At five minutes before noon, Zakharov summoned Oleg.

Together the two men entered Luganov’s office. It had been hastily transformed into a television studio. Bright, hot lights. Two broadcast-quality video cameras. A teleprompter. A boom microphone. And thick black cables, taped down to the carpet, threading everywhere like a pit of snakes. The chief of staff whispered to Oleg to again take notes of everything he saw and heard. This was his sole responsibility for the time being. He was the official notetaker and secretary of the prime minister’s private meetings and public appearances. He was supposed to record the name of everyone in a meeting and everything that was said, make careful note of any action items that were decided upon, and then type up all the notes and provide copies to the PM, chief of staff, and a short list of other senior staff within twenty-four hours for their review. Oleg had no idea how long the assignment would last or when his legal training might be tapped. For now, this suited him well.

Oleg wasn’t supposed to speak during the proceedings, nor did he want to. He was sworn to secrecy about every meeting, but that was fine, as he had no desire to divulge anything sensitive, even to his fiancée. For her part, Marina was just thrilled Oleg had the job. She had no interest in prying into her father’s business. What’s more, Oleg told himself, the job was not difficult, yet it put him in direct proximity with Luganov and all of his top advisors. It would allow him to learn about the man, his leadership style, and the nation he served. It was, in short, the opportunity of a lifetime.

The side door leading to the conference room opened. Oleg could see Luganov conferring with Petrovsky and Nimkov. Then Luganov nodded curtly and entered with his chief bodyguard, a man named Pavel, who shut the door behind them. Luganov took a seat behind his executive desk. He made a final review of the papers before him, marking them at times with a fountain pen he drew from his suit pocket. Oleg wondered what it must feel like to have the weight of the nation on one’s shoulders. The official occupant of the office —the man who had served as the president of Russia for eight challenge-filled, exhausting years —was not well. Certainly the responsibilities had taken a heavy toll on the man physically and mentally. So had excessive drinking. If everything went as planned, the man would be out of office by the end of the year. In Oleg’s judgment, he had already stayed too long.

Zakharov called for silence, and the last-minute whispering of the crew ceased immediately. The director gave a countdown, and suddenly the red light atop the central camera lit up. Luganov looked up from the pages and directly into the camera. It was the first time Oleg could recall Luganov ever addressing the nation.

“Citizens of Russia —our dear leader, as you know, is ill and incapacitated. He is receiving excellent medical care, and I ask you to pray for his quick recovery and for comfort for his family. But I must come to you today in my role both as prime minister and as acting president to inform you that our nation is under attack. Let me assure you, the terrorist forces responsible for these heinous crimes against the Russian people will pay a great price. Under the authority vested in me by the constitution, and the responsibility I have before God and the nation, I have ordered our air and ground forces into battle to defend our honor. Our forces will hunt down the enemy. We will chase them to the ends of the earth. We will eradicate them completely. Our forces will show no mercy, nor will I. On this, you have my word.”

The carpet bombing of Grozny began minutes later.