World War III

The chairman’s official Kremlin office was so large no amount of furniture could make it appear less than grand. It was the ceilings, Gorny had commented the first time he’d seen it; they were too high and the windows were too large. It made the place too hot in summer and too cold in winter, but it was the party chairman’s traditional office and he used it only on official occasions or when he met with party members who expected no less than grand surroundings in which to conduct party business. The office he preferred was a smaller adjoining room which had been renovated and modernized (including a lower ceiling) and was more comfortable for the day-to-day affairs of state. This morning’s briefing, unfortunately, brought him to the official office, where he sat at the head of a ridiculously large conference table. Around it were seated Premier Sergei Temienko, age seventy, whose halting habits of speech were incessantly irritating (he paused between words as if out of courtesy for someone to write them down — assuming anyone wanted to); Foreign Minister Anatol Venchikof, age sixty; Minister of Agriculture Nadia Kortner, age forty-eight, though there was some doubt; Marshal of the Army Viktor Budner — in uniform, of course — age seventy-five, who invariably had difficulty seeing across such a wide expanse of table to follow whoever happened to be speaking; and Colonel General Aleksey Rudenski, age fifty, head of the KGB and the most dangerous man present. Of all of them, Gorny distrusted Rudenski most.

For the moment, Gorny wasn’t troubled by the collected powers around the table before him. He was laughing. He was laughing so hard that tears streamed down his face while the others only stared solemnly in his direction, looking at the cable he held between his hands. The sound of his laughter echoed in the large, chilly room.

“Comrade Chairman,” Venchikof said from his place several seats away, “what has the fascist American president said that so amuses you?”

Gorny wiped his eyes. “Granted, McKenna is a fascist and an imperialistic sonofabitch, but the man does have humor.” He held up the cable to read. ‘“On behalf of the people of the United States, I would like to extend my heartiest congratulations on the occasion of the anniversary of your birth….’” He looked around the table. “Not my birthday, comrades, ‘the anniversary of my birth.’ He speaks as if I were a war memorial.” He continued reading. ‘“Even with the unfortunate difficulties that face our two countries today, one has to respect anyone who can survive another year in high office without abandoning dedication to freedom, justice, prosperity and, most of all, a never-ending search for a permanent and lasting peace.’” Gorny set the cable down, smiling and shaking his head.

“Very amusing,” Nadia Kortner said. She didn’t smile.

Gorny sat down. “I know McKenna. He wrote that cable himself. Shall I translate it for you, comrades?”

Marshal Budner squinted down the table. He was even farther away than Venchikof. “It has been translated,” he said.

“Not really, my dear Marshal. What the president has said to me — to all of us — is that it’s a miracle we’ve all lasted here… from one birthday to another. He is also reminding us that we are in as much trouble as he is.”

“We,” Rudenski said quietly, “are not in any trouble.”

Marshal Budner sat up. “What?” He glanced at the foreign minister. “What was that?”

Venchikof ignored the marshal. “Let him have his joke. I promise you that he will not be laughing next year. He will no longer be president next year.”

Gorny considered it. “Perhaps. But then, perhaps, better a devil we know than one we don’t.”

“If we might bring this discussion back to current events,” Nadia Kortner said. She opened the large red folder in front of her and continued. “I have received the latest report on American farming. The number of bankruptcies of farmers holding a hundred acres or less has risen thirty-eight percent in one year — their grain embargo is a catastrophe.”

“You are very good at numbers, Madame Kortner,” Gorny said lazily, “but I wonder if you realize who is suffering most.” To all of them he said, “The Central Committee meets in a week’s time. We are only three months away from the Thirty-Eighth Congress and, in my opinion, we are never farther away from disaster than yesterday.”

Prime Minister Temienko nodded. “Granted, there are some stresses, but—”

“You call our problems stresses?” Gorny put on his bull face. “I saw something this morning in the streets of Moscow — police beating students. In Moscow! We are facing more than stresses, I think.”

“I’m sorry about that, comrade Chairman,” Rudenski said in a tone that was not apologetic. “Those revanchist hooligans will not be seen on the streets of Moscow ever again.”