Eagle, I don't want to form an alliance anymore.

And a rarely used local and outbound telephone and an internal secretary pager.

Perpendicular to the main desk was a long T-shaped conference table. When convening small-scale meetings, the General Secretary sat at the main table, and the attendees sat along both sides of the long table. The long table was also covered with green cloth, and neatly arranged were glasses, mineral water bottles, ashtrays, sharpened pencils, and notepads.

It's not as luxurious as I imagined at all! It's much more understated than the White House.

There was also a safe in the corner, used to store top-secret documents, draft resolutions of the Politburo, and materials submitted by the KGB for review. Slava opened the safe according to the password, and it was empty.

Comrade Ligachev had cleaned up everything in Gorbachev's office beforehand.

"I've heard that the US president takes top-secret documents home to share with his buddies. I wonder if Gotu has ever done that. I'll find a pretext to raid his house and see if that opens my eyes," Slava muttered.

"When I was not the General Secretary, I had to endure him treating me like this. Now that I am the General Secretary, if I don't retaliate, wouldn't all my endurance have been for nothing?"

In recent years, influenced by his superiors, Slava has become somewhat petty and holds grudges.

A portrait of Lenin hangs on the wall directly behind the desk, an oversized map of the Soviet Union is on the side wall, a thick, dark red carpet covers the floor, and light green curtains hang in the window.

During Gorbachev's era, Stalin's portrait was no longer displayed, and Brezhnev's megalomaniacal tendencies were also cleared away, saving Slava a lot of trouble.

"Squeak-"

Slava walked to the window and tried to open it to let in some fresh air—but the window could only be opened a crack. He remembered that these windows were fitted with anti-eavesdropping glass, and the entire building was electromagnetically shielded.

The windows cannot be fully opened for both security and privacy reasons.

When Andropov was still alive, the two of them had talked about secrecy. After all, Andropov came from the KGB and was very familiar with this kind of business. He often talked to Slava about interesting things that happened in his work.

In August 1945, just after the end of World War II and at the tail end of the honeymoon period between the United States and the Soviet Union, a group of children from a Soviet Young Pioneers summer camp presented an American national emblem as a gift of friendship to the US ambassador to the Soviet Union.

The gift was exceptionally beautiful, a hand-carved hardwood craft. Harriman loved it and hung it on the wall directly behind his desk in his study.

Then this thing just hung there for seven years. During that time, four ambassadors came and went, and each of them felt that the gift was very meaningful and continued to display it. Until 1951, a British radio operator accidentally heard a clear conversation between Americans on a Soviet Air Force frequency—it was actually the sound coming from inside the embassy!

This clue led Americans to suspect that the ambassador's residence had been bugged. In 1952, technicians finally discovered a bugging device under the beak of the wooden eagle.

The ingenuity of this eavesdropping device lies in the fact that it has no battery, no circuit, and no active electronic components. It is simply a small metal cavity with an antenna, essentially a passive resonant cavity.

Normally, it is completely inactive, and the frequency sweep detector cannot detect any signal. However, when the Soviets send a specific frequency microwave beam towards the embassy from a building across the street, this cavity is excited and resonates. The thin film inside the cavity vibrates with the sound waves in the room, thus modulating the reflected microwave signal. The Soviets receive and demodulate it from a distance, and can hear every word spoken inside the room.

It requires no power supply, no maintenance, and has no components that will degrade, break down, or be detected by conventional anti-eavesdropping equipment! If the Soviet Union hadn't collapsed, this thing could probably have lasted until the day the United States disintegrated.

The Americans kept their discovery secret for many years, not wanting the Soviet Union to know they had figured out the principle. It wasn't until 1960, when a U-2 spy plane was shot down and the Soviet Union condemned the US for violating its airspace at the UN Security Council, that the US representative, in retaliation, publicly displayed the wooden emblem and the listening device inside at the Security Council as evidence of "what the Soviets had done to us." Only then was the device officially revealed to the public.

Since then, fearing that the Americans would do something similar, the KGB has meticulously disassembled and scanned every item sent to the General Secretary's office.

However, the KGB was in for a busy time, because Slava immediately noticed that something was missing—

"Chebrkov! Secretariat! Cyka Blyat, where's my terminal?"

There are no computer terminals on the General Secretary's desk; all documents are circulated on paper and delivered by assistants in red, top-secret folders.

For someone accustomed to the efficient operation of information technology, this office without terminals is no different from a prison cell.

"Ding—" Slava pressed the secretary call button on the table.

The secretary soon came in; she was a young man in his thirties, with a capable and well-trained appearance.

He was the secretary assigned to the new General Secretary by the General Office of the Central Committee.

"Comrade General Secretary, what are your instructions?"

“I need a terminal, immediately, right now, right away!” Slava got straight to the point.

"It's the kind that connects various information nodes and computing centers. This is my work habit—I'm used to the efficiency of information technology."

Without a terminal, how will the General Secretary work?

The secretary looked slightly embarrassed.

"General Secretary, this... we must consider your information security." He carefully chose his words.

"Currently, the KGB doesn't have a very good understanding of this new information technology. The terminal needs to connect to an external computing center via a network, and the data transmission during this process... we cannot completely guarantee that your information won't be leaked when you use the terminal. If it were intercepted or infiltrated by hostile forces, the consequences for national security... uh..."

Slava understood the secretary's concerns. In this era, information security was a completely new and unfamiliar field for the KGB. They were used to protecting paper documents, telephone communications, and personal safety, but they had not yet established a mature protection system for "network data transmission."

Secret Service agents are certainly not happy to see the booming development of the virtual world, because it means that there are even more things that are out of their control.

But Slava is the General Secretary, and he has no intention of giving up the terminal because of this.

“Then the KGB can train some agents,” Slava said, his tone very firm.

"Informatization will be the alliance's national strategy—this has been decided by the central government. More and more regions will be connected to informatization, including public computing centers, industry-research consortia, and government agencies at all levels. Sooner or later, they will all be connected to the network."

He looked at his secretary and said something meaningful:

“One day, people will also be using terminals, and the virtual world will become the new territory of the alliance. The KGB must prepare for that day—I hope they will take the initiative to master this technology. Otherwise, if the entire country becomes information-based and the KGB is still stuck in the era of only protecting paper documents, that will be the real security threat.”

The secretary blinked; he clearly hadn't considered the issue from that perspective. But Slava's words made a lot of sense—informatization was an inevitable trend, and the KGB should learn to master it as soon as possible, rather than resisting it.

"Yes, Comrade General Secretary, I will go and communicate with the KGB's Ninth Bureau right away."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The secretary went out to communicate for a while.

He was very efficient; he returned shortly afterward, followed by several staff members who brought over a terminal.

"General Secretary, both the KGB's Ninth Directorate and Chairman Chebrikov have agreed." The secretary explained while directing the staff to install the terminal, "To ensure your mailing address remains confidential, we've made a special arrangement—"

The Kremlin's terminal is not directly connected to the external network; instead, it is connected via a telephone line to the computer room at Moscow State University.

"Moscow University?"

"Yes, Moscow State University is very close to Red Square, just a five-minute walk away. It is also relatively close to Lubyanka, which makes it convenient for us to monitor and maintain it."

Due to the importance of your data, the data sent from your terminal will be stored on a separate server. Even if someone traces the source of the data, it will only lead to Moscow State University, and will not directly expose the actual location of the Kremlin.

In the era before IP addresses existed, the address labels of each terminal could be manually changed. The alliance traditionally affiliated with information centers in various regions, so even if someone opened the Slava box, they could only know that the terminal's registered address was at a university.

Slava nodded. This was an interesting hybrid approach by the KGB, within their familiar domain of secrecy, using old-fashioned counter-tracking techniques to protect new-era network communications.

“By the way, General Secretary,” the secretary added, “in response to the Central Committee’s call, terminals have now been installed in the homes of all Politburo members and in the offices of all ministers, and accounts have been registered.”

Slava couldn't help but laugh after hearing this.

“Wow,” he said half-jokingly, “the ministers’ political instincts are truly sharper than a dog’s. The General Secretary’s office isn’t even digitized yet, but they’ve already taken the lead.”

The secretary laughed along. It was a joke, but it was also true. Information technology was a national strategy promoted by Slava, and now that Slava was General Secretary, those astute ministers naturally rushed to install the terminals and register accounts to show they were closely following the central government and actively responding.

"Comrade General Secretary," the secretary suggested, "I recommend that you add the terminal addresses of all the ministers. This way, you can check on the situation of each department at any time through the terminal, which is faster than making phone calls or going through paper procedures."

Of course, we will still use paper-based offices for top-secret documents. Chairman Chebrikoff strongly suggests that you do not upload top-secret documents to the terminal.

“Of course, this terminal is mainly for calling people.” Slava nodded.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

After the terminal was installed, Slava sat down in front of it, skillfully opened it, and logged into his account.

Operating this terminal was second nature to him—the system was designed and promoted under his leadership.

"Di-"

The familiar interface on the screen lit up. He began adding the terminal addresses of each minister, following his secretary's advice.

There were too many ministers—the Ministry of Defense, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of the Interior, various industrial ministries, the State Planning Commission, the National Bank... one by one they were added, and Slava's list of contacts quickly became very long.

Then he noticed a problem. The system was not designed with a pinning function, and the contacts were sorted alphabetically by default.

Slava's own accounts are listed in alphabetical order in the list, rather than being fixed at the top. This makes it less convenient for him to find his own account or for others to see him immediately in the list when he has many contacts.

Slava thought for a moment, and since there was no pinning function, he would use a simple method—changing his name.

He changed his account name.

"AAA Arrest Warrant Wholesaler Bear Brother"

The letter A comes first; three A's ensure his account is always at the very top of all his contacts. As for the rest... that's the General Secretary's humor.

The secretary standing to the side tightened his lips and twitched his eye when he saw the account name the General Secretary had given him.

He had a strong premonition that the country was about to be thoroughly messed up by this General Secretary.

This new General Secretary is definitely not someone who follows the rules and procedures step by step.

But the secretary quickly calmed himself down; after all, it was the General Secretary's personal preference, not something intended for the general public. And who knows, perhaps this unconventional and energetic style is exactly what this stagnant country needs.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"By the way, Comrade General Secretary," the secretary suddenly asked, remembering something, "should we also install terminals in your villa?"

"Huh? I have a villa too?"

The secretary was taken aback.

“No, my only property is an apartment in the Khrushchev Building,” Slava said. “It’s the double dormitory room that Comrade Andropov assigned to me and Director Nian in the KGB back then.”

My only car is a used Lada that I bought when I was working in Uzbekistan. Where would I get a luxury villa?

Now it was the secretary's turn to be both amused and exasperated.

“Comrade General Secretary, this is your privilege,” the secretary patiently explained. “All senior cadres of the Politburo and the Central Committee enjoy this treatment. According to your current rank, the state will provide you with a villa—and a top-class state villa, complete with a guard company, a chef, a gardener, and a dedicated telephone line.”

He paused for a moment, then added, "Comrade Gorbachev previously built another villa, the Forros Villa, in Crimea. Now... this villa is yours too."

Slava frowned.

"The Forros Villa?" His tone carried a hint of displeasure. "Gorbachev built it? As far as I know, the average worker in a factory earns 250 rubles a month, and the General Secretary's monthly salary is only 2000 rubles. Where did Gorbachev get so much money to build a villa?"

Isn't this using the country's money to seek personal gain?

The secretary, somewhat embarrassed, explained cautiously:

"In theory, cadres do not have ownership of these properties. They only have the right to use them, and they must return them once they leave their posts."

Slava rubbed his forehead, shook his head, and said with a mixture of helplessness and sarcasm, "Owned by all the people, but the right to use it belongs to me, right?"

The secretary nodded.

Slava was silent for a moment, then slowly said, "I never would have guessed that Gorbachev, who talks about fighting corruption every day, would do something like this behind the scenes."

"Snapped!"

He slammed his hand on the table, his tone turning serious: "There are too many corrupt officials in the alliance. So many cadres enjoy so many privileges—it's easy for them to become detached from the people. I think we need to deal with this matter later."

Slava's remark touches upon a vast system of privileges.

The privileges of Soviet cadres were divided into several levels, and by the 1980s, they had become largely established. Like an invisible net, it separated the ruling class and ordinary people into two completely different worlds.

Ironically, due to the alliance's long-term shortage of supplies, the core of this privilege system was the special supply of goods!

The most famous canteen in Moscow is the "Doctor's Canteen" on Granovsky Street—ostensibly a canteen for the old Bolsheviks, but in reality a pick-up point for members of the Central Committee.

Each month, committee members could collect their so-called "Kremlin rations" by presenting their tickets: imported ham, caviar, coffee, chocolate, foreign cigarettes, fruit...

The price was only about half of the official price. The next tier consisted of closed distribution stations at the central ministries, constituent republics, and state levels. The goods there were one tier lower than those in the central government, but still far exceeded what could be bought in ordinary stores.

There was also the public channel—the "Little Birch Tree" store, where Party and government officials could purchase goods with foreign exchange certificates. This store was mainly for people returning from abroad, diplomats, journalists, and seamen, but in reality, it became a shopping spot for the families of high-ranking officials.

In terms of housing, members of the Central Committee have access to high-quality brick buildings in Moscow, located along Kutuzovsky Street and Granovsky Street, with ceilings of three to five meters, separate kitchens, and servants' quarters.

The villas were tiered by status: those at the Politburo and Secretariat level enjoyed state villas, mainly located along the Zhukovka, Barvikha, and Usovo line in the western suburbs of Moscow, and were equipped with guard companies, cooks, gardeners, and dedicated telephone lines.

Although the secretary stated that "serving cadres only have the right to use the position, and must return it to the state upon retirement," in practice, most people retain the right to use the position after retirement. There are also cadre sanatoriums in the south, allocated according to rank.

The Forros Villa, which Gorbachev built at a cost of tens of millions, is one of the villa districts in Crimea.

In the medical field, there's the renowned Fourth Chief Directorate; in transportation, vehicles are strictly assigned according to rank. Central Committee members' cars can even use the dedicated central lane on Kutuzovsky Prospekt, with traffic police clearing the intersections beforehand. When Muscovites see a line of black sedans speeding along the central lane while ordinary traffic on either side is completely jammed, they know it's high-ranking officials commuting between the city and their suburban villas.

The most crucial characteristic of this system is that all privileges are attached to positions, not to individuals. Once someone loses their position, they are theoretically required to move out of their villa, hand over their car keys, and have their special privileges suspended within three months.

This is the most ruthless aspect of the system, and also why the Party's discipline is so strong:

Everyone knows that stepping down means losing everything!

When Slava was undergoing labor reform in the Ural Mountains, he personally experienced what it felt like to "lose everything." Now, as General Secretary and having regained it all, his understanding of the system is far more profound than that of anyone who has smoothly climbed the ranks within the system.

This system of privileges is gradually turning the country's officials into a privileged class that is detached from the people.

A ruling class that is detached from the people will eventually lose their support—this is the outcome that Slava witnessed firsthand on another timeline!

He suddenly felt like laughing. No wonder there were always traitors like Yakovlev among those who returned from the Soviet Union. After living such a luxurious life in the sugar-coated bullets of capitalist countries for so long, the sudden return to China and the huge contrast with the "705u.com-reading club first release" must have made him feel unbalanced.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Slava picked up the high-frequency telephone on the table and dialed the number of KGB Chairman Chebrikov.

“Viktor Mikhailovich, this is Ivanov.”