Page 466 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

Just before the meeting, Gorbachev pulled a rabbit out of the hat. He approached his archrival, Viktor Grishin, and said formally: "Viktor Vasilyevich, would you like to chair this meeting?"

Dimka, standing close enough to hear, was astounded. What the hell was Gorbachev doing--conceding defeat?

But Natalya, right next to Dimka, was smiling triumphantly. "Brilliant!" she said with quiet elation. "If Grishin is proposed as chair the others will vote him down anyway. It's a false offer, an empty gift box."

Grishin thought for a moment and obviously came to the same conclusion. "No, comrade," he said. "You should chair this meeting."

And then Dimka realized, with growing jubilation, that Gorbachev had closed a trap. Now that Grishin had refused, it would be difficult for him to change his mind and demand the chairmanship tomorrow, when his supporters arrived. Any proposal to make Grishin chair would meet the argument that he had already turned down the position. And if he resisted that argument he would look like a ditherer anyway.

So, Dimka concluded, smiling broadly, Gorbachev would become the new leader of the Soviet Union.

And that was exactly what happened.

*

Tanya came home eager to tell Vasili her plan.

They had been more or less living together, unofficially, for two years. They were not married: once they became a legal couple they would never be allowed to leave the USSR together. And they were determined to get out of the Soviet bloc. Both felt trapped. Tanya continued to write reports for TASS that followed the party line slavishly. Vasili was now lead writer on a television show in which square-jawed KGB heroes outwitted stupid sadistic American spies. And both of them longed to tell the world that Vasili was the acclaimed novelist Ivan Kuznetsov, whose latest book, The Geriatric Ward--a savage satire on Brezhnev, Andropov, and Chernenko--was currently a bestseller in the West. Sometimes Vasili said all that mattered was that he had written the truth about the Soviet Union in stories that were read all over the world. But Tanya knew he wanted to take credit for his work, proudly, instead of fearfully concealing what he had done like a secret perversion.

But even though Tanya was bursting with enthusiasm, she took the trouble to turn on the radio in the kitchen before speaking. She did not really think their apartment was bugged, but it was an old habit, and there was no need to take chances.

A radio commentator was describing a visit by Gorbachev and his wife to a jeans factory in Leningrad. Tanya noted the significance. Previous Soviet leaders had visited steel mills and shipyards. Gorbachev celebrated consumer goods. Soviet manufactures ought to be as good as those of the West, he always said--something that had not even been a pipe dream for his predecessors.

And he took his wife with him. Unlike earlier leaders' wives, Raisa was not just an appendage. She was attractive and well-dressed, like an American first lady. She was intelligent, too: she had worked as a university lecturer until her husband became first secretary.

All this was hopeful but little more than symbolic, Tanya thought. Whether it came to anything would depend on the West. If the Germans and the Americans recognized liberalization in the USSR and worked to encourage change, Gorbachev might achieve something. But if the hawks in Bonn and Washington saw this as weakness, and made threatening or aggressive moves, the Soviet ruling elite would retreat back into its shell of orthodox Communism and military overkill. Then Gorbachev would join Kosygin and Khrushchev in the graveyard of failed Kremlin reformers.

"There's a conference of scriptwriters in Naples," Tanya said to Vasili, as the radio burbled in the background.

"Ah!" Vasili saw the significance immediately. The city of Naples had an elected Communist government.

They sat together on the couch. Tanya said: "They want to invite writers from the Soviet bloc, to prove that Hollywood is not the only place where television shows are made."

"Of course."

"You're the most successful writer of television drama in the USSR. You ought to go."

"The writers' union will decide who will be the lucky ones."

"With advice from the KGB, obviously."

"Do you think I have a chance?"

"Make an application, and I'll ask Dimka to put in a good word."

"Will you be able to come?"

"I'll ask Daniil to assign me to cover the conference for TASS."

"And then we'll both be in the free world."

"Yes."

"And then what?"

"I haven't worked out all the details, but that should be the easy part. From our hotel room we can phone Anna Murray in London. As soon as she finds out we're in Italy she'll catch the next plane. We'll give our KGB minders the slip and go with her to Rome. She will tell the world that Ivan Kuznetsov is really Vasili Yenkov, and he and his girlfriend are applying for political asylum in Great Britain."

Vasili was quiet. "Could it really happen, do you think?" he said, sounding almost like a child talking about a fairy tale.

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