control of your men." Alekseyev pulled the flap loose on his holster. Sorokin had himself an AK-47 rifle.

He could see St. Basil's now, the collection of towers and onion domes at the end of Razina Street. One by one the procession of vehicles turned right past the old cathedral. Behind him the soldiers in the infantry carriers all had their heads up, looking at the sights. This was the oldest model of the BTR, and lacked overhead cover.

There! Alekseyev said to himself. The gate built by Ivan the Terrible that led right to the Council of Ministers building. Just through the gate under the clock tower. The time was ten-twenty. He was ten minutes early for his appointment with the Politburo.

"Are we all crazy?" the Agriculture Minister asked. "Do we think we can gamble with atomic arms like so many firecrackers?"

A good man, Sergetov thought, but he has never been an eloquent one. The Petroleum Minister rubbed sweaty hands over his trouser legs.

"Comrade Defense Minister, you have led us to the brink of destruction," Bromkovskiy said. "Now you wish us to leap in after you!"

"It is too late to stop," the General Secretary said. "The decision has been made."

An explosion gave the he to that statement.

"Now!" Alekseyev said. In the back of the command vehicle the communications officers activated the divisional radio net and announced an explosion in the Kremlin. A battalion of riflemen under General Alekseyev's personal command was going in to investigate.

Alekseyev was already moving. Three BTRs ran through the smashed gate, stopping at the front steps of the Council of Ministers building.

"What the hell's going on here?" Alekseyev screamed at the captain of the Taman Guards.

"I don't know-you can't be here, you are not allowed, you must-"

Sorokin cut him down with a three-round burst. He jumped down off the vehicle, nearly collapsing on his bad leg, and raced for the building, with the General in pursuit. Alekseyev turned at the door.

"Secure the area, there is a plot to kill the Politburo!" The order was relayed to the arriving troops. Taman Guard troops were running across the open spaces from the old Arsenal Building. A few warning shots were fired. The Guards wavered, then a lieutenant fired a full magazine from his rifle, and a firefight began within the Kremlin walls. Two bodies of Soviet soldiers, only ten of whom really knew what was happening, began exchanging fire while members of the Politburo watched from the windows.

Alekseyev hated Sorokin for taking the lead, but the major knew whose life was more profitably risked. He encountered a Guards captain on the second-floor landing and killed him. He kept going up, with Alekseyev and the battalion commander behind, remembering the diagram of the building's fourth floor. Another soldier-this one a major-was there with a rifle. He managed to get one burst off, missing high as his target dove, but the major of paratroops rolled clear and killed him. The conference room was only twenty meters away. They found a colonel of the KGB who held his hands out in the clear.

"Where is Alekseyev?"

"Here!" The General had his pistol in his hand.

"No more Guards alive on this floor," the chekist said. He'd just killed four with a silenced automatic hidden under his tunic.

"Door." Alekseyev motioned Sorokin. He didn't kick it down, it was unlocked, and led into an anteroom. The double oak doors beyond led to the Politburo.

Sorokin went through first.

They found twenty-one old and middle-aged men, mainly standing at the windows watching a small infantry engagement that had about run its course. The Taman Guards stationed throughout the Kremlin grounds were not organized for this sort of assault, and had not the smallest chance of overwhelming a company of experienced riflemen.