In Mayakovsky Square, the traffic stopped for tanks moving to the Parliament building by way of the Sadoyava Ring. “The Taman division,” Minin said approvingly. “They’re the toughest. They’ll roll right up the Parliament steps.”

But Moscow was such a big stage that most people seemed unaware of any coup. Couples walked hand in hand toward the Cinema House. A kiosk opened its shutters and, oblivious to the rain, a line of customers formed.

Tracks wove in and out of shining macadam. Tverskaya became Leningrad Prospect, which turned onto the Leningrad Road. Kim raced ahead. At speed, at least, Arkady wasn’t afraid of Minin shooting him. “We’re taking the airport road?” he said.

Minin said, “You’re falling behind. I don’t want to miss the fireworks.”

Along Chimki Lake was a sudden calm, a shadow among the urban-lights, the monotone of drops on the water. A line of slitted headlights appeared, more tanks moving at a walking pace. Beyond them was the horizontal haze of the Ring Road.

The motorcycle began to trail sparks, as if it were dragging its muffler. The can Arkady had wired to the exhaust pipes was one-third propane gas, which expanded twenty-one hundred times. Ignited, it expanded like a blowtorch. Flames fanned up the plastic sides and through the ports and over the rear tire in jets of fire that seemed to drive the bike forward. Arkady saw Kim looking at his rearview mirror, where the light would first appear to be coming from, then from side to side, then finally down, where the entire plastic sheath was igniting like a meteor around his legs and boots. The bike oscillated from lane to lane. That must be an impulse, Arkady thought, to try to outrun fire. Though the road was crossing an arm of the lake and there was no place to turn off, Kim jumped the shoulder of the road.

“Stop! Stop the car!” Minin pushed his gun against Arkady’s head.

The motorcycle touched a side rail and rolled like a tumbling flame. Kim stayed with it through a long slide, then the bike spun again, spewing a helmet from the blaze. As Arkady accelerated by, Minin pulled the trigger. The Stechkin didn’t fire. He remembered the safety and switched hands, but Arkady picked up the Nagant and held it on him.

“Get out.” He slowed to fifteen kilometers, enough to knock Minin off his feet when he landed. “Jump.”