While President Bush sat in the conference room, lost in his own calculations, President Yanayev quietly stepped out and entered a side chamber.
Inside, only one man sat, eyes fixed on a bank of surveillance monitors displaying every move from the negotiation room.
When he noticed Yanayev, the young man stood at once, offered a respectful bow, and said, "President Yanayev."
His name was Surkov—the man some whispered would become Russia's indispensable statesman of the future. Widely regarded as the brightest of the new generation of Soviet strategists, Surkov was a rising star, believed by many to be the natural heir to the intellectual legacy of the Party's old-guard think tanks.
Though still young and lacking polish, his mind moved with a kind of volatile brilliance. What he lacked in years, he more than made up for in boldness—and crucially, he was untouched by the rigid dogma of Soviet empiricism.
Yanayev spoke little. He got straight to the point.
"Tell me—do we sign the agreement, or keep stalling? If we hold out longer, we might still extract more politically."
Surkov's eyes didn't waver from the screen as he answered.
"That depends, Comrade President—do you want to preserve the last heartbeat of the Soviet Union, or finish it off?"
He turned to face Yanayev fully.
"If you reject the Americans outright, they'll unleash every covert tool they have—destabilization campaigns, economic sabotage, political pressure. Piece by piece, they'll bleed this country until the polar bear collapses. And we can't risk that. We don't have real red mercury to fall back on."
"But," he added, "if we accept, we keep the illusion alive. The red mercury myth becomes our weapon. It keeps the Americans on edge. Sleepless. Paranoid. That alone buys us time—and leverage."
His words struck Yanayev like a stone to still water. He frowned. He hadn't fully considered the treaty itself as a vessel for further leverage. Even the non-proliferation terms—which the Americans thought they were driving—could be turned into a battlefield of negotiation.
"So you're saying we appear willing to sign… but only if our conditions are included. We act reluctant, but behind the scenes, we hold most of the cards."
Surkov nodded. "Exactly. Red mercury becomes a talisman—not a weapon, but a shield. It gives the illusion of strength. That illusion alone may carry the Soviet Union through its current economic crisis."
He paused.
"And with it… we make sure that whether it's war by bombs or war by banks, the Americans think twice before moving against us."