Main text Chapter 8 Kissing Death

The Volga drove into the White House under the cover of darkness. When it reached the parking lot, the driver released the accelerator and let the car stop slowly. The agent posing as a driver turned to Yeltsin and said, "President Yeltsin, we are at the White House. Everything is safe."

At this time, Yeltsin, who was lying in the rear driver's seat, poked his head out of the seat, stood up and breathed a sigh of relief. He huddled in the corner like this all the way, not even daring to breathe too hard. Fortunately, there were no dangers along the way, and he arrived safely and unharmed at the White House, the administrative building located in the center of Moscow, the headquarters of the democratic liberals.

As for the life and death of the team of agents who protected him, it is not something that the future leader of the Russian Federation has to think about now. If they die, at most they will award medals to their families, and manipulate the media to create tragic heroes, which can also serve as foils. Soviet evil, the worst of both worlds. In any case, it will not create an image of a leader who is greedy for life and afraid of death.

Thinking of this, Yeltsin couldn't help but raise the corners of his mouth slightly, thinking that the adaptability of the top leaders of the Soviet Communist Party was really worrying. When he broadcast the news of the coup, the entire Moscow citizens would stand by Yeltsin. And if the Emergency Committee blatantly suppresses the people when the foundation of the military is not yet stable, it will only push the Soviet Communist Party into an irreversible abyss.

Yeltsin's pace has accelerated. His allies are waiting for Yeltsin to join him in the conference room. Yeltsin has already made plans in his mind and is preparing to establish a shadow cabinet composed of more than 20 people. They will be sent to lead Russia from a backup relay station located in the forest 70 kilometers from the city of Sverdlovsk. Be prepared to organize another base area for a long-term struggle in case the White House falls.

Yeltsin even made plans in his mind, preparing to draft a "Letter to Russian Citizens" to incite citizens in Moscow and even Russia as a whole to oppose this coup against him. Because of Yanayev's mistakes in strategy and actions, Yeltsin came up with this strategy earlier than in history to deal with this change in the political situation.

Yeltsin stepped onto the last marble step, and the door of the conference room beckoned to him. He could even see the white light emitted by the dazzling crystal chandelier through the gap in the wooden door. As long as he pushes open the thick wooden door with his hand, there will be a group of allies supporting him sitting at the conference table waiting for his orders.

Yeltsin slowly opened the door, but when he saw the scene in the conference room, he tightened his grip on the cold handle.

There was no warm applause or earnest eyes, and there was a dead silence in the conference room. All Yeltsin saw were the dilated pupils, the temples pierced by bullets, the solidified black blood, and the corpses that fell on the table in silent despair. These dead people were supporters of Yeltsin in the Russian government, and now the murderer seems to be using these corpses to mock his incompetence.

"What's going on?" Yeltsin took a few steps back. The sense of security he had worked so hard to establish collapsed at this moment. When he turned around, he saw a pair of cold eyes staring at him silently. At some point, the figures hiding in the shadows of the buildings slowly emerged, holding guns in hand and approaching Yeltsin from all directions.

Yeltsin glanced at the fallen body behind the motionless figure in front of him, and he was certain that even the last agent who could protect him was no longer there. As if knowing that he was about to die, Yeltsin suddenly calmed down. He began to applaud the instigator and said calmly, "Congratulations to Yanayev and his associates, you have completely won."

"You are wrong, President Yeltsin. Without Yanayev and his associates, all this was planned by the vice president alone, including us sneaking in under the name of security guards in December last year. Of course we can wait This is the day.”

The originally expressionless assassin smiled slightly and said, "How wonderful, the first and last president of the Russian Federation. It is a real honor for me to kill you with my own hands."

"A chattering assassin is not an excellent agent. Tell me, how did your boss find me? If I guessed correctly, he should still be waiting to ambush my convoy in the outer suburbs of Moscow." Yeltsin became very nervous. He was so calm that he even walked into the conference room and found a chair to sit down on. He even drank water calmly in front of several submachine gun muzzles.

The assassin sat on the table and said slowly, "It's nothing. My boss said that if I catch you, let me tell you that he arranged the call between you and General Lebed and lurked in the building in advance. It was also his plan long ago. Our mission is to kill everyone first, and then disguise you and your friends as a mass suicide."

Yeltsin's drinking of water paused momentarily. He raised his head and stared at the assassin. "Are you saying that all of this was Yanayev's fault, including the very first phone call, which was the first step of the plan. Even He has been planning this coup since a year ago? Why? Did he even plan when I would enter the White House? I'm afraid it's not as simple as fighting for power. It seems that your vice president is cheating. Through everyone’s eyes.”

The assassin picked up a pistol and put it against Yeltsin's forehead, and said in a deep voice, "I'm afraid you will never have the chance to understand all this. Do you have any last words to say?"

"Yes." Yeltsin raised his head, his expression became ferocious due to excessive excitement. He sneered and said, "Please tell Yanayev that I will wait for him in hell."

"OK."

Then the agent's index finger pulled the trigger, and the bullet from the silencer passed through Yeltsin's skull with soft blood, embedded in the floor, and smashed a small uneven hole. Yeltsin's head tilted back, and the broken skull and a pool of brain splashed onto the portrait of Gorbachev hanging on the wall. Scarlet spots, stars.

Yeltsin's death under the portrait of Gorbachev was really a wonderful irony of the Soviet high-level. But no matter what, Yanayev stopped a Soviet coffin bearer and a gravedigger at the last moment.

On the road more than ten kilometers away from the center of Moscow, groups of T72 tanks were walking on the road in an orderly manner. These steel blades from the Manta Division were heading to the center of Moscow to prepare for martial law. The reason why they chose to enter Moscow at more than four in the morning was that they considered that the notice issued by the Emergency Committee on TV might cause Moscow to fall into disorder and chaos.

Yanaev was sitting on the cold roof of the T72 tank numbered 100, and the cool night wind lifted his hair. The reason why he chose to ride the tank was not a show, but a full demonstration of Yanaev's tough attitude and determination. In history, Yeltsin stood on this tank and delivered that inflammatory speech, which eventually led the originally wavering Moscow Garrison Division to completely throw itself into the arms of the liberal camp.

At this time, Yanaev's mood was not much easier than when he assassinated Yeltsin, because what he had to face next was the people of Moscow. Disordered freedom and hypocritical democracy were like viruses, deeply rooted in the blood of the Slavic nation, and eventually became a malignant tumor that destroyed the foundation of the entire country.

Although Yanaev was more inclined to Trotskyism in some political propositions, there was a certain gap between ideals and reality. Without iron and blood, it was difficult to rule this vast red empire.

An empire's executioner? Yanaev smiled bitterly and shook his head. It was destined that these people would not understand his painstaking efforts. Perhaps he would be labeled a tyrant, and those intellectuals who were harming the country would compare him to Hitler. Perhaps someone would shout and vindicate him decades later, but it was a pity that Yanaev would never hear it again.

The tank commander climbed out of the turret and said to Yanaev, "Mr. Vice President, we are almost there. The center of Moscow is ahead."

Yanaev nodded at him, then turned his head and looked at the empty streets in the early morning, and said slowly, "Someone has to use blood and violence to awaken the Soviets, so now, let me be the helmsman of this old ship."