The Volga car drove into the White House under the cover of darkness, and the driver let go of the accelerator until the car stopped slowly in the parking lot. The agent pretending to be the driver turned around and said to Yeltsin, "President Yeltsin, we are at the White House. Everything is safe."
At this time, Yeltsin, who was lying in the back driver's seat, poked his head out of the seat, climbed up and breathed a sigh of relief. He had been curled up in a corner all the way, and he didn't even dare to breathe too heavily. Fortunately, he arrived safely at the base camp of democratic liberals, the administrative building in the center of Moscow, the White House.
As for the life and death of the team of agents protecting him, it is not something that the future leader of the Russian Federation needs to think about now. If they die, at most he can award medals to their families, manipulate the media to create tragic heroes, and also highlight the evil of the Soviet Union, which is the best of both worlds. In any case, he will not create the image of a leader who is afraid of death.
Thinking of this, Yeltsin couldn't help but raise his lips slightly, thinking that the Soviet Communist Party's ability to respond was really worrying. When he broadcast the news of the coup, all the citizens of Moscow would stand on Yeltsin's side. If the Emergency Committee, whose military foundation was not yet stable, blatantly suppressed the people, it would only make the Soviet Communist Party slide into an irreversible abyss.
Yeltsin's pace quickened. His allies were waiting for him to join the meeting room. Yeltsin had already made up his mind and was ready to set up a shadow cabinet of more than 20 people. They would be sent to a backup relay station in the forest 70 kilometers away from Sverdlovsk to lead Russia. In case the White House was lost, they would organize another base and carry out a long-term struggle.
Yeltsin even prepared a "Letter to Russian Citizens" in his mind to incite citizens in Moscow and even the whole of Russia to oppose the coup against him. Because of Yanayev's mistakes in strategy and action, Yeltsin came up with this trick earlier than in history to deal with this political change.
Yeltsin stepped onto the last marble step, and the door of the conference room was waving at him. He could even see the white light emitted by the dazzling crystal chandelier inside through the gap of the half-open wooden door. As long as he pushed open the thick wooden door, a group of allies who supported him would be sitting at the conference table waiting for his orders.
Yeltsin slowly pushed open the door, but the moment he saw the scene in the conference room, he clenched the cold handle.
There was no warm applause or eager eyes. The conference room was dead silent. All Yeltsin saw were dilated pupils, bullet-pierced temples, coagulated black blood, and silent and desperate bodies lying on the table. These dead people were all Yeltsin's supporters in the Russian government, and now the murderer seemed to be using these bodies to laugh at his incompetence.
"What's going on?" Yeltsin took a few steps back. The sense of security he had painstakingly built up collapsed instantly. When he turned around, he saw a pair of cold eyes staring at him silently. At some point, the figures hiding in the shadows of the buildings slowly emerged, holding guns and approaching Yeltsin from all directions.
Yeltsin glanced at the body that fell behind the motionless figure in front of him. He was sure that even the last agent who could protect him was gone. As if knowing that he was about to die, Yeltsin suddenly became calm. He began to applaud the instigator and said calmly, "Congratulations to Yanaev and his accomplices. You have won completely."
"You are wrong, President Yeltsin. Without Yanayev and his accomplices, all of this was planned by the Vice President himself, including our infiltration as guards last December. Of course, we have been waiting for this day."
The assassin, who had been expressionless, smiled slightly and said, "How wonderful, the first and last president of the Russian Federation. It is my honor to kill you with my own hands."
"A nagging assassin is not a good agent. Tell me, how did your boss find me? If I'm not mistaken, he should still be waiting in the suburbs of Moscow to ambush my convoy." Yeltsin became very calm. He even walked into the conference room and found a chair to sit down. He even drank water calmly in front of several submachine guns.
The assassin sat on the table and spoke slowly, "Nothing. My boss told me to tell you that if I catch you, he arranged your call with General Lebed and planned to hide in the building. Our mission is to take down everyone first, and then disguise you and your friends as a mass suicide."
Yeltsin paused while drinking water. He looked up and stared at the assassin. "Are you saying that all of this was planned by Yanayev, including the phone call at the very beginning, which was the first step of the plan. He has been planning this coup since a year ago? Why? Did he even calculate when I would enter the White House? I'm afraid that killing me with such great effort is not just a simple fight for power. It seems that your vice president has deceived everyone."
The assassin raised his gun to Yeltsin's forehead and said in a deep voice, "I'm afraid you will never have the chance to understand all this. Do you have any last words?"
"Yes." Yeltsin raised his head, his expression ferocious due to excessive excitement. He sneered and said, "Please tell Yanayev that I'm waiting for him in hell."
"OK."
Then the agent's index finger pulled the trigger, and the bullet from the silencer passed through Yeltsin's skull with a soft splash of blood, embedded in the floor, and smashed a small uneven hole. Yeltsin's head tilted back, and the broken skull and a pool of brains splashed onto the portrait of Gorbachev hanging on the wall. Scarlet dark spots, dots.
Yeltsin's death under Gorbachev's portrait was a brilliant irony of the Soviet leadership. But Yanayev stopped a Soviet coffin bearer and a gravedigger at the last minute.
On a road more than ten kilometers away from the center of Moscow, groups of T72 tanks were moving in an orderly manner on the road. These steel blades from the Manta Division were heading to the center of Moscow to prepare for martial law. The reason they chose to enter Moscow at more than four o'clock in the morning was because they took into account that the next announcement issued by the Emergency Committee on TV might plunge Moscow into disorder and chaos.
Yanaev was sitting on the cold roof of the T72 tank numbered 100, with the cool night wind blowing his hair. The reason why he chose to ride the tank was not a show, but a full demonstration of Yanaev's tough attitude and determination. In history, Yeltsin made his inflammatory speech standing on this tank, which eventually led to the originally wavering Moscow Garrison Division completely throwing itself into the arms of the liberal camp.
At this time, Yanayev was not much more relaxed than when he assassinated Yeltsin, because what he had to face next was the people of Moscow. The disorderly freedom and hypocritical democracy were like viruses, deeply rooted in the blood of the Slavic people, and eventually turned into a malignant tumor that destroyed the foundation of the entire country.
Although Yanaev was more inclined towards Trotskyism in some political propositions, there was still a certain gap between ideal and reality. Without iron and blood, it would be difficult to rule this vast red empire.
An executioner of an empire? Yanayev smiled bitterly and shook his head. It was destined that these people would not understand his painstaking efforts. Perhaps he would be labeled a tyrant, and those intellectuals who were upright but did not benefit the country would compare him to Hitler. Perhaps in a few decades, someone would speak up for him and vindicate him, but it was a pity that Yanayev would never hear it again.
The tank commander climbed out of the turret and said to Yanayev, "Your Excellency Vice President, we are almost there. The center of Moscow is ahead."
Yanayev nodded at him, then turned his head to look at the empty street in the early morning, and said slowly, "Someone has to use blood and violence to awaken the Soviets. Now, let me be the helmsman of this dilapidated ship."