Chapter 125 – The Shadow Tightens
In the chilled halls of the Kremlin, power did not sleep, and neither did vengeance.
Kirilenko, arms crossed and cloak pulled tightly over his narrow shoulders, exhaled steam into the morning air. His thoughts were focused—on optics, containment, and how to bury the Sakhalin incident before the entire Soviet diplomatic front unraveled.
Nearly 300 dead civilians. A U.S. Congressman. Twenty-six nations with grieving families. And the West was not going to forgive easily.
But Kirilenko had a plan.
Let Ustinov take the fall. Let Andropov—that calculating spider—be the next in the crosshairs. Let the General Secretary see reason, and once more turn to his most loyal comrade.
But the warning signs had already arrived—he just hadn't seen them for what they were.
---
Domodedovo International Airport – Holding Cell 3
Timofey Mozgov's head throbbed.
Through the rough wool of the black hood, he could hear low voices in the adjacent room. Footsteps. Paper shuffled. The heavy clack of a cigarette lighter. Then—
A door opened.
The hood was yanked off. The light was blinding at first.
Opposite him sat a man in a KGB colonel's uniform. Silver hair. Steel-rimmed glasses. A man who didn't waste time.
"Timofey Andreyevich Mozgov," the colonel said flatly. "Deputy Director of Agricultural Trade Ministry. Married to Natalya Kirilenko. And involved in four separate currency fraud schemes, three incidents of unregistered foreign contacts, and one sealed diplomatic pouch sent to the British Embassy."
Timofey blinked. "I—what?"
The colonel dropped a file on the table. "We didn't need much time. The pouch was opened. You were smuggling sensitive chemical research—photographs, diagrams, and production notes—out of the country."
Natalya, seated in the next room, was already confessing.
Timofey's mouth opened, then closed.
"You're not going to prison," the colonel said. "You're going to name."
"Name... who?"
The colonel took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and looked him dead in the eyes.
"Kirilenko."
---
Kremlin – Defense Ministry Wing
Marshal Ustinov stood in his office, coffee untouched, reading a transcript just delivered by a KGB courier.
Andropov entered, silent as always. Ustinov didn't look up.
"You were right," he said finally. "The daughter and son-in-law were the fail-safe. A second channel to the West. And they were about to flee."
Andropov took a slow breath.
"Does the General Secretary know?"
"Not yet. But when he sees this—" Ustinov waved the folder, "he'll have no choice but to act."
"I will inform the Council," Andropov said. "And Kirilenko?"
Ustinov's smile was grim. "He'll resign. Or be dismissed. It doesn't matter which."
---
Moscow – Pravda Headquarters
By 10:30 AM, the presses were already running.
A special editorial prepared by Ustinov's political bloc denounced "foreign espionage cloaked in civil aviation" and issued a stern warning to NATO. The words "military reconnaissance disguised as tragedy" appeared in the third paragraph.
No mention of Kirilenko. Not yet.
But the narrative was being shaped—not of Soviet guilt, but of Western provocation.
---
Sokolovka Airbase – Command Bunker
Andrei stared at the glowing map of the Pacific theater. Carrier groups. Submarine patrols. Interceptor paths.
Colonel Ivanov entered behind him.
"You've been promoted," he said with a crooked grin. "Marshal Ustinov issued it himself. Effective immediately: Deputy Commander, Far East Composite Air Regiment."
Andrei's expression didn't change. "We're going to war, aren't we?"
Ivanov nodded slowly. "Not officially. But we are preparing for one."
The map was updated. One red arrow, previously static, began to move—northeast, toward Hokkaido.
---
Kremlin – Brezhnev's Private Office
The General Secretary read slowly.
His hands shook, and his breath wheezed through his mustache.
"This... this is treason," he whispered, eyes fixed on the name at the bottom of the confession.
Andropov and Ustinov sat opposite him, unmoving.
Brezhnev set the file down. His voice was cracked, but resolute.
"Remove Kirilenko from the Politburo. Immediately."
---
Far East – Coast of Sakhalin
Below the cliffs, the Pacific crashed in white foamy arcs. Soviet engineers had begun surveying positions near Korsakov. Amphibious transport exercises were being conducted in secret.
And from the bunkers, radars, and darkened hangars—every soldier knew.
The empire was turning.
The Cold War was about to ignite.