Filipov was so indignant he looked as if he might burst. “Can’t you see that you’re talking about the end of everything we have worked for since 1917?”

“Khrushchev said it would take us twenty years to catch up with the Americans in wealth and military strength. It’s now twenty-eight years, and we’re farther behind than we were in 1961 when Khrushchev said it. Yevgeny, what are you fighting to preserve?”

“The Soviet Union! What do you imagine the Americans are thinking, as we run down our army and permit creeping revisionism among our allies? They’re laughing up their sleeves! President Bush is a Cold Warrior, intent on overthrowing us. Don’t fool yourself.”

“I disagree,” said Dimka. “The more we disarm, the less reason the Americans will have for building up their nuclear stockpile.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Filipov. “For all our sakes.” He walked away.

Dimka, too, hoped he was right. Filipov had put his finger on the flaw in Gorbachev’s strategy. It relied upon President Bush being reasonable. If the Americans responded to disarmament with reciprocal measures, Gorbachev would be vindicated, and his Kremlin rivals would look foolish. But if Bush failed to respond—or, even worse, increased military spending—then it would be Gorbachev who looked a fool. He would be undermined, and his opponents might seize the opportunity to overthrow him and return to the good old days of superpower confrontation.

Dimka went to Gorbachev’s suite of rooms. He was looking forward to meeting Németh. What was happening in Hungary was exciting. Dimka was also eager to find out what Gorbachev would say to Németh.

The Soviet leader was not predictable. He was a lifelong Communist who was nevertheless unwilling to impose Communism on other countries. His strategy was clear: glasnost and perestroika, openness and restructuring. His tactics were less obvious, and on any particular issue it was hard to know which way he would jump. He kept Dimka on his toes.

Gorbachev was not warm toward Németh. The Hungarian prime minister had asked for an hour and had been offered twenty minutes. It could be a difficult meeting.

Németh arrived with Frederik Bíró, whom Dimka already knew. Gorbachev’s secretary immediately took the three of them into the grand office. It was a vast high-ceilinged room with paneled walls painted a creamy yellow. Gorbachev was behind a contemporary black-stained wood desk that stood in a corner. There was nothing on the desk but a phone and a lamp. The visitors sat down on stylish black leather chairs. Everything symbolized modernity.

Németh got down to business with few courtesies. He was about to announce free elections, he said. Free meant free: the result could be a non-Communist government. How would Moscow feel about that?

Gorbachev flushed, and the purple birthmark on his bald dome darkened. “The proper path is to return to the roots of Leninism,” he said.

This did not mean much. Everyone who tried to change the Soviet Union claimed to be returning to the roots of Leninism.