Donnegan’s attention perked up when he heard the reporter say something about “Durov” and “probable coup.” Troops rushed about on the cobblestones behind the reporter. They appeared to be manning a hastily erected, sandbagged gun emplacement. A T-74 main battle tank rumbled to a halt, its cannon pointed out across the broad expanse of Red Square. Someone inside the ancient fortress was frightened enough to take serious, and visible, precautions.

The image shifted to a briefing room. A Russian naval officer, resplendent in an admiral’s full dress uniform, stepped to the center of the room and towered above a dark wooden lectern that waited there. The Russian flag and the naval ensign were framed on either side. The elderly white-haired man stood stiffly erect, glaring at those in the room until the hubbub subsided. The imposing figure had the bearing of someone accustomed to commanding and being instantly obeyed. The assembled group of newsmen hushed.

Donnegan recognized the officer at once. He was Admiral of the Northern Fleet Alexander Durov.

The old sailor stood silent for a moment longer after the room had grown quiet, surveying the reporters with an icy glare. When he was ready, he spoke into the bank of massed microphones, his voice clear, cold, and crisp, with not a hint of hesitation or weakness. Even without the help of an interpreter, the old man’s meaning would have been obvious, but CNN’s interpreter confirmed it and provided the chilling details in English.

“The time has come to free Mother Russia from the bondage of foreign oppression. Our government has failed in its sacred duty to uphold the honor of the Rodina and the sovereignty of our nation. Over the last decade, we have endured the insults and slights of the West and have not responded. The puppets of the imperialists have taken control of the Kremlin and have sought to emasculate the mighty forces that have protected the motherland for generations with their bravery and blood.”

Donovan could not believe the sheer force and determination in what he was hearing and seeing. Admiral Durov’s face was flushed red, his jaw muscles drawn taut, as he glared into the camera. He was not reading from prepared notes. This speech had been well rehearsed.