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I?”
    â€œThere’s a first time for everything, Colonel.”
    â€œNot where you and I are concerned, General.” The idea of disloyalty would never have entered Epishev’s mind. It was more than just the fact of his gratitude to the old man and the years of their alliance, it was a question of shared beliefs. Like Greshko, Epishev thought that the Soviet Union was heading hurriedly toward disintegration. As if it were some massive star whose course has been suddenly changed, the republic was doomed to explode from internal pressure. Those fresh winds everyone said were blowing through the country were as poisonous as radioactive clouds. And Epishev, like Greshko, had absolutely no desire to breathe them.
    â€œThen we’re agreed, Viktor. Romanenko’s plan must be carried through to the end. Regardless. We may not like the idea, but we have no choice except to go along with it if we want to see our country restored to what it was. In other words – the plan must succeed.”
    Epishev knew what was coming now. He had known it ever since Greshko had announced Romanenko’s murder.
    â€œWhen you go back to Moscow tonight, you’ll see the Printer,” Greshko said.
    It might have been routine, except for the fact that Greshko had absolutely no authority any more, save for what he bestowed on himself. It might have been standard operating procedure. But it wasn’t. Greshko though, like a great actor, was able to create the illusion of all his old power.
    â€œWhen the Printer has your papers ready, you leave the country.” Greshko was buzzing now, barely able to keep his hands still. “You have that authority. You don’t need a written order. You’ll find out what has happened to Romanenko’s message. If it fell into the right hands, then we have nothing to worry about. If it’s in the possession of the wrong party, and the outcome of the whole scheme is threatened, you will eliminate that threat. It’s simple, Viktor. There are no ambiguities.”
    Eliminate that threat . Epishev wondered if he still had the heart for that kind of task. When he was younger, it had come easily to him. Now, even though he enjoyed such tasks as interrogation, even if he didn’t object to rubber-stamping papers that condemned people to imprisonment or death, he wasn’t sure about killing somebody directly, somebody whose breathing you could hear, whose eyes you could look into, whose fear you could smell. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Perhaps Romanenko’s paper had arrived at the appropriate destination. Perhaps everything was already in its rightful place and Greshko’s precautions were, although understandable, nevertheless unnecessary.
    He stood up, stepped away from the bed. He looked a moment at Volovich, but it was impossible to tell what Dimitri was thinking. After all the years together, he still couldn’t read Volovich with any ease. Was Dimitri going along with this? Greshko, with all his old arrogance, had obviously assumed so, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so open. Dimitri hadn’t been made privy to everything because Greshko had insisted on limiting the Lieutenant’s knowledge as a matter of routine security, but he knew enough to understand what he was involved in.
    â€œWe’re not alone, you know,” Greshko said. “There are hundreds of us, Viktor. Thousands. I’m in daily contact with men, some of them in positions of great authority, who feel exactly as we do. And these men are ready to take over the reins of power at a moment’s notice. Some of these men are known to you by name. Some of them you can call on for help overseas. You know who I mean. Others prefer to remain anonymously in the background. I mention all this to make you feel less … solitary, shall we say? We’re all dedicated to the same thing. We’re all patriots.”
    Epishev went a little closer to Dimitri