Page 441 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

It was expressed as a suggestion, but in the Kremlin a suggestion from the leader was the same thing as a direct order.

"This is dynamite," said Dimka. "They can't possibly disobey."

"What should I do with it?" said Volsky.

Dimka said: "First, make several photocopies, so that there's no point in anyone tearing it up. Then . . ." Dimka hesitated.

Natalya said: "Don't tell anyone. Just give it to Bogolyubov." Klavdii Bogolyubov was in charge of preparing the papers for Politburo meetings. "Be low-key. Just tell him to add the extra material to the red folder containing Andropov's speech."

They agreed that was the best plan.

Christmas Day was not a big festival. The Communists disliked its religious nature. They changed Santa Claus to Father Frost and the Virgin Mary to the Snow Maiden, and moved the celebration to New Year. That was when the children would get their gifts. Grisha, who was now twenty, was getting a cassette player, and Katya, fourteen, a new dress. Dimka and Natalya, as senior Communist politicians, did not dream of celebrating Christmas, regardless of their personal beliefs. Both went to work as usual.

The day after, Dimka went to the Presidium Room for the Politburo meeting. He was met at the door by Natalya, who had got there earlier. She looked distraught. She was holding open the red folder containing Andropov's speech. "They left it out!" she said. "They left out the last paragraph!"

Dimka sat down heavily. "I never imagined Chernenko would have the guts," he said.

There was nothing they could do, he realized. Andropov was in hospital. If he had stormed into the room and yelled at everyone, his authority would have been reasserted; but he could not. Chernenko had correctly estimated Andropov's weakness.

"They've won, haven't they?" said Natalya.

"Yes," said Dimka. "The Age of Stagnation begins again."

PART NINE

BOMB

1984-1987

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

George Jakes went to the opening of an exhibition of African American art in downtown Washington. He was not very interested in art, but a black congressman had to support such things. Most of his work as a congressman was more important.

President Reagan had enormously increased government spending on the military, but who was going to pay? Not the wealthy, who had received big a tax cut.

There was a joke that George often repeated. A reporter asked Reagan how he was going to reduce tax and increase spending at the same time. "I'm going to keep two sets of books," was the answer.

In reality Reagan's plan was to cut Social Security and Medicare. If he had his way, unemployed men and welfare mothers would lose out to finance the boom in the defense industry. The idea made George mad with rage. However, George and others in Congress were struggling to prevent this, and so far they had succeeded.

The upshot was a rise in government borrowing. Reagan had increased the deficit. All those shiny new weapons for the Pentagon would be paid for by future generations.

George took a glass of white wine from a tray held by a waiter and looked around the exhibits, then spoke briefly to a reporter. He did not have much time. Verena needed to go out tonight, to a Georgetown political dinner, so he would be in charge of their son, Jack, who was now four. They had a nanny--they had to, for they both had demanding jobs--but one of them was always on duty as backup in case the nanny should fail to show up.

He set his glass down untasted. Free wine was never worth drinking. He put on his coat and left. A cold rain had started, and he held the exhibition catalogue over his head as he hurried to his car. His elegant old Mercedes was long gone: a politician had to drive an American vehicle. He now had a silver Lincoln Town Car.

He got in, switched on the windshield wipers, and set off for Prince George's County. He crossed the South Capitol Street Bridge and took Suitland Parkway east. He cursed when he saw how heavy the traffic was: he was going to be late.

When he got home, Verena's red Jaguar stood in the driveway, nose out, ready to go. The car had been a present from her father on her fortieth birthday. George parked next to it and walked into the house, carrying a briefcase full of papers, his evening's work.

Verena was in the hallway, looking spectacularly glamorous in a black cocktail dress and patent high-heeled pumps. She was as mad as a polecat. "You're late!" she yelled.

"I'm really sorry," George said. "The traffic on Suitland Parkway is crazy today."

"This dinner party is really important to me--three members of Reagan's cabinet will be there, and I'm going to be late!"

George understood her irritation. For a lobbyist, the chance to meet powerful people socially was priceless. "I'm here now," he said.

"I am not the maid! When we make an arrangement you have to keep it!"

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