Once Upon a Time in Russia by Ben Mezrich

Yeltsin was going to win, and the payoff for the men who supported him would be unprecedented.
    Berezovsky was about to reach for another poster from his propaganda department to titillate Badri—when he was suddenly interrupted by a frantic commotion coming from the other end of the floor. He looked up in time to see his young, annoying assistant, Ivan, rushing toward him, holding a cordless phone. The bodyguards around Ivan looked terrified—obviously something important was happening. Berezovsky’s first fear was that Yeltsin had suffered another heart attack; the old man had already endured four that Berezovsky knew of. Hell, it was hard enough battling Communists, but even Berezovsky was going to have difficulty coming up with ascheme to battle against the failure of Yeltsin’s own heart. But as Ivan reached him and began to speak, Berezovsky realized the problem wasn’t with Yeltsin’s heart at all—but with his right hand.
    â€œThey’ve been arrested,” Ivan sputtered, as he skidded to a stop in front of his boss. “Chubais’s men, they were coming out of the White House with a cardboard box. The security agents are reporting that the box had more than half a million dollars inside. Cash, no receipts, no papers.”
    â€œSecurity agents? Whose security agents?”
    Ivan finally calmed down enough to clearly explain the situation. It appeared that Korzhakov had made his move. His private security forces had arrested two of Chubais’s campaign assistants, carrying a box of cash on their way out of the Russian White House.
    A bold and terrifying move. Even, possibly, the precursor to a coup. Korzhakov had to know that Chubais wouldn’t stand for his men being arrested, no matter what the charge. And to do such a thing in public, in the middle of the election?
    â€œArkady Yevstafyev and Sergei Lisovsky,” Ivan continued. “They’re being held at gunpoint right this minute. But they still seem to have their cell phones, and they’ve spoken to Chubais. General Lebed is already on his way to get them released.”
    Berezovsky shook his head. He looked at Badri, but his friend’s face was unreadable behind his cigar. Korzhakov was obviously growing desperate. A month earlier, he’d been all talk, even though he had raised many hackles when he had made a statement implying that he thought the election would lead to a civil war—and that it should be canceled. Now it seemed as though he was attempting to start that civil war himself.
    The charges themselves didn’t matter. Hell, with the amount of money Berezovksy and the Oligarchs were pouring into the campaign,you could throw a rock at any man walking out of the White House and knock over a box filled with cash. Korzhakov was attempting to escalate the battle for Yeltsin’s favor—and this time, Berezovsky believed, the man had gone too far.
    Berezovsky grabbed the phone from Ivan’s hand. It was time to circle the wagons. He intended to call everyone he could; Chubais, he was informed, was already on his way over. They would gather at the Logovaz and wait out the night; it was as safe a place as they could find. But Berezovsky knew that in this moment, the most important member of their group wouldn’t be an Oligarch or a campaign manager.
    Money and ideology were powerful cards—but a president’s daughter trumped everything.
    The minute Berezovsky heard Tatiana’s voice on the other end of the line, he knew that one way or another, the Korzhakov situation would soon be resolved.
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    By 3:30 in the morning, the air in the club still rang with the voices of some of the most powerful and wealthy men in Russia—but the edge of fear that had gripped Berezovsky earlier had begun to recede. Tatiana had already visited and left. Badri was still sitting beneath the television, watching the screen even more intently. General