Aleksandr Ivanovich Luganov sat behind his desk, impassive and inscrutable.

For the moment, he was still merely Russia’s prime minister.

But Luganov was also the chosen —indeed, the openly anointed —successor of the nation’s current president, a man whose health had taken a serious turn for the worse in recent weeks. It seemed an unlikely choice. National elections were less than a month away. Luganov was not particularly well-known or well-liked among the Russian people, though with the president’s ill health, Luganov was already acting as chief executive in most ways that mattered. The latest polls showed barely 4 percent of the public supported a former FSB chief to be the nation’s leader. Yet Oleg hoped he could find a way to win. The people did not yet see what Oleg saw —a man of strength and great courage, a man willing to do whatever was necessary to keep the country safe and to restore the glory of Mother Russia, so battered and tarnished in recent years. No one seemed better suited or more prepared to lead Russia into the challenges of the twenty-first century. To say that Oleg felt intimidated in Luganov’s presence was putting it mildly.

Dressed in a dark-blue business suit, a crisp white shirt, and a navy-blue silk tie with small white polka dots, the man sitting behind the desk was relatively young —late forties —in excellent health and physically fit. He had the lean yet muscular physique of a wrestler or a judoka. His sandy-blond hair was thinning with a touch of gray at the temples. He was not tall —perhaps five feet six inches, a good two inches shorter than Oleg himself. But to Oleg, Luganov was a giant among men, and Oleg had no doubt the nation and the world would soon see and come to admire these qualities.

Luganov didn’t smile or nod, much less greet Oleg, who stood frozen in the middle of the spacious, dark-paneled corner office, unsure what to do next. Oleg’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the arched ceiling and crystal chandelier above them and then the glass-enclosed bookshelves lining the walls to either side. Behind the prime minister to the left was a Russian flag on a gold stand. Behind him to the right was another flag. It too bore the distinctive broad white, blue, and red stripes but also featured the Russian state seal, embossed in gold. On the floor a large potted plant stood next to a credenza, upon which sat a color television, its sound muted, showing live pictures from the site of the latest bombing. On the paneled wall behind the prime minister was mounted a glistening gold carving of the national coat of arms with its double-headed imperial eagle and mounted horseman slaying a dragon.

As Oleg’s eyes drifted downward, he intended to rest them on the ornate carpet and wait until he was spoken to, but when he mistakenly caught Luganov’s eye, the prime minister glanced at one of two large wooden armchairs in front of his desk. Tentative at first, Oleg finally took the hint and sat down, his eyes now riveted on the bank of phones and sheaves of papers spread across the vast oak desk. Oleg waited, but the man didn’t say anything. The silence grew more unbearable by the second. Again Oleg took the hint. He cleared his throat, dried his perspiring hands on the pant legs of his suit, and forced himself to look up, first at the tie, then at the mouth, and finally into the man’s piercing blue emotionless eyes.

“Mr. Prime Minister, I just —well, thank you —I just want to say thank you, sir, for agreeing to see me, especially today,” Oleg stammered. “I know you have many —I mean, there are a great deal of —well, it’s a very sad, very difficult day, a difficult time for our country. I know you have many responsibilities, so you are most kind to make time for me, of all people, on a day like this.”

Luganov stared back at him without comment, without encouragement.

Oleg cleared his throat again and forced himself to press on. “The thing is, what I wanted to talk to you about, sir, is your daughter. As you know, as I’m sure she told you, we met in university almost five years ago. I was immediately drawn to her. She is, well, as you know, she’s brilliant, absolutely brilliant. Obviously you know that. I’m sorry. And she’s clever. And beautiful. And sophisticated and yet so kind and funny and such a great storyteller. So great with people —children, the elderly. She just has a way about her. And I just, I don’t know —well, actually, sir, I do know. . . . I —well, the thing is, I fell in love with her. Not right away. But we became acquainted. And then we became friends. And even though I was ahead of her in my studies, we continued to write letters to each other after I graduated, and in time I came to realize that I couldn’t imagine spending my life with anyone else. I was terrified to say that to her, because I didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize our friendship. But in the end, after much discussion with my parents, whom you, of course, know very well, I decided —well, I knew I had to come to you and ask you for your permission to marry her. That is why I’m here. And that’s my question to you, sir. Would you allow me to present Marina with an engagement ring and a proposal of marriage?”

Oleg was sick to his stomach. It was all he could do not to vomit on the prime minister’s desk. But at least he had said what he had come to say. He had gotten it all out. Not the way he had intended or how he had practiced it so often. But he’d done it. The question was on the table, and now he stared at his hands and waited for a reply.

There was none. Not for some time. The room was silent again, though Oleg could hear the muffled sounds of phones ringing and hushed voices talking in the anteroom. He could feel the eyes of two plainclothes officers standing behind him boring into him. He tried in vain to imagine the expression of the man behind the desk. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he heard his name.

“Oleg Stefanovich,” Luganov began, “do you love your country?”

Oleg looked up, wondering if his face registered the surprise he felt, hoping it did not. How many times in recent days had he practiced this conversation with his father? They had discussed his answers to dozens of questions. Did he feel he knew Marina well enough? How did he know he loved her? How many young women had he dated before Marina? Why had those relationships ended? What were his long-term intentions —for his career, for children, for where they would live? How could he support them, and her educational ambitions, if they were going to be living in one of the world’s most expensive cities and he was fresh out of law school and barely a year into his first job? They had carefully rehearsed and revised his answers to these and so many other queries. But Oleg had never imagined one so direct and yet so profound.

“With all my heart, sir,” Oleg replied, gaining confidence from the depth of his convictions on the matter and finally able to look his potential father-in-law in the eye without flinching. “Now more than ever.”

“And my daughter?” Luganov asked. “How will I be sure you will never betray her?”

“I have never loved another, sir,” Oleg replied. “She is the first and only woman I have ever felt this way about. Sir, you have my word, upon my family’s honor, that I will cherish and protect her, provide for her and nurture her, with all that I am and ever hope to be. I come from a good, honorable family. Still, I know that I don’t deserve to be Marina’s husband. I certainly don’t deserve to be your son-in-law. But I do promise to be faithful. If you will have me —if she will have me —I will never let either of you down.”

A phone on his desk rang. Luganov did not answer it.

There were two quick raps on the door. A general entered. “Mr. Prime Minister, your call with the White House is being placed now.”

Luganov nodded almost imperceptibly, then leaned forward in his seat.

“I believe you, Oleg Stefanovich,” he said. “Now I have one more question.”

Oleg swallowed hard.

“I am looking for a bright young lawyer to serve on my personal staff,” Luganov said quietly. “Someone hardworking. Discreet. Someone who can be trusted with sensitive information, especially now. And who can be trusted more than family?”