Beslan Incident (2)

Not only the Soviet people were deeply concerned about the safety of the hostages at Beslan Middle School, but even the Chechen armed leader Kadyrov was closely monitoring the situation from the safety of his villa. This crisis threatened to shake the legal standing of the Sufi faction in Chechnya and Moscow's view of the Chechen armed forces.

Despite opposition from others, Kadyrov insisted on appearing on television to issue a strong condemnation of the extremist militants. While this public statement wouldn't directly influence the hostage crisis, its primary purpose was to demonstrate to Moscow that his faction stood firmly against the Wahhabi terrorists and remained loyal.

"My father, either I or Uncle Akhmadov should speak. It's too dangerous for you to show yourself now. You know those extremists, especially Doc Umarov, have placed a $30,000 bounty on you. Leaving the safe house now would give them a clear target," Kadyrov Jr. urged.

Kadyrov Sr. stood silently as his son helped him change out of his camouflage uniform—a symbol of resistance—into a dark gray suit. The shift in attire signaled his father's readiness to negotiate peace with Moscow and end the endless violence that had plagued the past six months.

"Opportunities and risks walk hand in hand, my son," Kadyrov Sr. said, tying his tie with a faint smile. "Though the Soviet forces have eliminated many extremists, they no longer control our fate as tightly. Moscow has removed the biggest obstacle for the Sufis; next, they will back a pro-Soviet Chechen leader, no matter what."

"In truth, we have broken free from Soviet control and become almost an independent entity. Since the Soviet army took control, they've avoided attacking Sufi territories. Allowing extremists to continue their chaos only harms us," he added.

Kadyrov Jr. shared his father's concerns. The Wahhabi faction's increasing extremism was alienating the Chechen people. If the situation worsened, Yanayev might resort to bombing Chechnya entirely.

Thus, Kadyrov Sr. had to be the first to publicly support Moscow and denounce the extremists, proving his loyalty to Yanayev.

"I understand, Father," Kadyrov Jr. said softly as he helped his father don a bulletproof vest beneath his suit. "After this, we should give Moscow all intelligence on the extremists—proof of our loyalty."

"Don't think like that," Kadyrov Sr. warned gently but firmly. "Sharing intelligence is smart, but political alliances don't come with gratitude. The Soviets want peace, and if they see we understand the situation, they'll talk. But vigilance is crucial—force is always our last resort."

Kadyrov Jr. nodded, more mature now after recent events, no longer questioning his father's wisdom.

Just then, the door opened quietly, and Akhmadov, Kadyrov's aide, entered. "We've arranged nearly 40 guards for your convoy. You're ready to leave."

Kadyrov shook his head. "If they want me dead, a bullet or a bomb will suffice. No need for a show of force. I know those extremists well."

Akhmadov bowed quickly, apologizing, but Kadyrov waved him off. Touching his son's hair, he smiled, "Don't worry, my son. I will return soon."

"Please be careful," Kadyrov Jr. said, unease tightening his chest as he watched his father leave. Fear gnawed at him for the first time. If his father died now, could he manage the legacy? Control the generals? Avoid assassination?

Shaking off the dark thoughts, Kadyrov Jr. resolved: as long as his father lived, his worries were premature. He would do his duty as heir, and Kadyrov Sr. would secure his future.

In the black car, Kadyrov and Akhmadov discussed their next moves. Kadyrov knew mere intelligence sharing wasn't enough; they needed to please Yanayev to secure the Sufi faction's power. Akhmadov suggested their forces assist Soviet troops against the extremists in the Caucasus.

"That's a strong plan," Kadyrov said, gazing out at the barren landscape slipping behind. "But have you considered we'd be traitors to Chechen independence in the eyes of many?"

"We'll counter that with propaganda," Akhmadov said. "The Beslan crisis is the perfect moment to highlight our difference. The extremists claim national independence to rally supporters; we oppose extremism to protect our faith."

"You say that," Kadyrov smiled faintly, "but independence rallies the people more effectively."

Before he could finish, a fiery explosion erupted beneath a pickup truck ahead, flipping a heavy vehicle. Akhmadov quickly shielded Kadyrov's head and shouted for the driver to evade, but the blast threw him violently to the ground. His spine and left hand were injured, ears ringing.

Ignoring the pain, Akhmadov pried open the twisted door and pulled the bleeding Kadyrov free, supporting him as they limped away. Behind them, another explosion incinerated a nearby car.

Akhmadov scanned their surroundings. Besides their own vehicle, three others had been hit. This was no random attack—it was a targeted assassination attempt by extremists. They not only struck the school but tried to kill the peaceful Chechen leader.

"Snap out of it! Call an ambulance now!" Akhmadov barked, pain searing through him.

Kadyrov's eyes fluttered open briefly. Grabbing Akhmadov's sleeve, he whispered, "Protect my little Ka… don't let any extremists escape."

His voice weakened, then faded as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

No one expected extremists to target the Sufi Chechen leader amid the Beslan chaos. Kadyrov was dead upon arrival at the hospital. His son found only his cold body, a blood-stained jacket, and the unfinished speech still folded in his pocket.

Akhmadov felt crushed by guilt for failing to protect Kadyrov. Worse, without him, could Kadyrov Jr. control the unruly veterans? Yet Kadyrov Jr. offered no blame, simply patted Akhmadov's shoulder and whispered, "Uncle did his best."

Grief and hatred burned fiercely in Kadyrov Jr.'s heart. Faced with this sudden tragedy, he vowed vengeance.

Then a video surfaced on TV that inflamed his fury further. Bearded Umarov claimed responsibility for the attack, declaring Kadyrov's punishment was Allah's will, and that traitors aiding enemies of Islam would be severely punished.

"By Allah's will, all pagans and traitors will be harshly punished," Umarov intoned. "Communist heretics—this is just the beginning. We will spread fear across the Soviet Union, from Moscow to Stalingrad, and to every republic. You will know our terror."

Kadyrov watched the video without emotion. Calmly, he turned to Akhmadov. "Make arrangements. I need to contact Yanayev."

"Is it too soon to reach out to the Soviet leader?" Akhmadov asked, alarmed.

The colder Kadyrov appeared, the more unsettled Akhmadov felt. Only when Kadyrov was ready to act did he become so unnervingly calm.

"Yes, now. If these Chechen extremists want to die quickly, I'll gladly give them the ride."

His eyes glinted with a ruthless coldness.

Yanayev had barely settled in Beslan's government building when Moscow called. Defense Minister Yazov reported on the emergency in Chechnya.

"Kadyrov was assassinated?" Yanayev stammered, overwhelmed by the recent string of crises. The Beslan siege and Kadyrov's death both in 1991—how could it be?

"Yes, about two hours ago, his motorcade was bombed," Yazov confirmed. "Moscow also received a call from Ramzan Kadyrov, requesting to speak with you, General Secretary. What do you suggest?"

Yazov's question hung in the air, but Yanayev answered decisively: "Let him call me. We'll discuss everything by phone. It's time to end the Chechen problem."

Now was when the other side was most vulnerable. Yanayev wanted to use Kadyrov Jr. as a foothold, to win over wavering loyalties and warn others that fence-sitting meant ruin.

When Yanayev picked up, a young voice, both angry and sorrowful, answered. Before Kadyrov spoke, Yanayev offered condolences.

"I appreciate your sympathy," Kadyrov Jr. said politely. "We condemn the terrorists' brutality."

"I have intelligence on the extremists. I want to cooperate with the Soviet government," he said bluntly. "My father is dead. They will pay in blood."

Yanayev was taken aback—both surprised and impressed. This request was reasonable.

"How do you propose we cooperate? Joint strikes?" he asked.

"I will share my intelligence. Together with Soviet troops, we will destroy the Chechen militants in the Caucasus. I swear they will pay," Kadyrov Jr. vowed, his hatred palpable.

Yanayev felt relief. The son seemed less cunning than his father. The extremists were a valuable bargaining chip.

"But what if your plan is blocked? Or if others prevent your revenge?" Yanayev probed. To secure control, he aimed to sow discord among Chechen factions.

He would never allow a religious faction with an independent army and political power to rise on Soviet soil again—it was a threat he could not tolerate.

"Purge the old guard who don't obey. They must step down from my father's legacy," Kadyrov Jr. replied firmly, radiating the resolve of a warlord.

"When this ends, I hope to meet you in Moscow. We can negotiate peace and resolve Chechnya's future without war," Yanayev offered, smiling.

"And Kadyrov, I'm glad you made the right choice."