He instinctively knew the answer.
“She’ll come and speak to me first.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely positive she will. Whom else would she go to? Beria? The Boss? Kuznetsov? Has to be me.”
Khrushchev posed a perfectly reasonable question.
“And if that’s the case, what do we do if he has revealed matters?”
Zhukov stayed quiet throughout, leaving the two political beasts to sort it out.
Kaganovich’s silence drew the bald commissar forward.
“I know exactly what we’ll do. Just what we had planned to do… but sooner… we move up the timetable.”
“What?”
Kaganovich bristled.
“We’re not yet ready. Tell him, comrade, we can’t move any quicker.”
Zhukov smiled.
“I’m a soldier. Sometimes we have to move when not prepared. It is possible, given the alternatives. I think you’re right, Nikita Sergeyevich.”
“Ilya Borisevich?”
Kaganovich pondered the pros and cons before committing himself.
“We have no choice, it seems. We’ll move the timetable up and if she fucks it up… I’ll kill her myself.”
2031 hrs, Friday, 14th March 1947, Shared bar, Camp Vár, Sweden.
“May I get you another drink, General?”
Nazarbayeva looked up from the empty glass where her mind had been just a second before, the complications of the day weighing heavily on her thoughts.
She had assumed she was alone in the bar and the voice took her by surprise.
“Yes, thank you, Polkovnik.”
“I’m assuming this was vodka?”
“Akvavit please, Polkovnik.”
The man moved off awkwardly and returned with two filled glasses.
“Terrible news today eh, General? Even for you, our recent enemy.”
“No way for a soldier to die, that’s for sure, Polkovnik. To those who died.”
They chinked glasses and consumed the contents greedily.
“I’ve taken the liberty of organising the barman.”
He gestured off to the right and soon a full bottle and two new glasses arrived.
“Excellent idea, Polkovnik. Your Russian is excellent.”
“Thank you, I’ve only recently learned the tongue, and it’s certainly not yet as polished as your English, General.”
She drank the Akvavit as she eased the wounded foot in her boot, all the time consuming the details of the British officer’s uniform.
The subtle movement didn’t escape Ramsey’s eye.
“An old wound, General?”
“I’m only missing a little bit of myself, certainly less than yourself, Polkovnik.”
He slapped his false legs with the palm of his hand, like a father lovingly pats his boys.
“Hardly notice nowadays. Wasn’t always the case, but I’m still walking around, unlike a lot of my boys.”
“Where, if you don’t mind me asking, Polkovnik?”
“Barnstorf in Northern Germany.”
“I have heard of this battle. Many men died there… and to what real end, eh?”
Ramsey snorted, partially in agreement and partially in disgust.
“As always, we soldiers pay the price the politicians demand for their decisions.”
They raised glasses to each other in acknowledgement of a soldier’s bond.
Ramsey changed tack.
“I’ll bet this county looks magnificent at Christmas time.”
A light went off in her head and a phrase simply tumbled out of her mouth.
“Very possibly, Polkovnik, but there is nothing like Christmas in Krakow.”
“Except May Day in Moscow, so I’m told, Comrade Leytenant General Nazarbayeva.”
‘At last!’
He leant across the table and extended his hand.
“Ramsey… John Ramsey… and I bring greetings from Sir Stewart Menzies.”
“I had expected General Strong to be here?”
“Unfortunately, he’s amongst the dead. It was his aircraft that crashed. The others had hitched a lift on it. Bad luck all round, I’d say.”
“Yes… bad luck.”
‘Strong too?… who else?… How badly are they really wounded by this?’
“Fortunately, I’ve been briefed in and was assigned here to act as Sir Stewart’s eyes and ears, and to help Sir Kenneth in any way. I’m told you worked under General Pekunin… another tragic end.”
“In many ways, yes, Polkovnik Ramsey.”
“You shot him… and yet you’re now here…”
“He ordered me to.”
“Ordered you to shoot him?”
“Yes. Perhaps Roman was afraid of what he might have revealed had he been taken alive.”
Ramsey nodded and left it at that.
“I assume, because you responded to the phrase, that you were included in his plans?”
“I gave you the initiating phrase, didn’t I?”
“Indeed you did.”
He understood that she avoided the question.
“So, what does General Menzies want with me?”
“To continue the work of your friend and mentor.”
“Less riddles, Polkovnik Ramsey, if you please.”
“We want to know if you will continue where Pekunin left off, and help us bring about the replacement of your present leadership.”
She hurriedly took a draft of the fiery Akvavit to cover her shock and surprise.
Ramsey understood instinctively and spoke again.
“From what I understand, your General was a patriot who understood that Stalin lead your country into another war under false pretences, and was prepared to work with us for the good of all, especially your Motherland. He gave his life for that purpose.”
“Pekunin would never betray his country!”
“He didn’t… ever. I’ve seen the file… all the documents relating to him. Above all, he was a Russian patriot who had only the Rodina’s best interests at heart. It seems he felt they were best served by ridding the Soviet Union of Stalin’s influence.”
“Comrade Stalin is our leader. He cannot be replaced. He brought us victory against the German hordes!”
To the barman, who reported directly to Swedish Intelligence, it looked like the two officers were arguing and he tried to edge closer.
He was spotted and sent packing with another order, this time for cold beers. Ramsey figured the lesser alcohol content would help him through the coming conversation, whereas Tatiana was quite happy to feed her habit with the Akvavit.
The conversation level dropped, confounding the barman’s efforts to hear anything reportable.
He delivered the beers and grudgingly retreated, the two officers determined to remain silent until he moved away.
“I’ll stick with this, thank you, Polkovnik Ramsey. So, what would you have me do?”
“Pekunin was our point of contact. We’ve been blind and unable to help since he was killed. Plainly, tensions are building again, and there are clearly matters that need answers.”
“Such as the lost submarine?”
“Yes, of course, General. That alone has heightened our suspicions about your intentions. Combined with the other items you may have taken from Japan… the missing submarines… it all makes a very volatile mix… one that needs calming down… and the safest way for us to move with confidence is to remove the men who took you to war on such false pretences.”
“False pretences? They were sound reasons. Churchill’s plan, the acceptance of Germany… the vaunting of the French… Patton’s cries for more war… you were going to attack us so we simply acted first.”
Since she had read Pekunin’s notes, she knew the old man had believed otherwise, but time had made the circumstances less clear and, in so many ways, she wanted to not believe it.