"Those people in Georgia are just trash! We spent so much money arming them—and this is the result!" Robert Gates slammed the newspaper onto the desk, then pushed it to the floor with his foot. The headline screamed, "Taxpayers Fund a Group of Thugs," exposing the alleged CIA ties to the Georgian Democratic Front. Photographs of innocent civilians, victims of the unrest, stared back accusingly. Gates' eyes flicked to the smiling face of Yanayev on the front page — a grin that made his blood boil. He stomped repeatedly on the paper, trying to crush the bitter taste of failure.
The Voice of America, once their beacon of propaganda, had fallen silent, overtaken by Soviet counter-infiltration broadcasts spreading Red Revolution rhetoric. Though the U.S. swiftly shut down those secret stations, anxiety gripped Washington: the Soviets were adapting, turning every American move against them. The free world's offensive seemed to falter at every turn, the Soviet machine reabsorbing strikes and striking back harder.
"Director Gates, the President is on the line," whispered the secretary as Gates returned to his office.
Suppressing his frustration, Gates put down his documents and took the phone, greeting calmly. But to his surprise, President Bush's voice carried concern, not reproach.
"Robert, how have you been holding up?" Bush asked.
Caught off guard, Gates hesitated. He'd expected anger — or worse, dismissal. Instead, he nervously ventured, "Mr. President... what do you think about Georgia? I know I've failed."
Bush chuckled warmly. "Failed? My friend, you did your best. Don't blame yourself."
The CIA director was stunned. "But, sir... the uprising was too fast. Moscow's propaganda was flawless. Public opinion turned against us. I lost your trust."
"No, no," Bush said with reassuring laughter. "There are plans far beyond what you can see. Georgia's crisis? It's just the opening salvo — the first crack in the Soviet Union's foundation. More will come. You just wait."
Only the White House Chief of Staff and senior advisers knew the truth: a sprawling, secret strategy was underway, aimed at splintering the Soviet bloc. All restless republics were potential chess pieces in the grand game. Zviad's position in Georgia was part of this complex calculus — his loyalty to the West ensured his survival, even as others fell.
Back in Moscow, Yanayev greeted Zviad with a thinly veiled menace.
"You're the most cunning leader among the Soviet republics," Yanayev said smoothly, as if chatting over tea. "Always finding the reliable master, flattering their enemies, thriving in the cracks... You're a true Georgian fox."
Kostava and Chanturia had been mere pawns — discarded once they'd outlived their usefulness. Georgia was to have one leader, and Zviad's former allies were now obstacles.
"Thank you for the compliment, President Yanayev," Zviad replied, calm as ever. "I assume this isn't a social call. What's on your mind? The riot's ringleader is already dead; there's nothing more to discuss."
Though Moscow lacked direct evidence linking Zviad, Yanayev knew the game. He waited, patient, for Zviad's Western backers to make their move — then he'd strike.
"You overthink, President Zviad," Yanayev smiled, tossing an official appointment letter on the table. "Patiashvili will resume his post as First Secretary to assist you in managing daily affairs."
Zviad's eye twitched. The memory of past conflicts with Patiashvili burned fresh. Moscow was clearly trying to constrain him.
"If I refuse, I look weak," Zviad said, forced smile in place, reaching for the letter.
Yanayev grabbed his wrist tightly. "This isn't a trap. Moscow respects Georgia — but we know about your secret deals with the West. Your passive role in the unrest speaks volumes. Do you think we're blind to American meddling?"
"And then?" Zviad smirked, unshaken. "What if you catch us?"
Yanayev's eyes gleamed cold. "We're ready. A thunderous war awaits — just waiting for the first American move."
He released Zviad's wrist. "For your own good, President Zviad, you'll remain in the Kremlin a while longer."
Zviad froze. "House arrest, then?"
"Exactly," Yanayev said flatly.