The limousine turned heads wherever it rolled. Custom built with inlain wood cabinets, color TV, electric diviner, liquor bar and overhead stereo console, it had been ordered purchased by Polevoi and transported to Moscow under the guise of studying its mechanical technology. Shortly after its arrival he'd commandered it as his own.

The long car climbed around the forested edge of a craggy cliff until the road ended at a huge wooden door hinged to a high brick wall.

A uniformed officer saluted the KGB chief and pressed a switch. The door silently swung open to a vast garden that blazed with flowers, and the car was driven in and parked beside a spreading one-story house, constructed in a Western contemporary design.

Polevoi walked up circular stone steps and entered a foyer, where he was greeted by President Antonov's secretary and escorted to a table and chairs on a terrace overlooking the sea.

After a few moments Antonov appeared, followed by a pretty servant girl carrying a huge plate of smoked salmon, caviar and iced vodka.

Antonov seemed in a happy mood and casually sat on the iron railing around the terrace.

"You have a beautiful new dacha," said Polevoi.

"Thank you. I had it designed by a firm of French architects.

They didn't charge me a ruble. It won't pass critical inspection by a state building committee, of course. Too bourgeois. But what the hell. Times are changing." Then he switched the subject abruptly.

"What news of events in Washington?"

"The President will be removed from office," answered Polevoi.

"When?"

"By this time tomorrow."

"No doubt of this."

"None."

Antonov picked up his vodka glass and emptied it, and the girl immediately refilled it. Polevoi suspected the girl did more than simply pour vodka for the head of the Soviet Union.

"Did we miscalculate, Vladimir?" Antonov asked. "did we expect to accomplish too much too quickly?"

"Nobody can second-guess the Americans. They don't behave in predictable ways."

"Who will be the new President?"

"Alan Moran, Speaker of the House of Representatives."

"Can we work with him?"

"My sources say he has a devious mind, but can be swayed."

Antonov stared at a tiny fishing boat far below on the water.

"If given the choice, I'd prefer Moran over Vice President Margolin."

"Most definitely," Polevoi agreed. "Margolin is a dedicated enemy of our Communist society, and an adamant believer in expanding the American military machine beyond our own."

"Anything our people can do, discreetly, of course, to assist Moran into the White House?"

Polevoi shook his head. "Very little worth the risk of exposure and adverse propaganda."

"Where is Margolin?"

"Still in the hands of the Bougainvilles."

"Any chance that that old Oriental bitch will release him in time to cut out Moran?"

Polevoi shrugged helplessly. "Who can predict her schemes with any accuracy?"

"If you were her, Vladimir, what would you do?" Polevoi paused thoughtfully, then said, "I'd strike a deal with Moran to dispose of Margolin."