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book-lined room seemed like a pleasant refuge.
    Shevardnadze joined them a few moments later. He wore a warmup suit, and carried a book, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. He looked serious.
    â€œGentlemen, this is a meeting I’d hoped would never come about,” he said, and they shook hands.
    â€œI agree, Mr. President. This is not our finest hour,” Sukhoruchkin replied. Unlike Yemlin and Shevardnadze, he was tall and very thin, with large round eyes under thick black eyebrows. Although he was of the same age his long hair, always in disarray, was startlingly black. He looked like the brilliant academic he was. Before he’d become director of the Human Rights Commission he’d been one of Russia’s finest writers and philosophers. He and Yemlin had known each other since boyhood, and had married sisters. Sukhoruchkin’s wife had died last year.
    â€œYou’re in accord with Viktor Pavlovich?”
    â€œI’m a man of peace, a philosophy I’ve espoused and taught all of my life. I believe to the depth of my soul in nonviolence. But now I regret to have to say that I believe just as deeply that there may be no other solution to the problem at hand.”
    â€œA problem we all share,” Yemlin said.
    Shevardnadze nodded. He put his book down, took off his glasses and motioned for them to have a seat in armchairs in front of the fire. He sat on the leather couch.
    â€œI’m assuming that Yeltsin didn’t die of a heart attack, though my intelligence service cannot tell me anything different.”
    â€œHe was assassinated by one of Tarankov’s men who posed as a presidential security service lieutenant colonel,” Yemlin said. “He planted a radio-controlled bomb last night, and waited in Red Square this morning until Yeltsin showed up for work, and pushed the button.
    â€œYou wouldn’t be here now if he were in custody.”
    Yemlin shrugged. “It’s a moot point, Mr. President. Whether we had him or not—and you’re correct, we don’t—the attack on our Riga power station, and Yeltsin’s assassination are Tarankov’s doing, and we would have to go after him anyway. But now I believe he may have a plan to grab the presidency before the June elections.”
    â€œWhich Yeltsin would have lost,” Shevardnadze said. “Why is Tarankov taking such a risk?”
    â€œBecause Yeltsin ordered his arrest by whatever means of force necessary. He meant to put him on trial.”
    Shevardnadze shook his head. “Tarankov would probably have been acquitted, and it would have destroyed Yeltsin’s government.”
    â€œThe Prime Minister has ordered the same thing,” Sukhoruchkin said.
“He means to arrest Tarankov and place the man on public trial, which in itself should be the correct action to take.”
    â€œIf Moscow were London or Washington,” Shevardnadze said.
    â€œIt will tear the country apart,” Yemlin said.
    â€œIf he were killed by the army it would tear Russia apart as well,” Shevardnadze said. “But if he’s allowed to continue unchecked on his present course he will succeed. Is this what you believe?”
    Both men nodded.
    Shevardnadze looked into the fire for several long seconds as he gathered his thoughts. A weight seemed to settle on his shoulders, and he sighed as if to rid himself of an impossible burden. When he turned back his face was sad.
    â€œI too am a man of peace, Konstantin Nikolaevich, as I know you are. I’ve long admired your writing.”
    Sukhoruchkin nodded in acknowledgement.
    â€œIf Tarankov comes to power he means to restore the old Soviet Union by whatever means are necessary,” Yemlin said.
    â€œWe would give him trouble, but if he had the backing of the generals we couldn’t win,” Shevardnadze admitted. “The Baltics would cause him more problems.”
    â€œAs would regaining Eastern Europe, but