Chapter 98 — Shadows Before Sunrise
The meeting hall had emptied. The tension had broken, but for Kirilenko, the shame lingered like smoke after a fire.
He stood alone at the Kremlin window, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the grey horizon. Outside, the city remained cloaked in night, the first hint of dawn still hours away.
He had lost.
Again.
He had pushed so hard to bomb the Vigilance—to eliminate a threat, yes, but also to embarrass Andropov, to remove a dangerous rival for power. Brezhnev had agreed, the air force had launched—and yet, the ship hadn't been sunk. The warship had been retaken by its own crew. The uprising had failed without bloodshed.
It was a clean resolution.
Too clean.
Kirilenko ground his teeth. Now, it was he who looked hasty. He who had nearly ordered the destruction of a Soviet naval asset. He who had almost authorized the killing of loyal sailors. Even Brezhnev, though silent, would not forget this blunder.
Just then, the door creaked open behind him.
General Semyon Tsvigon stepped inside and closed it carefully. His voice was low.
"Secretary Kirilenko… I've confirmed the details. Chairman Andropov's grandson was aboard the Vigilance at the time of the mutiny."
Kirilenko turned slowly, his face darkening.
That explains it.
Of course Andropov had resisted the strike order. Of course he had advocated restraint. It wasn't just politics—it was personal. His own blood had been on that ship. And I didn't know.
He clenched his fists, barely able to contain the fury that twisted in his gut. If he had known—if only he had known—he could have played it differently. Calmer. More calculated. He had not only overplayed his hand, but he had struck at Andropov's family without realizing it.
Now, Andropov had the moral high ground.
And soon, maybe more than that.
———
Above the still-sleeping countryside, a Tu-104A sliced through the clouds.
Inside, Andropov sat alone by the window, arms folded, the lines on his face deeper than ever. His mind was no longer gripped by panic. The latest report from Kronstadt confirmed no casualties, and little Ivan was safe.
Now came the harder part.
What to do next.
The warship was secure. Saberlin was in custody. But the aftershocks would ripple through the Party and the military for weeks to come. If this had gone differently—if even one bomb had landed true—Andropov might have lost more than just his grandson. He might have lost the legitimacy to lead.
But fate had chosen another path.
The Tu-104 banked gently as it approached the Gulf of Finland.
———
At the Kronstadt naval airfield, dawn's light was just beginning to bleed across the tarmac. The base commander stood at full attention, flanked by senior officers and KGB security staff. Andropov stepped off the plane slowly, accompanied by a tight ring of aides.
He didn't pause for ceremony.
"Interrogate Saberlin and his followers. Document everything. I want every line of that ideology exposed," he said to his deputy. "This cannot happen again."
"Yes, Comrade Chairman."
Andropov made his way inside a low command building, where guards had secured a debrief room. Inside, Andrei stood up sharply at his arrival.
"Chairman Andropov."
Andropov gave a curt nod, then looked across the room—his eyes immediately softening at the sight of little Ivan, curled up on a cot in the corner, fast asleep.
Only then did he allow himself a breath of relief.
"Andrei, explain."
Andrei summarized everything. The air duct escape. Ivan's sabotage. The reclaiming of the ship. Portuline's leadership. The flares.
When he finished, Andropov remained silent for a long moment, then said softly:
"You can't let Ivan do things like this. He causes too much trouble."
He paused.
"But… this time, he did well."
Andrei smiled faintly. "He's less than four years old—but already braver than many men I've met. A little hero. Like Zoya or Shura."
The compliment was veiled—Andrei was offering Andropov an opportunity. Frame Ivan as a national icon. Rally patriotic spirit. Build support.
But Andropov shook his head.
"No. This incident is shameful. It must be buried. Quietly."
His voice hardened. "Ivan is my grandson. He cannot be too outstanding."
The message was clear.
Tall trees catch the wind.
In the Soviet Union—especially in these uncertain times—those who stood too tall were often cut down.
Andrei bowed his head. He understood. Andropov still had to move carefully.
But Andrei wasn't done.
"Chairman, the decision to bomb the ship before the situation was clear—it was too hasty. Someone at the top is trying to destroy your standing."
Andropov's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
"Yes," he said simply. "But it failed."
Andrei hesitated, then said:
"Chairman… this won't be the last time. This uprising—Saberlin's rhetoric—it didn't come from nowhere. People are questioning the system. Reform is coming, from above or below."
He leaned forward, voice lower. "I support you, Comrade Chairman. And I believe the country does too. But change must start now."
Andropov stood in silence.
Then he turned to leave.
At the doorway, Andrei called out one final time:
"You don't need to attack your enemies directly. Sometimes, the ones closest to them… are easier to remove."
Andropov didn't reply.
But as he stepped into the hallway—his hand brushing the frame—he paused for a heartbeat.
Then walked away.