He spurred the animal on. He was from nowhere, and it was to nowhere that he returned.
PART I
‘The first two laws of thermodynamics can be summarized thusly: the natural course of the universe is to go from a state of order to a state of disorder. Those laws also describe systems built by man.’
Chapter One
‘Anarchy, anarchy, anarchy,’ Kate Dunn said into the brilliant lights of Woody’s mini-cam. Just behind her, the sustained roar of a hundred thousand voices echoed across Red Square. Her night vision was spoiled by the camera’s lights, but she could see the demonstrators’ fists pumping in air. The throng fell silent to await the speaker’s next cue.
‘Sound is good,’ Woody said with his eye glued to the mini-cam’s eyepiece. ‘But the light ain’t worth shit. We won’t pick up more than the first few people in the crowd down there.’ He plugged his headphones in. ‘Gimme some more sound,’ he directed.
‘This is Kate Dunn, reporting to you for NBC News,’ Kate said. ‘How’s that?’
‘Fine.’ Woody’s fingers tapped at the camera’s controls. It was all automatic, but for some reason he always overrode the computer’s settings with his own manual tweaks. Kate looked out over the crowd. She felt a flutter in her chest at the excitement of the moment. From her vantage atop the abandoned police van she could see the mob’s leader in the distance, bathed in harsh footlights from the speaker’s platform. The angry man spat out another stream of invective. The sound truck’s speakers were at maximum volume. It distorted the rabble-rouser’s voice. Again the crowd roared. Their clenched fists shook at the Kremlin walls, on which danced shadows from the flickering light of bonfires and thousands of torches.
Kate felt goose bumps ripple across her skin. ‘This is prime-time footage, Woody. I can feel it.’
‘Uh-huh,’ he replied. He worked the knobs on top of the tripod. His face was glued to the eyepiece. The scene around her was awe-inspiring, but she forced herself to close her eyes and go over her report. Not the words — she knew those cold — but the mood, the inflection, the calm of the veteran reporter’s voice conveying in measured tones the excitement of dramatic events. She had watched foreign correspondents do it all her life. Her lips moved and she nodded her head in time with the crowd’s chanted slogans.
‘Show time!’ Woody said. Kate opened her eyes, totally calm.
Woody’s fingers counted down from five, but when he hit zero and pointed, she waited. She waited for the perfect moment. A thunderous shout rose from the hundred thousand angry Russians. They waved the black flags of the Anarchists in figure eights. In the quiet that followed the roar, she began.
‘Anarchy,’ she said — thinking, slowly, slowly — ‘All current values are baseless. No political system known today works. Life as we have lived it is meaningless.’
The roar rose up again, then the crowd fell silent. Kate was in rhythm with them. ‘These Russian Anarchists want to improve their “spiritual condition” through destruction of all existing social order. “From destruction, creation arises!” This is the slogan of a new generation.’
A sustained cheer erupted, and Kate half turned to witness the spectacle. It was one of history’s turning points, she could feel it. In the capital of a great power. Revolution sweeping the course of mankind down a hundred-year tributary. And she was there… reporting it all to a fascinated world.
‘Among the ideologies considered to be of continuing significance,’ she said into the blinding lights of the camera, ‘Anarchism alone has never been tried. That it still attracts fervent adherents such as those here tonight is testimony to its intellectual credibility. Single-minded obsession with individual liberty and skepticism of government, it seems, are as alive today as they were in the nineteenth century. Now, here, in this land of great social experimentation, we may soon learn whether Anarchism is utopia, or whether it will lead down yet another detour through hell on earth.’
A roar erupted just as she completed the sentence. This is it! she thought in the torrent of noise. Don’t screw it up now!
‘But what sort of idea would you expect to flourish in a Russia that has lost all hope?’ Kate continued as fiery words were spat in Russian from distant loudspeakers. ‘In a Russia that has tried everything, and failed? What sort of ideology would take root in the minds of a hundred million lost souls?’
‘Anarchi-i-i-a-a!’ the crowd roared in stirring unison. Kate was almost overcome by a wave of emotion as her mind’s eye viewed the scene from the camera’s perspective. Perfection, sheer perfection.
‘Anarchy. A rejection of everything, every ideology. When you can’t create, destroy! “To think is to say no!” A mean, uncompromising idea to vent the pent-up energy and frustration of a nation of the idle. An idea that captures the imagination and fires the empty bellies of a long-suffering people. The black flags, the feverish rhetoric,’ she paused, ‘and the violence.
‘With the world’s attention focused on student protests in Beijing, the violence in Siberia earlier today came as a complete surprise. There, saboteurs launched concerted attacks on the system of natural-gas pipelines that supply much of Western Europe’s energy needs. Spokesmen for western oil companies said late today that the sabotage, if the reports were accurate, would cripple the entire supply system due to the remote locations of the damage.’ Another roar went up, and Kate raised her voice and shouted into the microphone. ‘They further pointed out that no repair crews would be sent until the Russian government could guarantee their safety from terrorists.’ The crowd quieted in the repetitive pattern of exhortation and response. ‘As the gas pressure in the system steadily falls, prices on world energy markets are going through the roof. North Sea crude and other alternate sources of European energy rose more than forty percent by market close with no sign that…’
A stunning flash of light barely preceded a deafening boom that reverberated among the buildings enclosing Red Square. Kate ducked involuntarily at the stupendous sound. A hundred thousand people in Red Square flinched in unison. ‘Over there,’ Kate shouted. She pointed for Woody to turn the camera. Smoke billowed into the air from the end of the square in front of St Basil’s — from where army troops had gathered but stood idle. The chants quickly degenerated into random shouts from a multitude of shrill voices.
The crackle of machine-gun fire began the terror.
It was as if everyone panicked at once. ‘It appears that the Army has opened fire!’ Kate managed over the din. Woody moved to shoot the scene from close behind her shoulder. The heat of the bright lamp glowed warmly against her face. Objects hissed through the air all around, and Woody turned out the lights and lowered the camera.
‘What are you doing? Kate shouted over the noise of the crowd, which had turned as one and was streaming away from the guns. ‘Aren’t you getting this?’