“But Russia has made gains,” insisted Karganov.

“Gains, Anatoly? And what sort ofgains have we made?” asked Stavropol, the contempt unmistakable in his voice. “The Soviet Union was once a great empire covering eleven time zones, but look at us now. Most of our sister republics are gone and we are locked in pitiable struggles to hold onto those few that remain. Our economy, thefree market economy so widely embraced by our greedy countrymen, teeters daily on the verge of collapse. The rich have raped our country, hidden their money in safe havens outside of Russia, and sent their children to European boarding schools. Our currency has been devalued, our life expectancy is laughable, and our population is shrinking. What’s more, not only does the world not need anything we have to sell, it also does not care to listen to anything we have to say. Where once we were a great world power-a super power-now we are nothing. This is not the legacy I plan to leave behind.”

“Sergei,” began Karganov, the ameliorator, “we have all devoted our lives to our country. Our love for Russia is above reproach.”

“Is it?” asked Stavropol as he slowly took in each man seated around the table. “I sense that your love for Russia is not what it once was. This is not a matter for the weak or the fainthearted. There is much work yet to be done and it will not be easy. But in the end, Russia will thank us.”

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the room. After several minutes, it was Varensky who broke it. “So, the day we had all wondered about has finally arrived.” It was not so much a statement of fact, as one of apprehension, tinged with regret.

“You do not sound pleased,” replied Stavropol. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you no longer are young men. Maybe youhave grown old-old and scared.”

“This is ridiculous,” interjected Primovich, normally the most cautious of the group. “Most of what you predicted would happen to the Soviet Union did happen, but it has not all been for the worse. You choose to see only what you want to see.”

Stavropol was beginning to lose his temper. “What I seeare three lazy pigs who have fed too long at the trough of capitalism; three senile old men who forgot a promise made to their comrades, a promise made to their country.”

“You do yourself no favors by insulting us,” replied Karganov.

“Really?” asked Stavropol with mock surprise. “The moment we have waited for, the moment we have worked so hard for, is finally here. We are finally ready to awaken the giant and on the eve of our greatest accomplishment, after so much sacrifice, so much waiting, so much planning, my most trusted friends are having second thoughts. What would you suggest I do?”

“Why don’t we put it to a vote?” offered Varensky.

“Avote?” replied Stavropol, “How very democratic.”

“It was fifteen years ago when we agreed to your plan, Sergei. We are not the same people now that we were then,” said Karganov.

“Obviously,” snapped Stavropol, “as oaths no longer mean anything to you.” He held up his hand to silence Karganov before the man could respond. “I have to admit, I am disappointed, but I am not surprised. Time can dampen the fire in a man’s soul. As some men grow older, it is no longer ideals but blankets that they rely on to keep them warm at night. I blame myself for this. We’ll put this to a vote, as comrade Varensky has suggested. But first, let’s attend to one other piece of business.”

“Anything,” responded Primovich. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Stavropol smiled. “I’m glad you agree, Valentin. What I want is a full list of the assets we have in place and how to contact them.”

“Why is that necessary?” demanded Karganov.

“Since I am the one who started this, I will be the one to finish it. There must be no loose ends.”

“Surely you don’t intend to do away with them?” queried Varensky. “These are not mere foot soldiers.”

“Of course not, Uri,” said Stavropol. “The assets will simply be recalled to Mother Russia. That’s all. That would make all of you happy, wouldn’t it?”

A dead silence blanketed the table.

“And what if they don’t wish to be recalled?” asked Primovich.

“I’m sure they can be persuaded. Come, we are wasting time. I know there are warm beds waiting for all of you at home. Tell me what I need to know so we can move to a vote,” said Stavropol.

The men reluctantly provided the information while Stavropol took meticulous notes. He was loath to commit sensitive information to paper, but trusting so many important details to his aging memory was an even greater risk.

While he wrote, he walked slowly around the table, his boots echoing on the wooden floorboards. The rhythm was much like the man himself-meticulous and patient.

When the necessary details had been collected, Stavropol allowed the men to vote. To a man, they all agreed to abandon the operation. It was just as he had feared. Primovich, Varensky, and even Karganov had gone soft. There was only one option available now.

“So, it has been decided,” he admitted, stopping before the fireplace.

“Trust me, it is for the best,” replied Karganov.

Primovich and Varensky voiced their agreement as they stood up and retrieved their coats.

“You can still do great things for Russia,” continued Karganov. “I am certain the Defense Ministry would be glad to have your talents at their disposal. Maybe even a military academy position teaching the soldiers of tomorrow what it means to be a fearsome Russian warrior.”

“You should take up a hobby,” offered General Primovich, coming over to shake his old colleague’s hand.

“A hobby?” asked Stavropol. “That’s quite a suggestion. Maybe golf?”

“Certainly,” said Primovich, a smile forming on his lips as Stavropol picked up the iron poker and pretended to hit a golf ball with it. Stavropol seemed to be taking things better than he expected. “I hear it can be very relaxing.”

Primovich’s smile quickly disappeared as Stavropol swung the poker full force against the side of his head and cracked open his skull.

For a moment, the man just stood there, then his lifeless body collapsed to the floor.

“Very relaxing indeed,” sneered Stavropol as he let the bloody poker fall from his hands.

“What have you done?” screamed Karganov.

“You didn’t actually think this would be as easy as taking a vote and simply walking away, did you? We have been working on this for over fifteen years. I have planned everything,everything -right down to the very last detail. I expected some resistance from Primovich and maybe a little from Varensky, but not you, Anatoly. Never you,” said Stavropol.

“You have lost your mind,” Varensky shouted as he made an end-run around the table for Stavropol.

Stavropol drew a beautifully engraved, black chrome plated Tokarev pistol from the small of his back and shot him before he had even made it three feet.

Karganov couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Stavropol was insane, he was sure of it.

“So, what will it be, Anatoly?” asked Stavropol. “Will you join us? Or will you go the way of Valentin and Uri?”

The look on Karganov’s face was answer enough.

“As you wish,” responded Stavropol and then fired a single round into Karganov’s head.

Upon hearing the gunshots, a second man, bundled in heavy winter clothing exited Stavropol ’s car and calmly strode inside to assist his employer. “With these men dead, we will have much more work now,” he said as he helped Stavropol drag the three bodies out the back door.

Stavropol smiled. “Our list of assets in America is quite long. Over the years, we have lost an Aldrich Ames here, a Robert Hanssen there, but there are many more still in place. Everything will continue as planned and you, my friend, will have to clear space on your old uniform. I am sure Russia will create a brand-new medal for what we are about to accomplish.”