Grebeshkov ignored the driving rain and strode purposefully along Nikolskaya Street, forgoing his official car for the short journey from the Lubyanka to the Kremlin. For his four bodyguards it was far from ideal, but Grebeshkov had curtly dismissed their concerns. With one leading the way, the others kept close to Grebeshkov while giving him a certain amount of personal space; fortunately, the bodyguards’ very presence often created its own protective bubble, and in the main the other pedestrians quickly stepped aside.
The narrow street was one of the oldest in Moscow, its fine buildings once making it a centre for scholars and poets; now it catered for the fashionable and the thirsty, the bright lights of the boutiques and bars blighting the ornate stone facades. Since the uprising of ‘93, Moscow’s streets and squares had undergone a popular transformation, and in an attempt to eradicate the memory of 70 years of communist-inspired ineptitude, the city had gradually reverted to its pre-revolutionary state. So Twenty-Fifth of October Street had once again become Nikolskaya Street, with the even more preposterous Fiftieth Anniversary of the October Revolution Square restored to its more traditional title of Manezhnaya.
The walk was slowly helping to clear Grebeshkov’s mind, his thoughts preoccupied with the latest reports from Kaliningrad. May 18th: the Baltic Fleet should have been celebrating its birthday; instead, it was forming an ever tighter noose around Gdansk and Gdynia, while readying itself for the arrival of yet more NATO ships. Other than the USS John Finn, only a handful of vessels had been foolish enough to test the blockade and in such cases the warships had been quick to enforce their mandate; four merchant ships had been fired upon, one suffering minor damage, no casualties reported.
In reply, NATO had denounced and threatened, with additional warships now being deployed to the Baltic, both from the U.S. Sixth Fleet and their European allies. Diplomacy was still struggling to find a solution, with talks at the United Nations deadlocked. For the moment it had become a test of wills, and eventually NATO’s raw power would force Russia to give way. But Poland too had been censured, and Polish public opinion was split as to whether the Government was implicitly helping August 14. The terrorists themselves had apparently been spirited away from their base near Gdansk, their present whereabouts unknown.
In Russia, protests continued to grow, with Arbat Square the main focus for dissent. Violent clashes between demonstrators and police were also being reported from Kaliningrad to Vladivostok. The U.S. and Polish embassies were virtually under siege and the theory that August 14 was an American-Polish invention was rapidly gaining acceptance. Russia’s aggressive response had generally been well received, many of influence warning the Government against accepting any US-led compromise, some going so far as to demand even tougher action against Poland.
Otherwise, the streets of Moscow were relatively peaceful, August 14 noteworthy for its inactivity. Despite the lack of progress as to whether the terrorists trained in Poland had even reached Moscow, Grebeshkov was growing more confident that August 14’s strength had finally been blunted. Link and pattern analysis, using CCTV evidence of Nabiyev’s movements combined with the data from his car, was also helping highlight where others from August 14 – even perhaps Eglitis – might be found, just one of several strategies vying to complete their destruction.
By the time Grebeshkov reached the Pokrovsky Opera the pavement had become more crowded. Distracted, Grebeshkov almost walked into an elderly couple, the woman having to quickly step aside. The General turned to apologise, his words suddenly stilled as the woman gave a shuddering cry and collapsed to the ground, a bright red welt newly revealed on her jacket.
One of Grebeshkov’s bodyguards reacted far quicker than the General and a hard shove sent him up the three steps towards the Opera entrance. Grebeshkov had time to realise someone was shooting at him and time to wonder why he couldn’t hear the shots above the screams, when both legs abruptly buckled beneath him, a dark cloud sweeping him down into unconsciousness.