The Soviet Comeback by Jamie Smith (best ereader for academics TXT) 📕

“You have a silver tongue from your years in politics, Viktor!” chuckled Petrenko. “But either you have underestimated our enemy, or you have made a grave mistake with the missions you have sent our agent on. Which is it, I wonder?” the general secretary asked, suddenly serious.

Viktor said nothing.

“We both know that you have far too much experience to underestimate our American adversaries, which means that your orders are where the problem is. Give me the list of all of his missions.”

Yerin opened his briefcase and withdrew a sheet of paper. Petrenko’s eyes widened and he looked over the top of his glasses. “You are not serious, Viktor.”

“Yes, sir, they were all targets identified by our analysts that needed to be eliminated. The research was good.”

“Be that as it may, to order the elimination of this many key figures in such a short space of time, is madness! It looks almost as if you wanted them to find out.”

“I assure you, sir, that I acted only in the best interests of the country.”

The Soviet leader threw a photo down in front of Yerin. “And tell me, comrade, how is this acting in the best interests of the country?”

Yerin wiped his glasses with a handkerchief. Placing them back on, he peered down at the photo. It showed him standing next to a black state security car, seemingly deep in conversation with an ugly, overweight man wearing an ushanka and a long coat. A gap between the fur of the hat and the collar of the coat revealed a tattoo of a three-ray swastika.

His eyes bulged. “You are spying on me?”

“Do not insult me with false naivety, Viktor. Why are you colluding with Lev Veselovsky, the known leader of the neo-Nazi group Pamyat?”

Yerin was clearly working to remain calm, but shifted restlessly on his chair. “It was part of an investigation into the growing far right movement, sir. Strictly routine. Sir, I assure you I am not aligning myself with him. I have served loyally for many years.”

“If it was the photo alone, perhaps I would believe you. But the facts are not in your favour, my friend.” He read a message from a piece of paper on his desk. “‘Lev, together we shall free Russia from the brink of collapse and the shackles of our rudderless leader’. I can go on if you want, Viktor? The letter is quite illuminating and appears to have your signature at the bottom.”

The colour had drained completely from Yerin’s face, and his knuckles were white as he gripped the chair.

“You have two choices; resign right now, or force me to declare you a traitor and enemy of the state, for which you know better than anyone the penalty.”

Yerin’s face had turned beetroot red with fury. “You cannot remove me. The KGB are loyal to me.”

“The KGB are loyal to the Soviet Union, something that you managed to forget when being blinded by pure ambition, Viktor. To seek to provoke nuclear war with the United States before we are prepared… it would mean the destruction of everything we have built.”

“You have built nothing,” spat Yerin through clenched teeth. “You only seek to take us apart piece by piece with your perestroika shit.”

Petrenko sighed. “Come, Viktor, you are one of the very few even in the Politburo who knows of my grand plan. Perestroika, Glasnost — these are not real; they are words to manipulate the world to the will of the USSR. You disappoint me greatly, Viktor. I thought we could revive the fortunes of our nation side by side. You cleansed the American spies so wonderfully! What did Veselovsky promise you? I will have your honesty.”

“Honesty!” Yerin laughed. “You lie to the world with a dagger behind your back and you ask for my honesty! You make Russia a home for Jews, chernozhopiys and gypsies and talk of making us great again. You are contaminating us enough with Turkmen and Armenians. Your nuclear plan will not succeed; our Empire will have collapsed before you can ever bring it to fruition. All relying on Klitchkov’s favourite, a Nigerian no less, to save us. We must destroy our enemies now. There is only one way for the Soviet Union; splendid isolation.”

“You Hohli fool, Viktor,” sighed Petrenko, deliberately antagonising his victim further with talk of his Ukrainian origins. “Pamyat is a cancer that is spreading like Hitler’s Germany and enough blood has been spilt by this nation fighting the very thing you choose to promote. You fought at Leningrad to defend us from their evil. Now, it is you that is evil. Pamyat will be stopped, and now so must you be.”

“We both know you can’t just accept my resignation,” said Yerin, sinking into his chair, defeated. “You have a revolver in your desk; please use it, General Secretary. It would be merciful.”

“Alas, Viktor, you know that is not the way out for traitors. First, we will need to know everything you know. If you cooperate, perhaps then we will show mercy.”

“It is too late to stop what is already in motion.”

Petrenko pressed a button under his desk and immediately two armed guards walked in. Behind them sauntered a familiar face.

“You!” said Viktor, fury in his eyes once more as he looked upon the face of one of his key protégés.

“Yes, Viktor,” replied Maxim Denisov, dressed in full navy KGB uniform, complete with the hat despite being indoors. “Let us not make this awkward. I am prepared to treat you with more respect than a traitor deserves, but only if you do not make things difficult.”

Yerin did not move. “Please kill me,” he pleaded.

“Very well,” said Denisov and drew the ceremonial revolver from the holster at his belt and pointed it directly at the face of the old man, whose will, immediately dissolved,