The fallout from the Los Angeles incident was swift and severe. Under mounting pressure from all sides, the Los Angeles police chief resigned. At the same time, Mayor Tom Bradley also stepped down, unable to avoid becoming the scapegoat for the disaster. At a press conference, Bradley took full responsibility for the chaos, not out of true contrition, but because of the overwhelming pressure from Congress.
The riot and explosion had nearly shattered the reputation and prestige of the U.S. government like never before. Yet America was not easily broken. The CIA's silent operations worked behind the scenes to regain control of the narrative. Soon, media outlets began labeling the rioters' behavior as irrational, framing disorder as mistaken freedom. Meanwhile, Soviet defectors—public intellectuals who had sought asylum in the U.S.—started praising the federal government, their voices suddenly filled with unwavering admiration. Many no longer criticized the Soviet Union, choosing instead to sing America's praises day after day.
Some U.S. officials grew weary of these flattery-laden praises. Rumors spread that anything beneficial to the government was popular, while dissent was dismissed as slander and rumor-mongering. Officials grumbled privately about the incessant, almost idiotic flattery. It wasn't clear to them that these public intellectuals were covertly funded by the Soviet government, receiving salaries in U.S. dollars that were twice the norm, plus additional insurance policies. Anyone who leaked these secrets faced ruthless elimination by KGB operatives hiding in the U.S.
Though artificial intervention couldn't replace America's own silent influence, it could produce immediate effects. The public grew suspicious of these intellectuals, sensing manipulation and interference in public opinion.
Among those troubled by these events was Robert Gates, director of the CIA's secret propaganda division. Though praised by President Bush for his role in the Beslan operation, Gates feared the Los Angeles riots would tarnish his career. The newly elected President Mario was indifferent to past successes—only current results mattered.
Unfortunately for Gates, those results were zero. The collateral damage from the Beslan incident had alienated potential allies, leaving the CIA isolated in its renewed covert war against the Soviet Union.
Before being summoned to the Oval Office, Gates had already formulated a plan—not perfect, but one that might temporarily restore the president's dignity.
Meanwhile, life grew increasingly difficult for Vytautas and Anatoly, presidents of the Lithuanian and Latvian governments-in-exile. Though officially recognized by the CIA and with exiled governments overseas, their circumstances were far worse than that of Estonian President Arnold, who languished in a Soviet political prison but was treated with a degree of respect. Vytautas and Anatoly were shelved indefinitely, deemed temporarily useless by the CIA.
When will spring come? The question hung in the air, to be revisited as Soviet political turmoil deepened.
Without CIA funding, members of the Lithuanian and Latvian exile committees struggled to raise money and often faced hunger. Compared to Soviet-backed regimes that enjoyed privileges, these exiles yearned for a return home—even if it meant becoming puppets of the Soviet Union. Long live freedom and independence had brought little political capital.
Some members began abandoning the committees, opting for independent paths now that they held U.S. green cards. Why resist money? The independent committees, struggling for over a year, now faced collapse.
Yet the Los Angeles incident created a political opportunity for Vytautas and Anatoly. CIA Director Gates personally approached them to discuss the possibility of restoring their regimes and returning them to the Baltic homelands. The meeting took place in a modest office at 143 Drasvić Street—the CIA-rented space where they first arrived in the U.S. Though rent was prepaid for over a year, the committees operated at a loss and struggled to make ends meet.
Gates sat on a worn, shabby sofa, somber over the uselessness of the CIA's financial support. Opposite him, former President Vytautas waited, eyes shining with hope.
"Your mission is simple," Gates began bluntly. "You will use your old political allies to stir riots and unrest in Latvia and Lithuania, plunging the Baltic region back into chaos. This shouldn't be difficult for you."
Gates looked around the room before continuing, "After all, you started as an opposition party with democratic slogans—you know how to organize riots better than anyone."
He then pulled a thin check from his bag and waved it before Vytautas, speaking temptingly, "This money is for your operations. It's more than enough. Trust me, it will cover everything you need to successfully plan a riot, so long as your old forces remain intact. What do you say? Are you interested?"
Vytautas's resolve flickered, but he maintained his composure. "Director Gates, we understand the realities you speak of, and we are not blind to the imbalance of power. But history has shown that popular will and persistence can overcome the might of armies, even the Soviet army. Our fight is not just for today—it is for the future of our people."
Gates leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly. "Future? Perhaps. But until then, your 'future' means chaos in a region where stability is key to American interests. If you act without our backing or strategic alignment, you risk being crushed—and dragging us into a conflict we are not ready for."
Vytautas nodded slowly, absorbing the words, yet his voice remained firm. "We are aware of the risks. But if we wait for your perfect conditions, we may wait forever. The Baltic peoples deserve freedom now, not promises deferred indefinitely. The question is not only what you can give us, but what we are willing to endure."
Gates paused, then sighed deeply. "I admire your conviction. But understand this—American support is conditional. It is political, strategic, and will never be unconditional. You must prove your worth in ways beyond slogans and claims. Until then, this is the reality you face."
Vytautas extended his hand. "Thank you for your honesty, Director. We will prepare our plan, with or without your funds. But know this—freedom is not a gift to be handed out. It is seized."
Gates shook his hand firmly. "I'll be waiting for your call." He turned and left, leaving Vytautas with the weight of an uncertain future—and the resolve to fight on.