Wallace

Since the August 19th coup, Yanaev had not known such peace. With the restless nationalists crushed, the liberal agitators silenced, and the West's subversive operations and economic sieges dismantled, he now held supreme control over the military. The Soviet Union once again stood as an unshakable alliance to its friends, a terrifying evil empire to its enemies, and a hegemon respected by its neighbors. And Yanaev? In the mouths of intellectuals, he was the latest reincarnation of Stalin—cruel, cunning, and utterly despotic.

Dictator? If saving a dying empire meant becoming one, so be it. As long as the people had food, stability, and dignity, who cared for democracy or freedom? Abstract ideals did not fill stomachs. Yanaev never believed in the hollow promises of liberalism. The months of political warfare had brought the Soviet Union a fragile yet real calm. He planned to use this breathing space to push deeper reforms, rebuild internal strength, and strengthen the foundation of the state.

Taking advantage of a rare break, Yanaev retreated to the presidential villa on the Black Sea—a brief escape to sun, sea, and silence. Reclining on a lounge chair, he savored the warmth of the sun and the whisper of waves instead of cold political stratagems. He lifted a glass of wine, sipping slowly, and muttered to himself, "For once, I can enjoy a moment of peace, not with my hand poised over the red button."

Though the Kremlin rested, Yanaev never let domestic politics drift. He seized every opportunity to portray himself as a decisive, visionary leader capable of steering the country out of turmoil. He didn't want to be a dictator. But in a land as vast and divided as the Soviet Union, only a strong hand could hold it together. Better to be remembered as a tyrant who preserved the Union than a coward who let it crumble.

Amid this brief holiday, he summoned Surkov—newly appointed Minister of Propaganda—to his private study and outlined an unexpected plan.

"Invite CBS's Mike Wallace to Moscow for an interview?" Surkov echoed in disbelief. "Why him, General Secretary? He's a Western journalist. We have first-rate hosts on Moscow TV. Why bring in an outsider?"

"Because, Comrade Surkov," Yanaev said, "Mike Wallace is not just any journalist. He is sharp, principled, and respected—even among those who hate us. He's interviewed seven American presidents, the Chinese reformer Deng, and countless others. If he tells the story of the Soviet Union, it carries more weight."

But there was another layer. Wallace was often a contrarian, a critic of Western hypocrisy. In U.S. political cartoons, he was sometimes mocked as a tsar himself. If Yanaev could win over Wallace—or at least disarm him—he could turn the West's own credibility against itself.

"Still," Surkov said cautiously, "if he asks about the coup, Gorbachev's death, or Yeltsin's assassination... how should we answer? There is no clean way through."

"That's why you're here," Yanaev replied flatly. "You're head of propaganda now. Assemble the sharpest minds. Prepare a list of every likely question. Write answers that are composed, clever, and plausible. If Wallace wants to play chess, we must think three moves ahead."

Surkov sighed but nodded. A thankless task, but unavoidable. He gathered a team of journalists, writers, and department heads. For days, they brainstormed every question Wallace might ask and built careful, layered responses.

"First question," read one aide during a prep meeting. "How does President Yanaev respond to Western accusations that the Soviet Union lacks democracy, and how would he address public opposition to his policies?"

"We focus on improving livelihoods," suggested Markov, a director in the ministry. "We frame it as: while the U.S. offers votes, we offer bread, education, housing. The people will understand."

Heads nodded. Then came the second question.

"How do you justify the August 19 coup? Why were Yeltsin and Gorbachev denied state funerals? Must Soviet leaders always seize power through conspiracies instead of elections?"

The room fell silent.

"There is no clean answer," someone whispered.

Some questions, they knew, only Yanaev himself could answer.

Meanwhile, Mike Wallace boarded a flight to Moscow with a journalist's hunger in his eyes. Since 1958, he had chased the world's most powerful. The Soviet leader was a final frontier. He prepared meticulously, reviewing notes, tracing every move Yanaev made before and after the coup. What struck him most was the transformation: once moderate, Yanaev had become hard, almost ruthless. Was he a masterful tactician—or just another ideologue clinging to power?

Wallace closed his folder, rubbed his eyes, and drew a large question mark across a photo of Yanaev. Below it, he jotted a quote: Was he a genius like Stalin, or a fool like Khrushchev?

Upon landing, Wallace was greeted by KGB agents of the 9th Directorate. They searched his equipment, confirmed he carried nothing dangerous, and cleared him to board a presidential flight to Foros. The agents were brusque, but Wallace's protests were met with a cold, "Routine procedure."

Still, he knew it was all part of the performance.

At the villa, Yanaev embraced him warmly. "Welcome, my Western friend. You are the first foreign journalist to set foot here. Let's speak like old friends. No tension. No politics."

Wallace smiled, wary but intrigued. "Thank you, President Yanaev. Since you've mentioned Uganda... would you say you're a benevolent leader, or merely pretending to be one, like Idi Amin?"

The air tensed. The cameraman glanced at Yanaev, ready to cut the feed. But Yanaev simply smiled.

"Interesting comparison," he said. "But you know, Amin came to power with British and American intelligence support. Britain helped him stop nationalizations, and in return gave him millions in aid, armored vehicles, and advisors. Go check the archives."

Wallace blinked. This wasn't evasion—it was a trap.

Yanaev leaned in. "Britain, the land of Magna Carta, once said those who deny freedom to others deserve none. So, who is the real accomplice to dictatorship?"

Wallace wiped his brow. This was no bumbling autocrat. This man was dangerous precisely because he was articulate, composed, and fully aware of his own myth.

And then came the real test.

Wallace cleared his throat. "What about the civilians in Red Square during the August coup? The purges that followed? The deaths of so many high officials? Even Solzhenitsyn has condemned you. Some call you a tyrant. Do you consider yourself a dictator?"

A long silence.

Yanaev looked at him, calm and cold.

"What a shame, Mr. Wallace," he thought. "Even the Internet trolls ask better questions than this."

He smiled.

"Let me tell you a story..."

The interview had only just begun.