The Kremlin senate had been a seat of political power in Russia ever since Catherine the Great had ordered its construction. Lenin and Stalin had both had studies and apartments in the building, and Lenin was now interred in his mausoleum a hundred metres away on the edge of Red Square. Rykov had always thought the high wall that cut between the senate and the mausoleum was a rather neat symbol of the transition the old grandfather of the Soviet Union had made from power to spectacle—and the removal of Stalin’s body from the tomb the two men had briefly shared a sign of the fleeting nature of fame.

Colonel General Aventin Churkin was the kind of anonymous, suit-wearing middle-aged man who would be dismissed as an accountant or lawyer in the West. He was, however, the deputy head of the first chief directorate of the KGB. Like every other line or department head in the first chief directorate, Rykov reported to Churkin. But his relationship with the colonel general was closer than merely being his direct subordinate. Churkin was also favoured by Brezhnev, and in the last couple of years had become something close to a patron to Rykov. However, both were careful to keep their alliance discreet and not bask too much in the glow of Brezhnev’s attention. They both knew how capricious the moods of politicians could be, and how frosty the general secretary had recently become towards Vladimir Semichastny, the chairman of the KGB, who had helped depose Khrushchev eighteen months ago.

Rykov watched Churkin step through the left-most of the three narrow doors at the base of the senate and button up his coat. Churkin’s seniority meant he had to come into regular contact with the Council of Ministers and their individual offices. His weekly visits to the senate mainly involved listening to grievances and placating politicians over their latest, childish issues. But they also made him privy to their quiet gossip, fears, and ambitions.

With a split second of reluctance, Rykov left his little slice of sunlight and walked over to Churkin, falling into step beside him and matching his slow pace. Churkin never rushed anywhere, even in the depths of winter. Rykov knew he considered it a sign of confidence, a manifestation of the image of certainty the KGB must project at all times. And that he enjoyed how awkward some people felt when they saw a spy walking slowly towards them.

‘Have you heard the terrible news from Cape Kennedy?’ Rykov asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The previous afternoon, America had launched the Gemini 8 capsule on top of a Titan II GLV rocket, carrying two astronauts, Neil Armstrong and David Scott, into orbit to attempt NASA’s first extraterrestrial docking test. Ten hours after launch the mission had been aborted due to a critical systems failure and the Gemini capsule had splashed down 430 nautical miles off the coast of Okinawa, Japan.