“We must both contact our agents, and confirm the time scale to which the enemy project is working, Comrades. From memory, the last date suggested was November of this year, and that was without the additional problems that they have obviously experienced with the latest failure.”
He pulled himself upright, addressing himself to Malenkov.
“This appears to be a race between them and us. Can the Comrade Minister tell us where we stand with our own development?”
Malenkov looked at Stalin, pleading with his eyes, hoping not to have his hand forced. He received no succour from his superior.
“Our own project is expected to yield a viable weapon by September…”
A noise escaped many lips, as the thought that the Motherland would possess a super weapon before the enemy gave voice to cries of pride and relief.
“No, Comrades, no… not this September. We estimate September 1947.”
Relief turned to despair in a half-second, as minds did the simple maths.
“Continue, Comrade.”
Malenkov looked at his leader with incredulity.
“Comrade General Secretary, I must protest.”
“Continue, Comrade. Tell them a little about Project Raduga.”
“But w…”
“We did, and now I decide that we will share something to warm the hearts of our comrades. Continue, Comrade.”
“Perhaps it should wait until Polkovnik General Vannikov can be here to deliver a fuller briefing, Comrade General Secretary?”
There was no humour present in Stalin’s reply.
“Perhaps I should find a new Head of Research and Production for our Atomic Programme?”
The message was received.
“By our orders, Comrade General Vannikov, in conjunction with Comrade Admiral Isakov, and scientist from the Motherland and other friendly nations, has been working on an alternate weapon, harnessing some of the same properties but with less complications.”
He made his stand.
“The Amerikanski project has suffered another reverse with their latest failure, and that will almost certainly mean a delay of months for them. I am afraid that I cannot reveal the precise nature of the Raduga weapons, but I can tell you that we anticipate that they will be ready for use by February next year, which should be well in advance of any Amerikanski system.”
‘Enough, Iosef?’
It seemed so, as Stalin leant back in his chair, puffing away on his pipe, happy that the ensemble now felt more positive about the future.
Nazarbayeva, a previous recipient of a limited Raduga File, now understood that the GRU Commander, Kuznetsov, had no idea of the existence of Raduga, something she considered bizarre, given his foreknowledge of the Atomic weapon programme.
Of those seven agents, five were already identified and turned by the FBI. One had chosen a dramatic way out, and his ‘suicide’ had deeply affected those working with him at Oak Ridge.
At first, the powers-that-be had wondered if that was finally the extent of the penetration, until a wisp of something not quite right emerged from New Mexico.
A wisp had become a sniff; a sniff had become a scent. More assets were moved to Los Alamos, and pretty soon a scent became a trail.
That trail, after weeks of exhaustive checking and rechecking, led Colonel Da Silva to the door he now knocked on.
The bespectacled young man who opened the door seemed unfazed by the uniformed presence at his threshold.
“Good evening, Colonel. May I help you?”
“I rather think you can, Mister Fuchs. May we come in?”
The last agent of the Rosenberg ring was in the bag.
Having paid a visit to the office of the GRU Commander, Nazarbayeva still had time to accept Kaganovich’s offer of a private meeting.
Ordinarily, she might have excused herself, but her impressions of the NKVD Deputy had been positive, so she decided to see how far matters might progress.
Her arrival had been silent and unspectacular, and she was ushered into Kaganovich’s office, where she found the Colonel General sat expectantly at a table filled with the makings of a decent dinner.
“Comrade Nazarbayeva, so good of you to delay your flight.”
He offered his hand, something that took Nazarbayeva aback and gave him the advantage, albeit momentarily.
She took his lead with the informality.
“Comrade Kaganovich, thank you for the invitation.”
Beckoning her towards a seat, he reseated himself and surveyed the spread.
“I know that you haven’t eaten, and won’t have the chance before you fly back to the front, so I took the liberty of organising dinner whilst we talk.”
He leaned across the table, filling her glass with a clear liquid.
“I understand that you have acquired a taste for Raspberry Schnapps, Comrade Nazarbayeva. This is the finest I could find at short notice.”
They raised their glasses and drank together.
“Za zdorovje!”
It was excellent, and seared her throat on the way down. His knowledge on her recent drinking habits was impressive; worryingly so.
He read her mind.
“Don’t worry about Poboshkin. He’s not one of mine. He’s your man through and through.”
Pouring another schnapps, he indicated the plates of food.
“Please, Comrade, help yourself. Time is wasting.”
As she filled her plate with cold cuts and salad, Nazarbayeva’s mind was working overtime.
“If you must know, Rufin is my man… and I mean, my man, not anyone else’s. He is intensely loyal to you… and always speaks of you in glowing terms.”
He slipped a pickled onion into his mouth and choked a little as the sharp vinegar bit his throat.
“I would be pleased if you didn’t reassign him… more looked on him as a less obtrusive means to communicate with me, should the need arise.”
Nazarbayeva froze.
“Comrade General, I am a loyal member of the party and committed to our leadership, and I will do nothing to compromise that!”
He held up his hands in protest.
“Tatiana Sergievna, you misunderstand. I make no such improper suggestion.”
He took a slug of the schnapps.
“The animosity between you and Marshal Beria is well known. To be honest, GRU General Kuznetsov has little working relationship with either Comrade Beria or myself, and I rather suspect that he lives on borrowed time in his position”
The former was a matter of certain knowledge to Nazarbayeva. The latter, that her boss was under threat, was unwelcome news.
“You and I have been given an opportunity to overcome a problem that has plagued the Rodina for years.”
Nazarbayeva knew he was talking about the relationship between the two agencies, and the fact that the party leadership seemed to keep the pot of mutual distrust constantly stirred.
“I believe that, between us, we can serve the Motherland far better by communicating without fear or suspicion.”
Whilst this was music to Nazarbayeva’s ears, the very suspicion that she would love to overcome raised thoughts in her head; thoughts of traps, subterfuge… and treason.
She chewed slowly on a piece of chicken, giving herself time to think before replying.
“I agree. It can only benefit the Motherland if we communicate and share our knowledge, Comrade General.”
“Please, call me Ilya Borissovich.”
“I cannot do that, Comrade General.”
He understood, as her rise to Major General’s rank had been nothing short of meteoric, and the familiarity between senior officers was something she had not yet acquired.