---1800 Moscow Time (1600 Foros Crimea), 18.VIII.1991---
Mikhail was first aware of the problem when he picked up the phone and found that the line was dead. This was highly unusual and most disturbing, but he supposed not so unexpected. When he had left for his holidays he had been aware that there was a plot in the works against him, but he had not expected such audacity. Raisa entered the room and Mikhail looked askance at her for a moment before he spoke.
"Raisa, my darling. They have acted after all their talk, was not bluster."
He slowly, awkwardly even, sat in the comfortable chair and glanced out of the window into the Black Sea that the view from Dacha 3 afforded him. Raisa went over to the cabinet in the corner and brought a bottle of vodka with two shot glasses, then filled them at the table.
"So, we will see what the day brings us. Perhaps this is just some fault in the line."
Her soft voice and dismissal of the problem reassured Mikhail and the vodka added a bit more to the increasingly hot fire that was burning underneath his outwardly calm demeanour.
"I should like to be left alone for awhile, if you would?"
He looked to her once more and she nodded her assent, returning the vodka to the cabinet and then leaving the room. It wasn't an hour before he heard the low rumble of the Kozliks pulling up onto the drive. He had sat, and as he had sat, he rolled the shotglass between his thumb and forefingers pensively as he glanced every couple of minutes to the entrance of the wide, spacious room.
Several moments passed, and just as Mikhail glanced out of the window, a low clearing of the throat indicated that someone infact had intruded into the dacha.
"Comrade General Secretary, I am afraid that for reasons of declining health, it is required that you hand over the reins of power to the State Committee on the State of Emergency that is currently sweeping the Soviet Union. I have here the necessary documentation."
Mikhail glanced sidelong at the sallow skinned, broad shouldered man who stood, bearing a briefcase. His fingers clenched on the glass and his expression contorted into one of disgust as he flung it at the man.
"You pig, you scum-sucking bastard traitor, Boldin! I will not sign any papers and you and your gangster friends. You will end the Soviet Union with this nonsense! Go, get out, some Chief of Staff you are! Chief of Shit-sliming scum!"
Boldin ducked with a look of irritation curling his lips at the invective flung along with the glassware, his greying hair belying his still reasonable reflexes. The tall, aged general in glasses, who had stepped in behind him caught the shot glass with a positively geriatric spasm of motion and a slight intensification of what appeared to be a habitual frown.
"You too Varennikov? Have you taken leave of your senses?"
"I am afraid not, Misha. I have however taken steps to ensure that the guards here are loyal to us... Not all of the men who served in Afghanistan were so pleased to come home. So, take your time for you have much to make up for, and much to do for the State. You will be going nowhere, for your illness precludes moving you. Raisa and Ira will be coming with us however, to ensure that the Workers and Peasants of the Soviet Union retain the vigorous leadership they have grown dearly accustomed to."
Muffled female screaming betrayed the talk as more than just idle, the scuffle between the abductors and their prey echoed through the building as Mikhail leapt to his feet and rushed towards the pair of old coupsters with a look of thunder on his face.
"If you so much as harm a hair on their heads!"
"Calm down Misha!" was all Varennikov managed to muster before he had to support the bulk of Boldin who had been barreled into by Mikhail. A grunting, shoving match ensued as Boldin fought one-handedly, smashing the heavy brown leather suitcase into Mikhail's ribs until he reeled away from them panting.
Varennikov barked an order and two young KGB men barreled into the room and kicked out his feet from under him, hands pressing down on his shoulders as he fell to the floor before being pulled roughly into a kneeling position, as Varennikov stepped forward once more and leant forward so that he was no more than six inches away.
"Perhaps if you will not say you are unfit, we will simply have to make you unfit..."
Varennikov's slow manner of speaking gave the threat more potency as one of the young men in his employ who had a firm hand on his shoulder brought the butt of his pistol to the back of Mikhail's skull and darkness descended...
Mikhail was first aware of the problem when he picked up the phone and found that the line was dead. This was highly unusual and most disturbing, but he supposed not so unexpected. When he had left for his holidays he had been aware that there was a plot in the works against him, but he had not expected such audacity. Raisa entered the room and Mikhail looked askance at her for a moment before he spoke.
"Raisa, my darling. They have acted after all their talk, was not bluster."
He slowly, awkwardly even, sat in the comfortable chair and glanced out of the window into the Black Sea that the view from Dacha 3 afforded him. Raisa went over to the cabinet in the corner and brought a bottle of vodka with two shot glasses, then filled them at the table.
"So, we will see what the day brings us. Perhaps this is just some fault in the line."
Her soft voice and dismissal of the problem reassured Mikhail and the vodka added a bit more to the increasingly hot fire that was burning underneath his outwardly calm demeanour.
"I should like to be left alone for awhile, if you would?"
He looked to her once more and she nodded her assent, returning the vodka to the cabinet and then leaving the room. It wasn't an hour before he heard the low rumble of the Kozliks pulling up onto the drive. He had sat, and as he had sat, he rolled the shotglass between his thumb and forefingers pensively as he glanced every couple of minutes to the entrance of the wide, spacious room.
Several moments passed, and just as Mikhail glanced out of the window, a low clearing of the throat indicated that someone infact had intruded into the dacha.
"Comrade General Secretary, I am afraid that for reasons of declining health, it is required that you hand over the reins of power to the State Committee on the State of Emergency that is currently sweeping the Soviet Union. I have here the necessary documentation."
Mikhail glanced sidelong at the sallow skinned, broad shouldered man who stood, bearing a briefcase. His fingers clenched on the glass and his expression contorted into one of disgust as he flung it at the man.
"You pig, you scum-sucking bastard traitor, Boldin! I will not sign any papers and you and your gangster friends. You will end the Soviet Union with this nonsense! Go, get out, some Chief of Staff you are! Chief of Shit-sliming scum!"
Boldin ducked with a look of irritation curling his lips at the invective flung along with the glassware, his greying hair belying his still reasonable reflexes. The tall, aged general in glasses, who had stepped in behind him caught the shot glass with a positively geriatric spasm of motion and a slight intensification of what appeared to be a habitual frown.
"You too Varennikov? Have you taken leave of your senses?"
"I am afraid not, Misha. I have however taken steps to ensure that the guards here are loyal to us... Not all of the men who served in Afghanistan were so pleased to come home. So, take your time for you have much to make up for, and much to do for the State. You will be going nowhere, for your illness precludes moving you. Raisa and Ira will be coming with us however, to ensure that the Workers and Peasants of the Soviet Union retain the vigorous leadership they have grown dearly accustomed to."
Muffled female screaming betrayed the talk as more than just idle, the scuffle between the abductors and their prey echoed through the building as Mikhail leapt to his feet and rushed towards the pair of old coupsters with a look of thunder on his face.
"If you so much as harm a hair on their heads!"
"Calm down Misha!" was all Varennikov managed to muster before he had to support the bulk of Boldin who had been barreled into by Mikhail. A grunting, shoving match ensued as Boldin fought one-handedly, smashing the heavy brown leather suitcase into Mikhail's ribs until he reeled away from them panting.
Varennikov barked an order and two young KGB men barreled into the room and kicked out his feet from under him, hands pressing down on his shoulders as he fell to the floor before being pulled roughly into a kneeling position, as Varennikov stepped forward once more and leant forward so that he was no more than six inches away.
"Perhaps if you will not say you are unfit, we will simply have to make you unfit..."
Varennikov's slow manner of speaking gave the threat more potency as one of the young men in his employ who had a firm hand on his shoulder brought the butt of his pistol to the back of Mikhail's skull and darkness descended...
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