Chapter 99 — The Turning Point
Andrei had not expected Andropov to agree. Not openly. Not yet.
He understood well enough that to suggest removing Brezhnev through a coup—no matter how carefully phrased—was outright political heresy. Andropov, at least in form and speech, remained publicly loyal to the General Secretary.
But Andrei also understood something else: this incident had shaken Andropov deeply.
He had done everything in his power to stop the airstrike—yet failed. Bombers had been dispatched. His grandson had nearly died. Andrei himself had barely escaped with his life. The chairman of the KGB, a man feared across the Union, had stood powerless as others made the decisions.
That powerlessness was the spark.
Andrei saw it. And he knew the old man did too.
Andropov had many enemies. Andrei could almost list them from memory, using not hindsight but what he now observed firsthand. The most dangerous among them: Kirilenko, current Secretary of the Secretariat, de facto number two in the Kremlin, and the presumed successor to Brezhnev.
Kirilenko's fingerprints were all over the decision to bomb the Vigilance. It had been his push, his fear of a loss of control, that led to near disaster. And now the truth had emerged—Andropov's grandson had been aboard. What Kirilenko had done, whether knowingly or not, was politically unforgivable.
Andrei had tried to guide Andropov toward action. But the KGB chairman had pushed back, sternly, even threatening him if he dared to speak such thoughts again. That was for show. Andrei recognized the truth: the old man had been moved. He just couldn't say it aloud—not yet.
The interrogation of Saberlin had finished quickly. His statement was blunt, even idealistic. He wanted to "awaken the people." He claimed to follow the revolutionary spirit, to repeat history and correct the course of the Union. His words were dangerous—not just treasonous, but alluring to those disillusioned with the current state of affairs.
Saberlin would be executed. Quietly.
But his words would linger in the minds of men who felt what Andrei now understood: something in the Soviet Union was broken.
Andropov knew it too.
In the hours since the Vigilance had been secured, the chairman had not rested. Andrei could see it in the slight tremble of his hands, in the way he watched the horizon not as a man at peace, but as one calculating each minute.
Brezhnev could not last forever. But waiting for him to die was no longer acceptable.
The Soviet Union could not wait that long.
Andropov would need the support of the army. He would need allies in the Central Committee. And he would need to begin the quiet removal of political obstacles.
Kirilenko came first.
Andrei's words echoed again in his mind: "You don't always need to strike the man. Sometimes, it's those close to him—the ones with secrets."
There were many in the upper echelons of the Soviet Union who idealized the West, who longed for Western comforts, Western lives. Not everyone wore red in their hearts. That—Andropov now realized—was the crack through which pressure could be applied.
He stood by the frosted window of the Kronstadt command post, watching the sky grow pale with the approaching dawn.
A new day was coming.
---
"Andrei, you scared me to death!"
Ekaterina ran toward him the moment the guards waved her through. Her eyes were puffy from worry or sleeplessness, maybe both. Andrei caught her in a firm embrace, holding her close.
"It's alright now. It was just a… complication," he said softly. "It's over."
From behind them came a familiar, triumphant voice.
"Mama! I'm a hero! Like Zoya and Shura!"
Little Ivan was fully awake now, grinning from ear to ear. He rushed toward Ekaterina, arms outstretched, bubbling with pride from the previous night's exploits.
She caught him and hugged him tightly, tears escaping silently down her cheeks.
Andrei watched them both and let out a slow breath.
Yes. It was over—for now.
But deep in the halls of power, the next chapter had already begun.