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CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Interior Minister Dogin was feeling good. Very good.

Sitting alone in his office for the first time that day, he savored his impending triumph. General Kosigan's troops were moving into Ukraine without incident. There were even reports of expatriate Russians and Ukrainians alike greeting them with Soviet flags.

Polish troops were being moved to the border with Ukraine. NATO and the United States shifted troops from England to Germany and in Germany toward Poland, and there was a blustery show of strength as NATO warplanes flew over Warsaw. But not a single non-Polish troop entered the country on the ground. Nor would they. Not with Russian operatives ready to raise hell in tinderboxes around the world. The United States would watch Russia recover its historic sphere of influence before allowing American soldiers to be spread out in rebellions and invasions from Latin America to the Middle East. Right now, Dogin's emissary in Washington, Deputy Chief of Mission Savitski, was discussing Russian objectives in a closed-door meeting at the State Department. Zhanin's new Ambassador had already had his meeting with Secretary of State Lincoln. By taking the second meeting, the U.S. had unofficially acknowledged that there was a second viable government in Russia, one that needed to be reckoned with. And Grozny didn't even have to bomb a city to get that acknowledgment.

Dogin's new political friends had agreed to wait for their money, and President Zhanin was finding roadblocks in the information and command conduits. He could not respond quickly or accurately, and Dogin took pride in how much more effective this was than the failed coup against Mikhail Gorbachev. It wasn't necessary to isolate the leader with guns and soldiers. All one had to do was hamstring his ability to see and hear and he was helpless.

Dogin chuckled contentedly. What could the idiot do, go on the air and tell the electorate that he didn't know what was going on in the government— could someone please tell him?

The Minister's one fear, that Shovich would get restless with the unexpected delay, failed to materialize. No doubt he had already used one of his fake passports to leave the country, staying on the move like Patton during World War II to confuse his enemies and rivals. Not that it mattered to Dogin where Shovich was. He would be content if the worm remained beneath a rock somewhere.

Thus far, he thought, the only disappointment has been Sergei Orlov. The Minister and his allies were trying to make their sick country well, which required circumventing the laws. He had expected an orderly, traditional-minded man like the General to be unhappy with their unorthodoxy, but he hadn't expected him to challenge them by pulling rank on Colonel Rossky. Doing so, Dogin reflected confidently, Orlov had effectively ended his career. He'd quit the Russian line and joined the British 27th Lancers for their ride into the Valley of Death.

Dogin felt bad for him. But Orlov had done his job, helped get reluctant politicians to go along with Operations Center funding because he was a man of integrity and honor. And he would have been allowed to stay if only he'd joined the team.

The Minister looked at the antique maps on his walls, and felt a thrill as he contemplated adding a new-old one, the reborn Soviet Union.

He glanced at his watch, noted that the storm should have passed by now and the money train should be reaching Khabarovsk. He picked up the telephone and asked his assistant to get General Orlov on the line. Once the train's arrival had been confirmed, he would have an airplane sent to meet them in Birobidzhan, the capital of the Jewish region on the Bira River. The Dalselmash harvester factory had a landing strip that would accommodate a medium-sized military aircraft.

The man who got on the line was not the wary but composed officer he'd spoken to earlier. He was surprisingly aggressive.

"Your plan has gone sour," the General said bluntly.

The Minister was suspicious. "Which plan? Has something happened to the train?"

"You could say that," Orlov replied. "As we speak, American commandos are attacking it."

Dogin sat up very straight. "The, train was your responsibility— your son's!"

"I'm sure Nikita is doing his best to hold them off", Orlov said. "And the Americans are at a disadvantage. They don't want to hurt our people."

"They would be insane to," Dogin replied. "Where is Rossky?"

"Chasing spies," Orlov said. "But they eluded him. They caught the man who was tailing them and used his radio to put me in touch with an operations center in Washington. That's how I know about their plan. We tried to work things out."

"I don't want to hear about your failures," Dogin said. "I want Rossky found, and when he is you're relieved of your command."

"You forget," Orlov said. "Only the President can replace me."

"You will resign, General Orlov, or I'll have you removed from the Center."

"How will Rossky and his brownshirts get in?" Orlov asked. "As of now, the Center will be sealed off."

Dogin warned, "They will take it back!"

"Perhaps," Orlov said. "But not in time to help you save your train… or your cause."

"General!" Dogin yelled. "Think about what you're doing. Think about your son, your wife."

"I love them," Orlov said, "but I'm thinking about Russia now. I only wish I weren't alone. Goodbye, Minister."

Orlov hung up, and for nearly a minute Dogin sat squeezing the phone. It was impossible to imagine that he had come so far only to be undermined by Orlov's betrayal.

His brow flushed, hands shaking with rage, he set down the receiver and had his assistant call Air Force General Dhaka. The Americans had to have come in by air and no doubt were planning to get out the same way, fast and dirty. He would make that impossible, and if anything happened to his cargo the Americans would have to replace the money— or their soldiers would be returned to them through Shovich, a piece at a time.