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disparagingly, and he closed and locked the door.
    For a few moments he thought the woman was going to make a scene, but when nothing happened he got dressed. Before it was all over, he thought, he would fuck her, and then kill her. It would be the best thing he’d ever done for Tarankov.
    The Kremlin
    Chernov arrived at the Borovitsky Tower Gate, on the opposite side of the Kremlin from Red Square, at 11:45 P.M. One guard examined his papers, which identified him as Lieutenant Colonel Boris Sazanov, while the other shined a light in the back seat, and then requested that the trunk be opened.
    He popped the lid then stuck his head out the window as the guard spotted the cases of cigarettes. “Take a couple of cartons. They won’t be missed.” His hat was pulled low, most of his features in shadow.
    â€œWho are they for?” the guard asked.
    â€œKorzhakov,” Chernov said. Lieutenant-General Alexander Korzhakov was chief of presidential security, a drinking buddy of Yeltsin’s and the number two most powerful man in the Kremlin.
    â€œI don’t think so,” the guard said respectfully. “I think I’ll call operations.”
    â€œThis car was left unlocked for an hour on Arbat Street. The cigarettes will not be missed if you’re not greedy, and you keep your mouth shut.”
    The first guard handed Chernov’s papers back. “What are you doing here this evening, Colonel?”

    â€œDelivering cigarettes.”
    The second guard pulled two cartons of cigarettes out of one of the boxes and stuffed them inside his greatcoat. He slammed the trunk lid, and went back into the guardhouse.
    â€œI don’t smoke,” the first guard said.
    â€œNeither do I, but they’re sometimes better than gold, if you know what I mean.”
    The guard stepped back, saluted and waved Chernov through.
    Chernov returned the salute and drove up the hill past the Poteshny Palace and around the corner to the modernistic glass and aluminum Palace of Congresses. It was a Wednesday night, the Duma was not in session, nor was any state function or dinner being held, so the Kremlin was all but deserted.
    The guard at the entrance to the underground parking garage checked his papers, and waved him through.
    Chernov took the ramp four levels to the most secured floor where Yeltsin’s limousines were kept and serviced. He parked in the shadows at the end of a long row of Mercedes, Cadillacs and Zil limousines. The entrance to Yeltsin’s parking area and private elevators fifty meters away was guarded by a lone man seated in a glass enclosure. Chernov checked his watch. He was exactly on time.
    Two minutes later, the guard got up, stretched his back, left the guard box and took the service elevator up one level.
    Chernov took a block of eight cigarette cartons from the bottom of one of the cases, and walked to the end of the parking row, ducked under the steel barrier and went back to the Zil limousine with the SSP 7 license plate. It was the car that would be used to pick up Yeltsin in the morning and bring him here to his office.
    It was a piece of information that Tarankov got. Chernov trusted its reliability.
    The freight elevator was still on sub level three, and would remain there for three minutes. No more.
    Chernov climbed into the back compartment of the limo and popped the two orange tabs that released the seat bottom. Next he peeled the back from a corner of the bottom of the brick of cigarettes and stuck a radio-controlled detonator into the soft gray mass of Semtex plastic explosive. This he stuffed under the seat, molding it against a box beam member. The bottom of the car was armored to protect from explosions from outside. The steel plates would focus most of the force of the blast upward through the leather upholstered seat. No one in the rear compartment could possibly survive, nor was it likely that anyone in the car would escape critical burns and injuries The