“This is dynamite,” Jasper said when George had told him the whole story. “Are you sure of your source?”

“It’s the same as my source for the other stories I’ve given you. Completely trustworthy.”

“This makes President Reagan a mass murderer.”

“Yes,” said George. “I know.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

On that Sunday, while Jacky and George and Maria and little Jack were in church, singing “Shall We Gather at the River,” Konstantin Chernenko died in Moscow.

It happened at twenty minutes past seven in the evening, Moscow time. Dimka and Natalya were at home, eating bean soup for supper with their daughter, Katya, a schoolgirl of fifteen, and Dimka’s son, Grisha, a university student of twenty-one. The phone rang at seven thirty. Natalya picked it up. As soon as she said: “Hello, Andrei,” Dimka guessed what had happened.

Chernenko had been dying ever since he became leader, a mere thirteen months ago. Now he was in hospital with cirrhosis and emphysema. All Moscow was waiting impatiently for him to expire. Natalya had bribed Andrei, a nurse at the hospital, to call her as soon as Chernenko breathed his last. Now she hung up the phone and confirmed it. “He’s dead,” she said.

This was the moment of hope. For the third time in less than three years, a tired old conservative leader had died. Once again there was a chance for a new young man to step in and change the Soviet Union into the kind of country in which Dimka wanted Grisha and Katya to live and raise his grandchildren. But that hope had been disappointed twice before. Would the same happen again?

Dimka pushed his plate away. “We have to act now,” he said. “The succession will be decided in the next few hours.”

Natalya nodded agreement. “The only thing that matters is who chairs the next meeting of the Politburo,” she said.

Dimka thought she was right. That was how things worked in the Soviet Union. As soon as one contender nosed ahead, no one would bet on any other horse in the race.

Mikhail Gorbachev was second secretary, and therefore officially deputy to the late leader. However, his appointment to that position had been hotly contested by the old guard, who had wanted Moscow party boss Viktor Grishin, seventy years old and no reformer. Gorbachev had won that race by only one vote.

Dimka and Natalya left the dining table and went into the bedroom, not wanting to discuss this in front of the children. Dimka stood at the window, looking out at the lights of Moscow, while Natalya sat on the edge of the bed. They did not have much time.

Dimka said: “With Chernenko dead, there are exactly ten full members of the Politburo, including Gorbachev and Grishin.” The full members were the inner circle of Soviet power. “By my calculation, they divide right down the middle: Gorbachev has four supporters and Grishin has the same.”

“But they aren’t all in town,” Natalya pointed out. “Two of Grishin’s men are away: Shcherbitsky is in the United States, and Kunayev is at home in Kazakhstan, a five-hour flight away.”