This was what Filipov and the Kremlin conservatives were fighting to prevent.

"These developments are highly dangerous!" Filipov said. "They open the door to counterrevolutionary and revisionist tendencies. What is the point of that?"

"The point is that we no longer have the money to subsidize our satellites--"

"We have no satellites. We have allies."

"Whatever they are, they're not willing to do what we say if we can't pay for their obedience."

"We used to have an army to defend Communism--but not anymore."

There was some truth in that exaggeration. Gorbachev had announced the withdrawal from Eastern Europe of a quarter of a million troops and ten thousand tanks--an essential economy measure, but also a peace gesture. "We can't afford such an army," said Dimka.

Filipov was so indignant he looked as if he might burst. "Can't you see that you're talking about the end of everything we have worked for since 1917?"

"Khrushchev said it would take us twenty years to catch up with the Americans in wealth and military strength. It's now twenty-eight years, and we're farther behind than we were in 1961 when Khrushchev said it. Yevgeny, what are you fighting to preserve?"

"The Soviet Union! What do you imagine the Americans are thinking, as we run down our army and permit creeping revisionism among our allies? They're laughing up their sleeves! President Bush is a Cold Warrior, intent on overthrowing us. Don't fool yourself."

"I disagree," said Dimka. "The more we disarm, the less reason the Americans will have for building up their nuclear stockpile."

"I hope you're right," said Filipov. "For all our sakes." He walked away.

Dimka, too, hoped he was right. Filipov had put his finger on the flaw in Gorbachev's strategy. It relied upon President Bush being reasonable. If the Americans responded to disarmament with reciprocal measures, Gorbachev would be vindicated, and his Kremlin rivals would look foolish. But if Bush failed to respond--or, even worse, increased military spending--then it would be Gorbachev who looked a fool. He would be undermined, and his opponents might seize the opportunity to overthrow him and return to the good old days of superpower confrontation.

Dimka went to Gorbachev's suite of rooms. He was looking forward to meeting Nemeth. What was happening in Hungary was exciting. Dimka was also eager to find out what Gorbachev would say to Nemeth.

The Soviet leader was not predictable. He was a lifelong Communist who was nevertheless unwilling to impose Communism on other countries. His strategy was clear: glasnost and perestroika, openness and restructuring. His tactics were less obvious, and on any particular issue it was hard to know which way he would jump. He kept Dimka on his toes.

Gorbachev was not warm toward Nemeth. The Hungarian prime minister had asked for an hour and had been offered twenty minutes. It could be a difficult meeting.

Nemeth arrived with Frederik Biro, whom Dimka already knew. Gorbachev's secretary immediately took the three of them into the grand office. It was a vast high-ceilinged room with paneled walls painted a creamy yellow. Gorbachev was behind a contemporary black-stained wood desk that stood in a corner. There was nothing on the desk but a phone and a lamp. The visitors sat down on stylish black leather chairs. Everything symbolized modernity.

Nemeth got down to business with few courtesies. He was about to announce free elections, he said. Free meant free: the result could be a non-Communist government. How would Moscow feel about that?

Gorbachev flushed, and the purple birthmark on his bald dome darkened. "The proper path is to return to the roots of Leninism," he said.

This did not mean much. Everyone who tried to change the Soviet Union claimed to be returning to the roots of Leninism.

Gorbachev went on: "Communism can find its way again, by going back to the time before Stalin."

"No, it can't," said Nemeth bluntly.

"Only the party can create a just society! This cannot be left to chance."

"We disagree." Nemeth was beginning to look ill. His face was pale and his voice was shaky. He was a cardinal challenging the authority of the Pope. "I must ask you one question very directly," he said. "If we hold an election and the Communist Party is voted out of power, will the Soviet Union intervene with military force as it did in 1956?"

The room went dead silent. Even Dimka did not know how Gorbachev would respond.

Then Gorbachev said one Russian word: "Nyet." No.

Nemeth looked like a man whose death sentence has been repealed.

Gorbachev added: "At least, not as long as I'm sitting in this chair."

Nemeth laughed. He did not think Gorbachev was in danger of being deposed.

He was wrong. The Kremlin always presented a united front to the world, but it was never as harmonious as it pretended. People had no idea how shaky was Gorbachev's grip. Nemeth was satisfied to know what Gorbachev's own intentions were, but Dimka knew better.