“I’m the key? How can I be the key, Kaganovich? Do you take me for a fool?”
“He takes you for what you are, Tatiana Nazarbayeva. Now drop the gun.”
The new voice carried authority and weight, whoever it was behind her, and she had no doubt that another weapon, possibly more, were trained upon her.
None the less, the Tokarev remained steady, aimed at Kaganovich’s nose, unwavering, unshaking, as if frozen in the ice that gripped her heart.
“I tell you now, Comrade General. I trusted you, yes, even a Chekist such as you can earn my trust. If you have deliberately deceived me… if you have any part in this whole affair… my sons… the dacha… I’ll kill you. Count on it.”
Through the fear that clogged his arteries and veins, and caused his heart to race and lungs to claw at the air, Kaganovich understood something.
As did the man holding the Walther PPK towards Nazarbayeva’s back.
‘We have her!’
The Tokarev dropped slowly away and Kaganovich drew a deep breath and commenced, as he was convinced, the bonus extra years of his life, for her eyes had shouted at him, preparing him for death at her hands.
The use of his legs was almost lost with the strain of the moment and he staggered away to the nearest seat, using furniture to gain the wooden chair before he dropped into it, drained by the experience.
Khrushchev kept his pistol on the woman, even as she relaxed her posture and slipped the pistol back into its holster.
Behind him, Gorbachev, Gurundov, and Laberova holstered their own weapons and moved into the room, carefully keeping out of Khrushchev’s line of fire and away from the woman.
Nazarbayeva’s eyes bored into those of Khrushchev and he had a small taste of that which had reduced Kaganovich’s legs to jelly.
He reminded himself that this woman was a combat soldier and decided to act more calmly than he was used to.
Khrushchev holstered his weapon.
“Come, Tatiana Sergievna, let us eat. We’ve much to discuss… and, on a personal note, I’m sorry for the loss of your sons and for… well… you know.”
Tatiana did not bother to ask if those present had all seen the film. She cared not any more, for her mind was focussed on other matters.
A car drew up outside, the gravel track announcing its presence.
Gorbachev read her thoughts.
“We were in the dacha next door and walked over, Comrade Nazarbayeva. You couldn’t have heard us.”
She nodded and reached for a carafe of water, pouring herself a large glass to silently toast her new resolve.
Doors slammed as whoever it was alighted their vehicle. The doorway filled with a man in uniform, a man she instantly recognised.
‘VKG! Of course… so simple now…’
“Greetings Comrades! And to you Leytenant General Nazarbayeva.”
The man smiled and walked forward and extended his hand.
“I hear there is nothing like Christmas in Krakow, Tatiana.”
She took his hand in hers and shook it firmly.
“Except perhaps May Day in Moscow, Comrade Marshal Zhukov.”
‘VKG… the Victor of Khalkin-Gol…’
He broke the contact and hugged her tight, kissing her on both cheeks, and then moved around his fellow conspirators.
Kaganovich, now nearly recovered, encouraged everyone to take food, which they did, and the conversation, punctuated with the sounds of men consuming a hearty lunch, turned to family and general matters, a precursor to their later more serious discussion.
Laberova stood motionless at the door, and was joined by her twin sister, bearing one of the new AK-47s and looking decidedly menacing.
Security firmly in place, those in the dacha turned from food to talk of revolution.
Nazarbayeva listened and absorbed everything, not as before, to relay to those in authority, but now to understand, all the better to seek a suitable revenge for her and her family, and to rid the Rodina of the vermin who drove her towards destruction.
When talk turned to the moment when power would be wrung from Stalin’s grasp, attention seemed to focus on her.
“Comrades, just come out with it. I’m fully committed to this process. Tell me what you want me to do.”
They told her, at least the barebones of how they imagined her part playing out.
Silence descended and they held their collective breath.
Nazarbayeva smiled.
“For my sons… for the Motherland… I’ll do it.”
Hearts skipped a beat and then the hugs started as the final piece in their puzzle fell into place.
In the face of huge pressure by the conspirators, Nazarbayeva allowed herself a small sip of wine to seal the agreement.
“Comrades, if I may ask please?”
Khrushchev, clearly the main man in the organisation, gestured for the others to quieten down.
“When will we act, Comrades?”
The Governor of the Ukraine rubbed his chin in thought.
“That has yet to be decided, Comrade, but perhaps we should look to it now?”
He turned around.
“When can we be ready?”
Zhukov was the key to the timetable and confidently gave his opinion.
“Within the week. I say we utilise our pre-planning and go for it next Saturday, at the earliest.”
“Pre-planning, Comrade Marshal?”
Khrushchev spoke up, annoyingly for the army officer, dealing with Nazarbayeva’s question.
“We make sure that we have ‘meetings’ organised, open, innocent meetings that ensure we are where we need to be at certain key times so that we can act if the circumstances are right.”
Zhukov interrupted.
“I have rethought this… in two Saturdays we have a full convergence at three o’clock, do we not?”
Kaganovich looked around the room, taking in the shrugs and nods from those assembled.
“Then we are agreed, Comrades? Three o’clock in the afternoon of April 14th, we end this abomination and protect the Motherland.”
“Yes!”
So now they all knew the timescale, and how long they had until victory or death at the hands of NKVD butchers.
Kaganovich, Zhukov, and Khrushchev exchanged more furtive looks, for they knew something else as well.
Chapter 198 – RAGNARØKKR
1124 hrs, Sunday, 30th March 1947, NATO Headquarters, Leipzig, Germany.
“Any more questions, Gentlemen?”
The final presentation had taken Patton less than fifteen minutes.
The questions from his senior men, and those seconded from Norway and Persia, had taken just over an hour.