today to face the accusations of the faceless detractors who hide in the shadows and tell you that I am somehow going to be responsible for the downfall of Russian freedom.” Nevsky spoke slowly, allowing his words to reach all who were listening. “They claim that I am stockpiling munitions, that I am planning to make war on the satellite countries that have left our fold.”
Cherkshan had seen the figures reported in the newspapers. Someone inside the Kremlin was talking, and one of his jobs was to find out who it was. The newspapers didn’t have the exact numbers. In fact, they had less than half of them. But the numbers they had printed were enough to worry the people and some of the neighboring countries.
As well as the West. Already the United States had started rattling its saber, but its military—for a change—was financially stressed as well after years of the Middle East involvement and the rising cost of fuel.
The Russian scientists that Nevsky had funded had designed more economical war engines, and Russian oil corporations had found more ways to get to the oil resources within their own country. After all these years of the Cold War, the boot, so to speak, was finally coming back to the other foot. Even the Chinese were feeling the pinch of economic hardship as the spending by their citizens grew out of control.
But the reporters didn’t have access to the figures that Cherkshan did. The actual amount of military buildup was staggering.
Nevsky continued speaking. “My detractors fail to realize that I am simply trying to create business for this country. I am creating jobs for my fellow countrymen at a time when the West is staggered by the failure of their capitalist dreams.” He paused. “I am giving my countrymen jobs, providing a way for them to remain in their houses, and I am reshaping our dream for the future.”
Cheers broke out in the crowd.
“These accusers will tell you that I am going to take away the rights of the people. I say that they have already been taken away. Would any of you have thought that the day would come when you had to stand in line for bread, only to find out it had gone up in price as you had stood there waiting?”
The crowd reacted again.
“I did not. I find this evidence of capitalism ruin to be abhorrent to everything that is Russian. I see young people in our streets who wear American clothing they got through the black markets instead of outlets that are designed to protect our economy. I see men my age wearing expensive suits.” Nevsky pulled on his own jacket. “Do you know what this is, comrades? Russian manufacture. Made by Russian hands. Right here in Mother Russia. This is where my loyalty lies. Not with some seductive vision of a capitalist society like the West.”
The crowd cheered again, but this time, a pocket of the group exploded into violence. Nearly a dozen people were locked in mortal combat before Moscow uniformed policemen pushed their way through to them, stunned them with Tasers, and carried the unconscious men and women from the crowd.
Cherkshan picked up the phone on his desk.
It was answered at once. “Yes, General Cherkshan.”
“There has been an incident at the President’s speech. I want to know the names of the people involved immediately.”
“Yes, General.”
As Cherkshan hung up the phone, he looked at the pictures of his children sitting on his desk. Rodion was employed with the Alga Bank Group, one of the most powerful in the country, and was expecting his second child. Cherkshan was proud of his son.
His daughter, Anna, was something else. While Rodion had been educated in Switzerland, Anna had chosen an American school, the Columbia School of Journalism. If Cherkshan had had his way, his daughter would not have gone to the United States. She had already been too defiant as it was, a victim of the encroaching capitalist ways.
But Katrina had stepped in and insisted. Cherkshan loved his wife and would until the day he died. However, he would also regret sending Anna off to the United States. She was forever lost to him these days.
He preferred to remember her as the small girl he had shared make-believe tea parties with. The one who’d insisted on taking care of him when he was sick or recovering from a bullet wound. That was the daughter he’d been proud to raise.
The one he knew now would have been