— This is Thrush, Puck, do you read me? (static) — the man in camouflage and a tactical vest lay on the ground, holding a portable radio.
— Copy you, Thrush. Are you at the rendezvous point? — a clear female voice came over the radio.
— Affirmative, — the man replied, checking the map and the satellite bearing readings.
— Stand by. The target's closing in fast. Three vehicles — he's in the central one. Maintain radio silence until further notice, — the voice relayed the command.
— Roger that, out, — the man pressed the switch and put the now-off radio away.
A group of five had taken positions on the right side of the Saint Petersburg–Moscow highway. One could think they were ordinary gangsters or a team of hitmen, waiting for the right moment to eliminate a rival of their boss. Nowadays, such situations are quite common. Crime handles big money, so it's very often that former special service officers end up working for them.
But this was not the case now. They were killers, yes, but not in the service of some second-rate villain or petty criminal. No — these killers served the state, and their actions were now set to drastically change the fate of millions of people. Whether for better or worse, only time would tell.
Their patron, General Lushev, had found many of them and pulled them out of difficult life situations. He rescued some from the noose, others from crushing debt, some who were simply rotting in the gutter, discarded by the new country, and for others, he restored a sense of purpose in life. He claimed that the traget of the mission of these killers, if not entirely, was to a very large extent responsible for the fall of their homeland. And such a thing could not be forgiven — let alone go unpunished. The general said it should serve as a lesson and a warning to the rest. And although the operation had the whiff of extra-judicial justice, no one in the squad really objected.
Meanwhile, the motorcade came into view of the squad. Their target — the notoriously controversial reformer, and in the eyes of some influential figures, the "grey cardinal" behind many destructive processes in the Soviet Union and now in the Federation, Anton Burievich Rubais — an internal enemy of the Russian people. He was traveling back from a meeting with his business partners in Saint Petersburg, discussing the sale of worthless junk, or as some fools called it, nuclear submarines. At the meeting, it had been decided to cut these "tubs" up and sell them as scrap metal. For the "New" and "Free" Russia, it was utterly unnecessary — a pointless extravagance. So much predictable absurdity…
A red flare, at high speed, shot out of the "tube" of the rocket launcher and, in mere seconds, weaving strangely, crossed the valley separating the forest from the highway and struck the car in which the politician was seated, engulfing it in flames. In an instant, the vehicle ignited like a match.
Anton Burievich didn't even have time to finish his undoubtedly brilliant thoughts, as the "Nine M One Three" missile reduced his skull to atoms. There was nothing left to think with. Later that evening, investigators and forensic experts would wonder where Rubais' killers had acquired a fully guided missile.
In any case, it was a pity — apparently he didn't fit into the market, and crossed the wrong person.
***
Moscow, the Pimov family.
The Pimovs were a typical Soviet family: father, mother, son, and daughter. They had an average income. The father, Andrey Pimov, worked at one of the many Soviet enterprises. The mother, Alisa Pimova, was a housewife. They weren't poor, but they weren't living in luxury either — that was the case until recently.
With the final twists of perestroika and the subsequent collapse of the country, the Pimov family — like millions of other Soviet households — found themselves in dire straits. Andrey, the head of the family, began having his salary regularly delayed. Because of this, he had to take a second job as a night loader and resorted to petty theft, risking his freedom. How long this could go on — only God knew.
And then there was the factory where he worked — bought by some nouveau riche — and now almost every month there were scheduled layoffs. Workers went months without seeing a paycheck, and the factory itself was slowly but surely being dismantled for scrap. Though in a way, they were lucky — some of his friends at other plants didn't even have time to blink before they were out on the street, and the factories were demolished in just a few days. So, if you think about it, Andrey's situation wasn't the worst.
The worst part was something else — his family was suffering. He couldn't properly feed his own children and wife. His heart broke watching his kids devour empty macaroni in seconds, even though the food was available in the stores, but there was no money.
Then, one fine, ordinary morning, Andrey Pimov got up early while his family was still asleep. He drank tea without sugar, ate a piece of dry bread, and went off to work.
The strangeness began right at the gate. A small group of his colleagues were there — and, remarkably, they were cheerful. For the first time in many months, they looked truly happy and carefree. Curious about their mood, Andrey approached them and asked the nearest worker, Lekha Khvorostin, a neighbor from the adjacent workshop.
— Hello, Lekha, — Andrey extended his hand. — What's with this gathering of happy workers?
— Hello, Andrey. You don't know? We got our pay, all of it, with interest, and even the back payments were credited. That's why we're celebrating. By the way, you should go to the accounting office too and collect what you're owed. You'll make Alisa and the kids happy.
— That's… that's wonderful!!! — Andrey hugged Lekha in excitement.
— Ha, ha-ha, I know, Dron, I know. Let go, you'll suffocate me, — Lekha patted Andrey on the back good-naturedly.
— Sorry, right, I'm off, — Andrey said, letting go of Lekha and running toward the accounting office.
In the accounting office, Andrey was indeed handed all the money the factory owed him — even with interest, just as Lekha had said. Some time later, they were all asked to gather in the assembly hall, where the very same nouveau-riche oligarch who had bought the factory awaited them. Everyone was asked to take their seats. The floor was given to the factory manager, who spoke in banalities and expressed gratitude to the businessman for the money. Andrey didn't listen; he was watching the rich man.
The thing was, he had already seen him six months ago, when the man had bought the factory, and it was worth taking a look. The difference was striking. The first time, he had been an unpleasant little man, openly trying to look like a gangster — huge gold watch, enormous gold chain — a caricature, not a person. Now, he appeared presentable, in an expensive but understated suit, clean-shaven, without that brazen "master of the world" expression.
When the businessman spoke, he said things that pleased many. Though it was hard to believe it would all happen, first, he apologized for the delayed wages. He promised it would never happen again. Second, he announced an end to the policy of regular layoffs. Third, he outlined plans for expanding the factory, repairing and modernizing equipment, offering free courses for skill improvement. And on and on he spoke, promising, planning — and Andrey wanted to believe. Not because he was naive, though he wasn't entirely without that, but because it seemed to him that the man was genuinely sincere in that moment, as if moved by some invisible, benevolent will.
***
The man was sitting on the couch, with tea and a fresh newspaper laid out on the coffee table, comfortably watching the morning news.
On the blue screen, images flickered - first, scenes of field life, soldiers, and military equipment; then, a large hall and a meeting of high-ranking military officials of the Federation. Stock footage of battles in the North Caucasus ran in the background. Over these images, the announcer spoke in a formal, yet slightly monotonous voice:
"…The new Minister of Defense has carried out a series of personnel changes in the upper command structures of the Russian Federation's armed forces. Particularly affected by these changes was the leadership of the special peacekeeping forces stationed in the Chechen Republic and the Republic of Dagestan…"
Then the camera showed a close-up of the Minister of Defense himself, seated at a round table in one of the halls of the Kremlin Palace. Around the table with him sat the top hierarchs of the military department, representing its various branches and units. New faces were noticeable among those present. This clearly indicated that the new head of the ministry was serious about shaking up the personnel. Considering rumors that all this was being done with the full support of the new president, it was quite likely that the plan would succeed.
On television, the new Minister of Defense appeared again — an elderly man, but still quite robust, reading from a sheet of paper. Only a fragment of the broadcast was shown.
"…The personnel reshuffles that took place yesterday were, in fact, a necessity. There is reason to believe that the Ministry of Defense of the Russian Federation, to one degree or another, is susceptible to corruption and suffers from incompetence. The only proper response is agreement and a fight against the corruption and folly that give rise to treason. It is precisely for these reasons that the campaign in the North Caucasus was so prolonged…"
The report then shifted to the peacekeeping mission in the North Caucasus. The man listened half-heartedly, sipping his coffee and glancing at the newspaper, catching only the key points: corrupt officials and traitors were arrested on the spot, the most odious and brazen simply vanished. Fresh troops were being deployed to the front — by order of the minister and decree of the president, new units were formed or old ones restored, staffed predominantly with Afghan war veterans, whose experience was considered invaluable.
In addition, the ministry announced a gradual increase in the number of service members to what it considered an adequate level. Exactly what number the ministry deemed "adequate" was not specified in advance. There would be no shortage of volunteers eager to return to the army.
Back in the day, the Soviet authorities, during their final years, and the first president of Russia had made many mistakes, reducing the size of the armed forces. A vast number of experienced and battle-hardened soldiers, with families, were left on the streets without means of subsistence. Helping these people, these families, especially in such difficult times, is a wise move. It could earn the new president the support and loyalty of the military. An obvious strategy. After the recent cleansing within the ministry, this became even more apparent.
It didn't really matter — according to reports from his assistants, he already had a rough idea of everything. So far, everything was within acceptable limits; the new president hadn't done anything that went too far. On the contrary, it was even understandable. The new face was simply consolidating power, asserting himself at the top of the Russian political pyramid. In principle, the report wouldn't differ much from previous ones — the old president had been doing roughly the same.
While the man sat sipping his tea, a woman entered the living room. Once she had his attention, she spoke:
— Sir, Washington is awaiting a report on the new balance of power in Russia. They want to know your specific opinion about the new president: does he pose a threat? Or should we wait and see what happens? How should we respond?
Before speaking, the man set the newspaper aside and, still holding his cup of tea, walked to the window, drew the shade, and returned to the sofa.
— For now, we're not taking any active measures regarding the new president. Yes, some of his actions are rather suspicious, but again, it's all part of internal political maneuvering. At this point, it's unclear whether he can be negotiated with or not. His anti-Western stance is not obvious. He could very well become our ally. The key is to gather kompromat on him. Broadly speaking, we continue what we've always done: expanding our agent network, buying off local officials, infiltrating deeper into their power hierarchy. Our predecessors did solid work, but there's still room to grow.
— But sir, are you sure? The new president seems like he could cause some problems. After all, we know he has extensive ties within the Russian security services. There's even been information that he's their proxy, — the assistant objected, sharing her opinion.
— Even if that's true, it's obvious to me that he's just a compromise figure. He holds no real power. That's why he's consolidating authority around himself. It shows he's not a fool and understands his position. In my view, though, it won't help him much — his position remains weak and precarious. I see no other options for him except to wait until he gathers strength and starts acting more boldly. Or… he could become a telepath and bend everyone at the top of the Kremlin to his will, — the man added, bringing a smile to his assistant's face with such a ridiculous, humorous suggestion.
Hundreds of train cars stood on one of the railway stations in Khakassia. Thousands of military personnel and civilian workers bustled around them. Like tiny, industrious ants, people carried cargo from the open train cars into the beds of trucks. They hauled all kinds of supplies: tools, construction materials, food, water, equipment, generators. Among the ordinary soldiers, officers, and civilians, security service agents moved back and forth.
Loaded trucks gradually formed a convoy and, under the protection of armored personnel carriers, headed north from Abakan, the capital of the Republic of Khakassia. Warehouses across the republic were overflowing with supplies, strictly guarded by special service personnel. In addition to this logistical nightmare, construction crews — both military and civilian railway workers, selected from the best across the country — were working at an accelerated pace. A new railway line was being built deep into the lands of southern Siberia in emergency mode.