"Isn't it amazing how something like an airplane can be reduced to dust and ashes?"

"You're not Russians."

"General Ali-fucking-Khalilullah is under-fucking-attack!"

"We have a mole."

"My situation has become unhealthy."

"Who sent you?"

"Not yet, Comrade Fedorova. It is still too risky."

"My name is irrelevant, but my cause is not."

"This is the last time I should hear of you. Remember that!"

Rosie woke up. She was back in the Aeroflot 747 bound for Moscow, miles away from Afghanistan. She couldn't remember the last time she had dreamed, but this was more of a recollection of events for her. From the downing of Air Afghanistan 200 to the attempted bombing of Air Afghanistan 552, from rescuing Musa Muhamedow to questioning Anastas Mamnoff, all those had happened within the span of two weeks. There was little time to catch their breath during all of those episodes.

The American-made airliner was barely a third full, leaving enough room for a whole Spetsnaz squad to keep watch on William Do. Upon reaching their destination, he would be given a comfortable cell in the Lubyanka, right across the street from 2 Dzerzhinsky Square, although there would be no telling how the KGB would treat him to get the necessary information.

Although communism has died in Russia, they would gladly support a communist revolution, mostly from the arms sales sure to come from such an event. Even then, the military command preferred a revolt of the masses against the elite as opposed to a carefully orchestrated and secret takeover, most probably because more people meant more buyers. It was one of the greatest ironies in history, capitalism at work in communism's armed forces.

The jumbo jet landed in Moscow without incident. The Spetsnaz team led Do towards a black truck. As Carter and Rosie turned to follow, a man intercepted them.

"Private Abramov, Committee for State Security," he said. "I will be your escort for today. Follow me, please."

"You may want to pick up the pace," he said over his shoulder. "We must pass through Red Square before the Red Army arrives for their October Revolution parade practices. It's a complete logistical nightmare."

The three boarded an old GAZ-24 with KGB markings, which Abramov quickly started and drove towards 2 Dzerzhinsky Square. They finished the journey just behind the van with the Spetsnaz troops.

"Comrade Colonel, the people you've asked for are here," said Abramov as soon as they reached what had to be the Chairman's office.

"Thank you, Comrade Abramov," replied Colonel Fedorova. "Send them in."

The private opened the door. "This is as far as I can take you," he said. "Nobody can enter the Chairman's office unless by direct appointment."

"Comrade Chairman, they're here," said Fedorova on the phone.

"Spasiba, Ekaterina. Do let them in."

She headed for a seemingly innocent closet door and unlocked it. What lay beyond was an astonishing sight.

The walls were painted stark white, matching the color of the snow already falling on Moscow. The desk was made of a fine-grained wood, as were the chairs.

Chairman Timofey Andropov sat in a high-backed, revolving leather chair. He bore a striking resemblance to his namesake and predecessor Yuri Andropov, despite the two never being related to each other.

"Ms. Mason, Ms. Gonzalez, it is a pleasure meeting you," he said, shaking their hands and waving for them to take a seat. "That number you did in Air Afghanistan 552, I really liked it. There is no doubt that the consequences would be disastrous had you not stopped that suicide bomber in time. And there were also the jobs you did with Pasha Kulyuchev and his men back in Kabul."

"Well, it's not really all by us…"

"We've had a lot of help that time…"

"We can all sip our vodka and talk about it later," said Andropov, holding up a hand. "But I have a more important matter in my hands."

"My men in Chechnya have just passed word of insurrectionist rumblings within the country. As you may know, fighting there isn't really the Red Army's strong suit, so I was thinking of asking you two if you can go down there and, maybe, check it out?"

"Well, we are KGB, right, Mr. Andropov?" asked Carter.

"To tell you the truth, I haven't really thought of it that way," he admitted. "It was Ekaterina's idea to borrow you from the PPP, but it's a move I'm glad to say I don't regret."

"Just as simple as that, Comrade Chairman? Go into Chechnya, check it out, and then get out?"

"That's the plan."

"Well, Mr. Andropov, how could we not accept? We're in."

"Then it's settled. Thank you, ladies. I'll see if I can arrange something for your transportation."

"Looks like you ladies are off to another faraway place," said the Director, still under the guise of Colonel Fedorova, as they got out of Andropov's office.

"Yes, ma'am," replied Carter. "Chechnya, actually."

"Well, then, let me give you something to help." She tore off a sheet from a pad of note paper. "These are the names of some of my best agents there. Below are their cellular numbers. If you two find anything of interest, just pass it on to them and they'll take care of it."