A special plane flew south from Moscow to Crimea, carrying men whose very identities would have raised eyebrows anywhere.
On board sat almost all of the Soviet Union's top leadership from the party, the government, and the military. Among them were Oleg Shenin 'Secretary of the Central Committee', General Valentin Varennikov 'Commander-in-Chief of the Soviet Ground Forces', Gorbachev's aide Oleg Baklanov and Yuri Plekhanov 'head of the Ninth Directorate of the KGB'.
The infamous "Gang of Eight".
It was an impressive lineup. Men who normally bickered endlessly had come together for a single reason, the new union treaty.
But the mood was grim. Some sat with eyes closed, others crossed their hands in prayer. Each of them knew that what they were about to attempt could change history forever. Whether they would be remembered as saviors or as traitors remained to be seen.
Still, in every heart beat the same conviction, the Soviet Union must not be allowed to collapse.
Their destination was the resort town of Foros, at the southern tip of Crimea, where Mikhail Gorbachev had been staying in seclusion for more than ten days. Officially, it was a vacation. In truth, he was avoiding the Politburo after forcing through the treaty in violation of the constitution.
The Red Empire was like a great, creaking ship, packed with munitions, drifting without direction on a stormy sea. The captain had lost his way, and the desperate crew was now debating mutiny.
Varennikov, noticing Baklanov's unease, patted him on the shoulder.
"It will be fine once we see Gorbachev," he said.
"I hope you're right," Baklanov replied, forcing a thin smile. In truth, he had little faith.
As the plane descended over Crimea, the passengers could see the red-roofed villa at Foros, surrounded by concentric rings of security. Elite guards patrolled the grounds. Snipers lay hidden in the surrounding hills. Dozens of patrol boats prowled the waters within five nautical miles. Beyond that, the Black Sea Fleet stood ready. The villa was a fortress.
But no one admired the scenery. All eyes were fixed on what awaited inside.
The plane touched down on the private runway. Led by Plekhanov's KGB detail, the group marched toward the villa.
Inside, Gorbachev had been preparing to nap when he heard the commotion. He threw on a jacket and stormed out.
"Who let you in without my approval? Get out!" he barked.
Plekhanov lowered his head and replied quietly:
"It was my order, Comrade General Secretary. I brought them in. Forgive me."
"Damn you," Gorbachev spat. "Do what you like, but don't pretend you have my consent!"
Borgin the Central Committee secretary, stepped forward. He placed a document on the table . His voice was grave,
"Comrade Gorbachev, we cannot allow the New Union Treaty to destroy the very foundation of the Soviet state. From this moment, the country must enter a state of emergency until order is restored."
Gorbachev sneered, flinging the paper aside.
"An emergency committee? Without my approval? Illegal! You are staging a coup , a betrayal of the Party!"
Baklanov pressed a pen into his hand.
"This is not a request. Even if you refuse, it changes nothing. Tomorrow morning, Vice President Yanayev will announce that, due to health reasons, you are suspended and he will assume your duties."
"You dare lecture me on reforms?" Gorbachev shouted, shoving him back. "Since Stalin, every reform has had problems. But I know what communism means you only quote half a line from Das Kapital, out of context! I can recite it all!"
His defiance rattled the room. These old men of the Politburo so accustomed to deference now looked shaken. In this battle of words, against all odds, Gorbachev was holding his ground.
"You think this coup will put you in power?" he snarled. "Fools! You'll be discarded, like Zhukov was. Used, then cast aside. Yanayev will be nothing, Yeltsin will crush you, and history will laugh!"
"Enough," Varennikov cut in coldly. "You'll be escorted back to Moscow soon. Save your speeches."
"Shut up!" Gorbachev roared. "You are just a soldier. Your duty is to obey orders, not to join conspiracies!"
His stubborn fury demoralized the plotters. For all their power, they could not shake the iron will of the man they had come to topple.
And then, at the very height of tension, a guard suddenly rushed forward. Before anyone could react, he leveled his pistol at Gorbachev.
"Be careful!" Borgin cried.
Bang! Bang!
Two gunshots tore through the air. The room erupted into chaos.
____________________________________
Gorbachev collapsed to the floor, clutching his shoulder as blood seeped through his jacket. His scream tore through the villa.
The attacker couldn't been some hotheaded fool ,assassinating the leader of the Soviet Union in front of nearly every top leader was madness of the highest order.
The guards reacted too late. The young shooter was wrestled to the ground and pinned, their fury was merciless.
"Get a doctor, now!" General Varennikov roared.
Chenin, red with rage, strode forward and smashed his fist into the boy's pale face. "Who ordered you?"
The assassin, blood dripping from his lip, raised his head with frightening conviction.
"Yeltsin! For Russia! Gorbachev must die!"
The room froze. The name shouted so brazenly sent a shock through the delegation. Even the most hardened men of the Politburo exchanged uneasy glances.
No one noticed the last man who had entered Vacheslav Genolanov, director of the KGB's Technical Bureau. His expression was calm as he raised a small hidden camera, quietly recording the assassin's confession.
For weeks, Deputy comander of Moscow's military district Andrei Kornilov had praised Genolanov in public as "loyal, brave, a man of vision." Rumors whispered of a private meeting between them. What was said behind closed doors , only they and God knew.
The assassin was dragged out wile bleeding. Doctors rushed in. Despite frantic work, Gorbachev's personal physician finally looked up, his voice grim.
"He's alive, but critical," the doctor whispered, glancing at the stunned Politburo men. "A quick recovery is… impossible. You should prepare yourselves."
For a moment, the room fell into silence. Someone, muttered the obvious with a tumbling voice.
"What do we do now?"
Everyone looked at each other in dismay, such a sudden change was not within their scope of consideration
Genolanov seized the moment.
"We carry on. The plan remains the same. If Gorbachev cannot fulfill his duties, then Vice President Yanayev must assume them. That was always our solution. Now," he gestured toward the bloodstained floor, "circumstances simply… accelerates history."
No one contradicted him. His words, unspoken by the rest, were what they all secretly thought: the greatest obstacle to their coup had just been removed. Whether Gorbachev lived or not no longer mattered.
One by one, the men nodded. Their silence was consent.
Baklanov turned to the window. Beyond the villa, the Black Sea shimmered in the late summer sun. Yet the sky above felt heavy, poisoned by conspiracy. He wondered if this moment would save the Union or ignite it like a Balkan powder keg.
The Emergency Committee had no time for doubts. Within the hour, they boarded their plane back to Moscow. By the time their wheels touched Kremlin soil, the state of emergency would be declared.
Moscow
__________
Andrei set down the phone, a thin smile on his face.
"Good. Make sure they understand the orders completely. We move now."
He turned to Lukashenko and Natalia, sliding a stack of files across the desk.
"This is the list. Commander of the Airborne Army, Shaposhnikov. His cronies. Every Gorbachev loyalist we know. Each name checked twice. Those who resist…" He paused. " Persuade if you can… but don't waste time on the stubborn."
Lukashenko straightened, eyes burning with ambition. "I will not fail you, Commander. Moscow will be ours."
Andrei clapped his shoulder. "That's the spirit."
He faced the younger cadres standing at attention. "If there's any difficulty, don't hesitate. Act."
"Yes, sir!" A dozen youthful voices answered together.
Then Andrei turned toward the weary old Politburo members.
"Comrades," he said softly, almost triumphantly, "the Motherland awaits. Let us welcome the new dawn together."