"No, you won't." Facing Yanayev's threat, Kadyrov stood up boldly. "If such a bomb really falls on Chechnya, it will spark attacks from all the Soviet republics against your party. Not just the republics—the whole world will see the Soviet Union as an enemy."
"You may feel temporarily safe pacifying Chechnya with nuclear force, but what will you do when the political situation grows even more complicated?" Kadyrov's words were like a sharp thorn piercing Yanayev's nerve center. His temples throbbed. He hadn't expected this young boy to be even braver than Akhmadov standing beside him. Was it the fearless courage of a newborn calf facing a tiger, or a grim resolve to fight to the death?
"Since you, General Secretary Yanayev, agreed to negotiate with us, war must be off the table—unless our differences prove too great. Then, as a last resort, a second Chechen war will begin. But I remind you: most Chechens today are Christians, and Russians don't hold a dominant position here. You must think carefully about whether to continue your old methods."
Yanayev responded firmly: "Mr. Kadyrov, the Soviet Union has always maintained a firm stance on religious beliefs. We will never allow religious police in Chechnya, nor will we tolerate polygamy. Our people have finally freed themselves from the shackles of the past, and we will never allow them to return."
Compared to the young Kadyrov, who historically was an old man with a young wife, Yanayev despised such practices. In the Soviet Union, men and women were equal, and for that reason, Yanayev took harsh measures to suppress Islamic fundamentalism.
Anyone daring to advocate that the women of the Caucasus republics wear black robes? Yanayev wouldn't hesitate to have them dragged off to the Kazan Mental Hospital for "treatment" by KGB doctors.
"And Chechnya wants to maintain a strong armed force?" Yanayev glanced disdainfully at Akhmadov, then turned to Kadyrov. "I want to know if your forces can withstand the steel torrent of the Soviet Union. We can flatten the Central European plains and plant the red flag worldwide. What right does Chechnya have to make demands of us?"
Kadyrov's bargaining with Putin was possible because the Russian army paid a heavy price in the Chechen War and was exhausted by terrorism. But Yanayev was different. The Soviet Union had a huge stockpile of weapons to slowly burn through. With normalized trade with Asia, the economy was improving. The Soviet army occupied half of Chechnya. With a decision from the Central Committee, they could turn their guns against the Sufi forces.
"So, what are your conditions?" Akhmadov asked, eager to hear Yanayev's terms.
"First, Soviet troops must be stationed in Chechnya. This is non-negotiable. Without Soviet troops, can Chechnya even be called part of the Soviet Union?" Yanayev said bluntly, tapping the table for emphasis. "And the number of troops is decided solely by us—the Sufis have no say."
"But your forces may be retained as Chechen police. The Soviet troops stationed here will not intervene in local security matters within your capabilities. But if the situation spirals out of control, the Soviet army has the right to step in." This compromise was almost a replica of "one country, two systems."
"Second, we will send the first secretary of the Communist Party to Chechnya to reestablish Soviet organs. No religious ideology will replace the national government. Chechnya's laws must be Soviet laws—not your religious codes."
"The third condition is to suppress the Wahhabi faction." Yanayev emphasized this. "I hope the Sufi faction can unite with the Soviet government to either assimilate the Wahhabis or expel them from the Caucasus, creating a unified Islamic faction."
Akhmadov took a deep breath. Yanayev's offer was a great gift. If the first two terms had bruised their pride, this was a golden opportunity. Even nominal unification was a huge honor.
"You mean a unified Islamist faction? Even if only nominal?" Kadyrov's eyes gleamed. At his age, he might not fully grasp the implications, but imagining himself as spiritual leader of Chechnya—or even the entire Caucasus—ignited a fierce ambition. With Moscow's support, why wouldn't Chechnya become a powerful republic?
"Yes, a unified faction. Anyone who agrees with the Moscow Central Committee's leadership will follow the Sufis." Yanayev smiled, but his eyes held a hidden, deadly intent.
Young Kadyrov and Akhmadov had not yet seen through Yanayev's true plan, lost in dreams of spiritual leadership. But the Caucasus was a tangle of ethnicities and religions. If the Sufis tried to unify the region, backlash from other sects and religions was inevitable. Chechnya wouldn't gain power—it would only raise suspicion and hatred from neighboring states.
Surrounded by enemies, what choice would Chechnya have but to kneel and beg for Soviet protection?
The delicate balance of power between the member states concentrated ultimate authority in the hands of the central Soviet government. The Communist Party acted as an offshore balancer in the Transcaucasus.
Now, at last, Yanayev had found the reins to control the runaway horse of Chechnya—and the future master was firmly in his grip.
"We accept Moscow's conditions and are willing to sign the treaty," Kadyrov Jr. said with a bright smile, oblivious to the Soviet plot behind it.