When Yanayev heard the news about the change in CIA leadership, the first thing that crossed his mind was whether the United States had gone so far as to install a Soviet agent at the head of its intelligence agency—just to get rid of an incompetent director. To him, James Woolsey was a textbook theorist: he knew what direction to take, but never how to walk the road. His brief tenure as CIA Director would become the perfect example of that flaw.
"The two biggest mistakes James Woolsey made," Yanayev recalled thoughtfully, "were, first, grossly underestimating the threat posed by local militias during America's military deployment to Somalia. He failed to gather any credible intel on Mogadishu warlord Aidid, which caused the U.S. to pay a heavy price in Somalia. That triggered the first real crisis of his career. The second mistake was the Ames spy scandal. Ames—head of the CIA's Soviet and Eastern European division—was flipped by our people. He gave us 55 CIA operational plans, betrayed 34 agents, and provided us with a mountain of classified intelligence."
Yanayev smiled coldly to himself. Those two gifts alone, he thought, were enough to completely ruin Woolsey's political career.
"And as for President Mario?" Yanayev murmured, amused. "Let's see how long he lasts once this all unfolds."
Meanwhile, over in Langley, Director Woolsey had already begun restructuring agency strategy. For his first official meeting, he summoned key division heads and regional directors. Though the room was sparsely filled, every person seated was a heavyweight in the intelligence world.
Because Clinton never took office in this alternate history, Woolsey had no focus on global economic surveillance. Instead, his strategy continued down the Cold War path—squarely targeting the Soviet Union and socialist nations.
"What Director Gates did before must be reversed," Woolsey began without preamble. "Not because his strategy was inherently flawed—but because it was executed at the wrong place, and more importantly, at the wrong time. That's why his entire Soviet strategy collapsed."
He let that hang in the air. Everyone in the room knew what was coming next: a clean break from Gates.
"Gates took the path of direct confrontation—peaceful evolution, border harassment, and local unrest. It worked—for a time. Eastern Europe transformed, some success was had. But after 1991, everything changed."
The lights dimmed. The projector flicked to life. A black-and-white slide appeared on screen: the face of Yanaev.
Everyone's gaze narrowed.
Those in charge of Soviet operations knew that face all too well. They had been burned by it. It was under this man's watch that the CIA's post-1991 strategy unraveled. The files were missing, the networks gone cold. He had thwarted operation after operation.
To Langley, Yanaev was a ghost with a red star. They had no past on him—no childhood, no scandals, no personal life. It was as if he had only materialized in 1990, with nothing but smoke in the years before. Inside the CIA, they'd begun calling him the Red Ghost.
"Under Yanaev," Woolsey said, pointing with his pen, "external pressure won't work anymore. The days of directly toppling Moscow through proxy riots are over. We need to change the playbook."
He turned back to the room. "Our new strategy falls into two key objectives. First: target Yanaev. The Agency must obtain everything on him. I want his sleep schedule, his habits, his lunch preferences. I don't care if it's locked in a KGB vault or buried under the Kremlin—we get it."
"We've tried," someone said from the back. "It's impossible. All we know is he smokes, he's plain-looking, and he's got no women on the side. He's like a Soviet Puritan."
Woolsey slammed the pen down. "This is the CIA. I don't want excuses. I don't care how hard it is—if his file's on Mars, you take a damn rocket. Am I clear?"
A chorus of "Understood" echoed in the room.
"Second," Woolsey continued, "we're restarting operations in Eastern Europe. Czechoslovakia is barely holding on. Ames"—he turned to the Eastern Europe division chief—"I want full infiltration. Every Eastern Bloc country must liberalize, democratize. We'll build a containment wall of democracies between Western Europe and Moscow."
"I will," Ames replied.
"You must," Woolsey snapped, his tone cutting.
He looked around the room, his voice rising slightly, demanding attention.
"Listen closely to what I say next."
Everyone sat up. The meeting had just begun.
"The core mistake of our previous intelligence efforts," Woolsey began, his tone level but cold, "was overconfidence. We genuinely believed the Soviet Union could still be toppled by CIA subversion alone. But after Vantaa, the Baltic separatist debacle, the Tbilisi riots, the Chechen insurgency—we now see we were wrong. Completely wrong."
He paused, letting the silence sink in.
"We've been applying a 1989 playbook to a 1992 Soviet Union. But this is not the same regime we once undermined. This new Soviet Union has rebuilt its Iron Curtain—not with concrete and barbed wire, but with counterintelligence. And our old methods? They're fading fast."
A few officers exchanged grim glances.
"That's why it's time to shift strategy," Woolsey continued. "The direct-offensive model has run its course. Going forward, we pivot to an indirect approach—supporting local proxies, building networks, isolating the Soviet Union from its old satellites. If we can cut them off from Eastern Europe, from any sympathetic allies, we can wait them out—until the cracks inside widen on their own."
He clicked the next slide. A map of Eurasia lit up, the Soviet Union highlighted in red.
"Our second focus: China. Gates mishandled it terribly. His clumsy policies practically pushed China into the arms of the Soviets. And when the USSR's economy hit rock bottom, they naturally turned to Beijing for lifelines and cover. That was preventable."
Woolsey glanced around, his eyes sharp. "China should have been ours to win. A chess piece of that weight should never be left to the Soviets. I don't care what identity or ideology they carry—if they're useful to U.S. interests, we'll treat them as CIA trading partners. Covert or overt, formal or informal."
He leaned forward.
"We don't need them to love us. Hell, we don't even need them to be allies. All we need is for China to stop backing the Soviets. Even neutrality is better than this quiet alignment we're seeing."
He clicked again. This time, a satellite image of Afghanistan came up.
"Our third priority is Afghanistan. This is the dagger we still have buried in Central Asia. We must cultivate pro-American, anti-Soviet forces within. But for God's sake—" he raised a finger, "—no more ungrateful bastards."
The room remained still, knowing exactly what he was referring to. The CIA's past "holy warriors" had become ghosts that still haunted U.S. policy.
"If we train anyone now, they must be loyal—agents whose survival depends on our support. No more wild dogs with their own agendas. We can't afford that again."
He turned back to face them fully.
"Japan and the Western bloc may seem aligned on the surface, but there's friction—more than Washington likes to admit. We can no longer rely on full obedience from Tokyo or Brussels. Our influence is slipping, which makes the need for internal cohesion—and loyal, embedded agents—even more critical."
A heavy silence followed.
"This will not be easy," Woolsey said at last, lowering his voice. "It will take time. Patience. Resolve. But I expect every single one of you to be prepared for what comes next."
He looked at each officer in turn. "This isn't just another Cold War chapter. This is the long game. And we will win it."