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。　This　was　especially　true　of　the　Soviet　economy。　The　mand…driven　structure　of　that　flaccid　colossus　meant　that　every　factory…and　every　factory　manager…had　a　production　goal　that　both　it　and　he　had　to　meet。　The　goals　might　or　might　not　be　realistic。　That　didn't　matter。　What　did　matter　was　that　their　enforcement　was　draconian。　Not　as　draconian　as　they'd　once　been；　of　course。　In　the　1930s　and　'40s；　failure　to　meet　the　goal　set　forth　in　The　Plan　could　mean　death　right　here　in　this　very　building；　because　those　who　failed　to　meet　The　Plan　were　〃wreckers；〃　saboteurs；　enemies　of　the　state；　traitors　in　a　nation　where　state　treason　was　a　crime　worse　than　any　other；　and　so　demanded　a　penalty　worse　than　any　other；　usually　a　。44…caliber　bullet　from　one　of　the　old　Smith　&　Wesson　revolvers　the　czars　had　purchased　from　America。
　　　As　a　result；　factory　managers　had　learned　that　if　they　couldn't　meet　The　Plan's　expectations　in　fact；　they'd　do　so　on　paper；　thus　prolonging　both　their　lives　and　the　perks　of　their　office。　The　facts　of　their　failure　were　usually　lost　in　the　elephantine　bureaucracy　that　had　been　inherited　from　the　czars　and　then　nurtured　to　further　growth　under　Marxism…Leninism。　His　own　agency　had　a　lot　of　that　same　tendency；　Andropov　knew。　He　could　say　something；　even　thunder　out　the　words；　but　that　didn't　mean　that　any　real　result　had　to　happen。　Sometimes　it　did…indeed；　fairly　often　of　late；　because　Yuriy　Vladimirovich　kept　his　own　personal　notes　and　would　follow　up　a　week　or　so　later。　And；　gradually；　his　agency　was　learning　to　change。
　　　But　there　was　no　changing　the　fact　that　obfuscation　was　the　foil　of　even　his　brand　of　ruthlessness。　Even　Stalin　reborn　could　not　change　that…and　nobody　wanted　Stalin　reborn。　Institutional　obfuscation　had　reached　all　the　way　to　the　summit　of　the　Party　hierarchy。　The　Politburo　was　no　more　decisive　than　the　management　staff　of　State　Farm　〃Sunrise。〃　No　one　had　learned　efficiency；　he'd　observed　on　his　climb　to　the　top　of　the　heap；　and　as　a　result　a　great　deal　happened　with　a　wink　and　a　nod；　with　an　understanding　that　it　really　wasn't　all　that　important。
　　　And　because　so　little　progress　actually　happened；　it　devolved　on　him　and　KGB　to　make　right　all　the　things　that　went　wrong。　If　the　organs　of　the　State　could　not　e　up　with　what　the　State　needed；　then　KGB　had　to　go　steal　it　from　those　who　did　have　it。　Andropov's　spy　agency；　and　its　sister　service；　the　military's　GRU；　stole　all　manner　of　weapons　designs　from　the　West。　They　were　so　efficient；　he　thought　with　a　grunt；　that　Soviet　pilots　occasionally　died　from　the　same　design　defects　that　had　killed　American　pilots　years　before。
　　　And　that　was　the　rub。　However　efficient　KGB　was；　its　most　stirring　successes　merely　guaranteed　that　his　country's　military　was　five　years　behind　the　West　at　best。　And　the　one　thing　he　and　his　field　officers　couldn't　steal　from　the　West　was　the　quality　control　in　their　industries　that　made　advanced　weapons　possible。　How　many　times；　he　wondered；　had　his　people　secured　designs　from　America　and　elsewhere　only　to　learn　that　his　country　simply　could　not　replicate　them？
　　　And　that　was　what　he　had　to　fix。　The　mythical　tasks　of　Hercules　seemed　trivial　in　parison；　Andropov　told　himself；　stubbing　out　his　cigarette。　Transform　his　nation？　In　Red　Square；　they　kept　the　mummy　of　Lenin　as　some　sort　of　munistic　god；　the　relic　of　the　man　who　had　transformed　Russia　from　a　backward　monarchic　state　into。。。　a　backward　socialist　state。　The　Moscow　government　expressed　contempt　for　any　countries　that　tried　to　bine　socialism　with　capitalism…except　for　one　little　thing：　KGB　tried　to　steal　from　them；　too。　The　West　rarely　shed　blood　and　treasure　to　find　out　about　Soviet　weapons…except　to　find　out　what　was　wrong　with　them。　The　Western　intelligence　services　did　their　best　to　frighten　their　parent　governments；　proclaiming　every　new　Soviet　weapon　to　be　Satan's　own　tool　of　destruction；　but　then　they　later　found　out　that　the　Soviet　tiger　wore　lead　boots；　and　couldn't　catch　the　deer；　however　frightening　the　tiger's　teeth　might　appear。　Whatever　original　ideas　Russian　scientists　did　e　up　with…and　there　were　many　of　them…were　duly　stolen　and　converted　by　the　West　into　instruments　that　actually　worked。
　　　The　design　bureaus　made　their　promises　to　the　military　and　to　the　Politburo。　They　told　them　how　their　new　systems　would　improve；　with　just　a　little　more　funding。。。　Hah！　And　all　the　time；　this　new　American　president　was　doing　what　his　predecessors　hadn't：　He　was　feeding　his　tiger。　The　American　industrial　monster　was　eating　raw　red　meat；　and　actually　manufacturing　in　numbers　the　weapons　they'd　developed　over　the　preceding　decade。　His　field　officers　and　their　agents　reported　that　morale　in　the　American　military　was　rising　for　the　first　time　in　a　generation。　Their　Army　in　particular　was　training　on　increased　tempos；　and　their　new　weapons。。。
　　　。。。　Not　that　the　Politburo　believed　him　when　he　told　them。　Its　members　were　too　insular；　they　were　unexposed　to　the　real　world　beyond　the　Soviet　frontiers。　They　assumed　that　all　the　world　was　more　or　less　like　it　was　here；　in　accord　with　the　political　theories　of　Lenin…written　sixty　years　ago！　As　if　the　world　hadn't　changed　at　all　since　then！　Yuriy　Vladimirovich　raged　silently。　He　expended　enormous　funds　to　find　out　what　was　happening　in　the　world；　had　the　data　run　through　exquisitely　trained　and　qualified　experts；　presented　superbly　organized　reports　to　the　old　men　who　sat　around　that　oaken　table…and　still　they　didn't　listen！
　　　And　then　there　was　the　current　problem。
　　　This　is　how　it　will　start；　Andropov　told　himself；　with　another　long　sip　of　his　Starka。　It　takes　only　one　person；　if　it's　the　right　person。　Being　the　right　person　meant　that　people　listened；　paid　attention　to　his　words　and　deeds。　And　some　people　just　got　that　sort　of　attention。
　　　And　those　were　the　ones　you　had　to　be　afraid　of。。。
　　　Karol；　Karol；　why　must　you　make　such　trouble？
　　　And　trouble　it　would　be　if　he　took　the　action　he　threatened。　The　letter　he'd　sent　to　Warsaw　hadn't　been　just　for　those　lackeys　in　Warsaw…he　had　to　have　known　where　it　would　end　up。　He　was　no　fool。　In　fact；　he　was　as　shrewd　as　any　political　figure　Yuriy　had　ever　known。　You　couldn't　be　a　Catholic　clergyman　in　a　munist　country　and　rise　to　the　very　pinnacle　of　the　world's　largest　church；　to　be　their　General　Secretary；　even；　without　knowing　how　to　operate　the　levers　of　power。　But　his　post　went　back　nearly　two　thousand　years；　if　you　happened　to　believe　all　that　nonsense…well；　maybe　so。　The　age　of　the　Roman　church　was　an　objective　fact；　wasn't　it？　Historical　facts　were　historical　facts；　but　that　didn't　make　the　belief　structure　underneath　it　any　more　valid　than　Marx　said　it　was…or　wasn't；　to　be　more　precise。　Yuriy　Vladimirovich　had　never　considered　belief　in　God　to　make　any　more　sense　than　belief　in　Marx　and　Engels。　But　he　knew　that　everyone　had　to　believe　in　something；　not　because　it　was　true；　but　because　it　in　itself　was　a　source　of　power。　Lesser　people；　the　ones　who　needed　to　be　told　what　to　do；　had　to　believe　in　something　larger　than　themselves。　Primitives　living　in　the　remaining　jungles　of　the　world　still　heard　in　the　thunder；　not　just　the　clash　of　hot　air　and　cold；　but　the　voice　of　some　living　thing。　Why？　Because　they　knew　they　were　weaklings　in　a　strong　world；　and　they　thought　they　could　influence　whatever　deity　controlled　them　with　slaughtered　pigs　or　even　slaughtered　children；　and　those　who　controlled　that　influence　then　acquired　the　power　to　shape　their　society。　Power　was　its　own　currency。　Some　Great　Men　used　it　to　gain　fort；　or　women…one　of　his　own　predecessors　here　at　KGB　had　used　it　to　get　women；　actually　young　girls；　but　Yuriy　Vladimirovich　did　not　share　that　particular　vice。　No；　power　was　enough　in　and　of　。itself。　A　man　could　bask　in　it　as　a　cat　warmed　itself　by　a　fire；　with　the　simple　enjoyment　that　came　from　having　it　close　by；　knowing　that　he　enjoyed　the　ability　to　rule　others；　to　bring　death　or　fort　to　those　who　served　him；　who　pleased　him　with　their　obeisance　and　their　fawning　acknowledgement　that　he　was　greater　than　they。
　　　There　was　more　to　it；　of　course。　You　had　to　do　something　with　that　power。　You　had　to　leave　footprints　in　the　sands　of　time。　Good　or　bad；　it　didn't　matter；　just　so　they　were　large　enough　to　mand　notice。　In　his　case；　a　whole　country　needed　his　direction　because；　of　all　the　men　on　the　Politburo；　only　he　could　see　what　needed　to　be　done。　Only　he　could　chart　the　course　his　nation　needed　to　follow。　And　if　he　did　it　right；　then　he　would　be　remembered。　He　knew　that　someday　his　life　would　end。　In　Andropov's　case；　it　was　a　liver　ailment。　He　ought　not　to　drink　his　vodka；　but　with　power　also　came　the　absolute　right　to　choose　his　own　path。　No　other　man　could　tell　him　what　to　do。　His　latent　intelligence　knew　that　this　was　not　always　the　wise　thing　to　do；　but　Great　Men　did　not　listen　to　lesser　men；　and　he　considered　himself　the　foremost　of　the　former。　Was　not　his　force　of　will　strong　enough　to　define　the　world　in　which　he　lived？　Of　course　it　was；　and　so　he　had　the　occasional　drink　or　two；　or　sometimes　three；　in　the　evening。　Even　more　at　official　dinners。　His　country　had　long　since　passed　beyond　the　point　of　rule　by　a　single　man…that　had　ended　thirty　years　before　with