Across from Kishinev, Myshkin, the rapier-thin senior party theoretician, the scourge of “deviationism,” which had become the latest buzzword in Pravda, the philosopher whose gushy celebrations of the ideal stakhanovite worker were a regular feature of Izvestia, was anxiously glancing around the room, as if seeking out the slightest crumbs of revisionism even here in the Holy of Holies. Fyedorenko thought that Myshkin would go along with Molotov Plan as the next stage in the historically inevitable course of Marxist-Leninist destiny.

Next to Myshkin was Uri Arbatov, the minister of industrial development and across from him sat Nikolai Suganin, the tough head of the trade unions. Next to Arbatov sat Korchnoi, the bouncy minister of agriculture. Opposite him was Vladimir Komarovsky, Comintern secretary and liaison to Communist parties worldwide. He was nervously licking his thin lips, upset by the unmistakable sense of crisis in the room. He had grown increasingly more uneasy during the last months, as Fyedorenko had nibbled away at Suvarov’s authority. A certain No vote, Fyedorenko decided.

At the foot of the table was Cherkassy, the Ukrainian party secretary from Kiev and across from him, Liepka, his Latvian counterpart from Riga. These last two were the required token non-Russians. Despite many ruthless tests, they had proven their loyalty to Moscow over and over, but still, the Soviet soul is incapable of ever truly trusting anyone who isn’t a Great Russian by birth. Well, they would get another test today, Fyedorenko mused.

“Comrades,” he began and everyone in the room stirred at the unmistakable note of urgency in his voice. Kishinev and Myshkin looked significantly at each other, their suspicions confirmed. Like the sharks they were, they immediately recognized the scent of blood. Fyedorenko took a deep breath before proceeding. He had no doubt whatsoever that he was about to make history.

“I request that we dispense with today’s agenda in order to deal with a matter of some urgency,” Fyedorenko said.

There were affirmative nods around the table. The scent of blood was in the air and no mistaking it.

“I am as anxious as the rest to hear what the party chairman has to say,” Arbatov interjected, “but I would remind the members that final approval of the new Five-Year Plan cannot be delayed much longer.”

“Your point is well taken, Uri. But I’m sure the party secretary would not dispense with the agenda unless the matter was fully urgent,” Kishinev put in smoothly. Fyedorenko smiled his thanks to the foreign minister. Your point, you bastard, he thought.

“Also the plans for the forthcoming Trade Union Congress must be finalized,” Suganin said.

“Duly noted, comrade. But I know that we all want to hear the party secretary’s views,” Suvarov said. Fyedorenko leaned forward and stared intently down the length of the table.