Comrade Jack You don't know Jack...and they like it that way.
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Not everyone was rejoicing at the new political freedom enjoyed by Russians.
A shadowy figure looked out a third floor window at the chaos below in Lubyanskaya Square.
Intelligence Briefing
Revmir Ishakovich Yacov - aka "Comrade Jack"
Part V. Comrade Jack Escapes
Meanwhile, the crowd had traffic snarled a full three kilometers back up toward the center of the city, all the way to the Lubyanka.Not everyone was rejoicing at the new political freedom enjoyed by Russians.
A shadowy figure looked out a third floor window at the chaos below in Lubyanskaya Square.
Revmir Ishakovich Yacov——Comrade Jack——would have all of them herded onto trains to the gulags in Siberia if it were within his power. Once, not that long ago, it had been. The times, however, had changed.
“Apparatchik, call for car,” he said quietly, his soft tone belying the rage he felt within. “Is time to go now.”
“Da,” said the stocky little man in the trench coat as he picked up the phone to alert the driver to pull General Yakov’s Zil into the front court on the Furkasovskiy Lane side of the building.
“Is time,” he spoke into the receiver before placing it back into its cradle.
The coup had failed. The hope of returning to the good old days in the Soviet Union was gone.
Within hours Gorbachev would be released from the dacha on the Black Sea and he would not be kindly disposed toward those who had plotted his overthrow.
Comrade Jack, who had instigated the entire affair, was not one to be caught holding the bag. At that moment, there was a Tu-95 Bear Bomber fueling up at a military air field outside Moscow.
The Soviet bomber was loaded to the gunnels with something that should have been in short supply in the cash-strapped Soviet Union——gold bullion——enough to influence any number of presidential elections in the United States.
Comrade Jack had not bothered to file a flight plan.
Continue to Part VI. 1992 Presidential Campaign
Return to Index
“Apparatchik, call for car,” he said quietly, his soft tone belying the rage he felt within. “Is time to go now.”
“Da,” said the stocky little man in the trench coat as he picked up the phone to alert the driver to pull General Yakov’s Zil into the front court on the Furkasovskiy Lane side of the building.
“Is time,” he spoke into the receiver before placing it back into its cradle.
The coup had failed. The hope of returning to the good old days in the Soviet Union was gone.
Within hours Gorbachev would be released from the dacha on the Black Sea and he would not be kindly disposed toward those who had plotted his overthrow.
Comrade Jack, who had instigated the entire affair, was not one to be caught holding the bag. At that moment, there was a Tu-95 Bear Bomber fueling up at a military air field outside Moscow.
The Soviet bomber was loaded to the gunnels with something that should have been in short supply in the cash-strapped Soviet Union——gold bullion——enough to influence any number of presidential elections in the United States.
Comrade Jack had not bothered to file a flight plan.
Continue to Part VI. 1992 Presidential Campaign
Return to Index