Читаем Moscow, December 25, 1991 полностью

The delegation was driven by KGB officers in two Zil limousines to the state dacha with marble walls and orange-tiled roof, where the Gorbachevs were spending the last day of their two-week summer vacation. They were joined inside the compound gate by another plotter, General Yury Plekhanov, the stolid unsmiling head of the KGB’s Ninth Directorate, who represented a fifth pillar of Soviet power, the security organs. Plekhanov deployed new guards around the perimeter of the dacha, ordered the head of Gorbachev’s security to return to Moscow and put men with automatic weapons outside the garage so none of Gorbachev’s party could get to the cars or use the radio telephones in the automobiles.

The president was in his second-floor office dressed in shorts and a pullover, reading the text of the speech he would give to launch the new Union in Moscow in two days’ time. In it he had written a warning: “If we turn back now, our children will never forgive us such ignorance and irresponsibility.”

In a guesthouse on the dacha compound, Colonel Vladimir Kirillov, one of the two plainclothes officers in charge of the nuclear suitcase, was watching television when the screen went blank. An emergency light on the chemodanchik started blinking. This was it—a nuclear alert! He picked up his radio telephone with a direct link to government communications. He was told there had been an accident and not to worry. At 4:32 p.m. he lost contact with his controller in Moscow, KGB general Viktor Boldyrev. General Varennikov appeared at the door. “How are your communications?” he asked. “There aren’t any,” replied the colonel. “That’s how it should be,” said Varennikov. He assured him that contacts would be restored within twenty-four hours.2

At 4:50 p.m. the head of Gorbachev’s bodyguard interrupted the president to say that a group of people had arrived to speak with him. Gorbachev was not expecting anyone. Somewhat alarmed, he picked up a receiver to call Kryuchkov in Moscow. The line was dead. All four telephones on his desk and the internal phone were no longer working. In an outer office Anatoly Chernyaev suddenly realized that his government line, satellite link, and internal telephone were all down.

He guessed immediately what was up.

Gorbachev went to the veranda, where Raisa was reading a newspaper in the company of their thirty-four-year-old daughter, Irina, and son-in-law, Anatoly Virgansky, a surgeon. He warned them they might be arrested. “I will not give in to any kind of blackmail,” he promised Raisa.

He went back and found that Baklanov, Shenin, Boldin, Varennikov, and Plekhanov had rudely occupied his office. Baklanov did the talking. The country was facing disaster, he said. A committee of emergency was being set up. Yeltsin was under arrest or at least soon would be. The president must immediately sign the decree on the declaration of a state of emergency or resign and hand over powers to Vice President Yanayev. Then he could stay in Foros while “measures” were taken.

Gorbachev demanded to know who was on the committee and was shocked to hear that Yazov and Kryuchkov were its leaders. He tried to reason with the intruders. They could discuss and decide matters within the framework of the law, but martial law and the use of force were unacceptable, he said. With his instinct for maneuvering and compromise, he suggested a different course for the plotters: “Since a conflict of opinion has arisen between us, let us immediately convene a Congress of People’s Deputies and the Supreme Soviet. And let them decide. If they agree with your proposals by all means let it be done your way, but for my part I reject that and will not support it.”

The conspirators said they would brook no delay. Baklanov suggested, “You take a rest and while you are away we will do the dirty work and you will return to Moscow.” At that, Gorbachev blew up. He called the men criminals. “Go to hell, shitfaces!” he shouted. The bespectacled Varennikov, who towered over Gorbachev, could hardly disguise his contempt. “Hand in your resignation!” he barked rudely at the president. Boldin broke in, “Mikhail Sergeyevich, perhaps you don’t understand the situation… ” Gorbachev cut him off, “You’re an asshole. You should shut up!”

The Soviet president refused to authorize any declaration of martial law. Tempers cooled, and he shook the hands of the delegation as they left.

The Gorbachev family, including two grandchildren, Kseniya and Nastya, found themselves isolated by the new KGB guards around the perimeter of the dacha. Gorbachev confided to Chernyaev, “Yes, this might not end well, but you know, in this case I have faith in Yeltsin, he won’t give in to them.” Chernyaev could not help but blurt out, “These are your people, Mikhail Sergeyevich. You fostered, promoted, trusted them.” Gorbachev cursed himself for having a year before given Shenin the top job of party organizer. He had taken him to be a reformer.

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