by Colin Gee
1412 hrs, Saturday, 5th October 1946, Lieutenant General Kaganovich’s office, the Kremlin, Moscow, USSR.
“Welcome, welcome, Comrade, and very many congratulations on your promotion. Well deserved, of course.”
Nazarbayeva took a seat and accepted the plaudits with good grace.
“I understand a few people have their own issues with it, but to hell with them, I say. A drink in celebration… as equals!”
Despite her insincere protestations, Kaganovich produced a bottle and two glasses and, just as quickly filled both, seemingly in one graceful movement.
“Your health and your success. Congratulations, Comrade!”
The vodka disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived.
“Apparently, you made Comrade Beria look a fool during your last briefing?”
“It was not my intention, Comrade, but the report he presented was flawed and incomplete, so I had no choice but to reveal it for what it was. Our leadership must know the true situation.”
No matter how often he spoke with the woman, he could never quite understand how politically naive she was, or how little she understood the precariousness of her position, especially in her dealings with his boss… or for that matter, his boss’s boss.
“And what’s the true situation as you see it, Comrade?”
“We’re technologically inferior to our enemies across the range of arms, except submarines, and that’s only thanks to the German boats. Our efforts to narrow the gap are being hampered by shortages of the necessary minerals, fuels, and by the same blight that affected our Germanski enemies. Too many projects, too many people working separately, using valuable and finite resources, when one project could push ahead and succeed.”
“Give me an example, Comrade.”
“We selected the SKS and AK-47 to replace the Mosin rifle and the range of submachine-guns, and they have proceeded at great speed… successfully so. An example of success in giving our troops the best. And yet, our tank bureaus seem to be trying to produce a nest of vehicles, all with different characteristics, each consuming resources that defeat the overall objective. We have the T-54 tank, which seems wholly effective and the equal to most of the enemy tanks, and yet we continue to dabble with new designs in the same class… designs that seem to offer no great improvement. We have seven… seven different groups working on a range of bigger and heavier vehicles, instead of concentrating on the T-54 and improving it, like we did with the T-34 and IS series. The IS-III has been improved without huge modification, and is now more than capable on the modern battlefield. That is a success. The Germans failed to understand this simple concept and poured resources down blind alleys to satisfy their leader’s whims. It seems to me that now we too seem to have lost the art of keeping things simple, Comrade General.”
Kaganovich, having been subjected to what amounted to a speech by the exercised GRU officer, could only grin at her candour and clear exasperation.
“Do you always speak so freely, Comrade Nazarbayeva?”
“Comrade General, I try to speak honestly, for the sake of the Rodina.”
He refilled the glasses and offered a toast, hoping that the woman would heed his words for what they were.
“To all those who serve the Rodina as best they can, regardless of the consequences to themselves.”
They drank the toast.
“Regardless of the consequences, Comrade General?”
“As I said, Comrade Nazarbayeva, you made Marshal Beria look a fool, at least as far as he was concerned. He’s a… err… unforgiving man. At the moment, he’s very busy now trying to make up for his mistakes but I advise you make your peace with him as soon as possible.”
He checked his watch and rose to his feet.
“Unfortunately, I’ve an appointment elsewhere now, otherwise I’d offer you more vodka, Comrade. Was there anything else?”
Nazarbayeva shook her head.
“Nothing that cannot keep, comrade. Your man keeps me supplied with the information I need… thank you.”
“Excellent. Now, I must go I’m afraid.”
“Thank you for coming, Comrade Marshal.”
“Is it what you suspect?”
“I don’t know myself. Haven’t watched it. One of my aides learned of its existence and managed to appropriate it. She quietly arranged for a copy to be made and the original is back in place, hopefully not having been missed. We’re going to watch the copy.”
“I’m not comfortable with this at all, but if it’s what you suspect, it might be of great use to us, eh?”
“Indeed, Comrade Marshal.”
The knock on and opening of the door were as one, and Senior Lieutenant Laberova entered, snapped to attention, and saluted the senior officers.
“Well, Ludmilla. Is it the same person in the film?”
“Without any doubt, Comrade Leytenant General. I got a good look when the General walked past me. One and the same.”
“Thank you. When you’re ready then.”
The two men turned to the blank wall of the staff recreation room as Laberova locked the door, turned out the lights, and started the projector.
A bedroom sprang into view, one that seem modestly appointed but none the less clearly in a building of some importance.
Two oil lamps burned brightly, but the focus was on a large naked man and a woman lying on the bed, a woman they both knew.
Nazarbayeva.
“And who the fuck is that bastard?”
Kaganovich had absolutely no idea, which surprised him greatly.
Neither man could recognise the immensely endowed man, but the voices of the men who commented on the apparition as he took his pleasure were at first vaguely familiar, and then unmistakeable.
“Sarkisov and Nadaraia. Blyad!”
Kaganovich hummed an agreement, partially horrified, but partially stimulated by the unfolding degradation of the GRU officer.
“Those two NKVD bastards, Sarkisov and Nadaraia. Beria likely ordered this then.”
Kaganovich, General of NKVD, understood the Army Marshal’s indignation on behalf of a woman they had come to respect.
Although not enough to stop them from incorporating the unsuspecting and politically inept woman in their own grubby plans.
They watched as the woman was violated and violated again.
“You hear that, Comrade General. They’re taking still pictures too. I take it you know where this was taken?”
“NKVD dacha. It’s used quite often for certain delicate tasks, mainly with visiting foreigners.”
“Wait… wait… rewind! Turn the volume up.”
Laberova did as instructed.
“…can be edited out later, Comrade Marshal.”
“Comrade Marshal he said! Beria… he was there…watching this… this act he ordered… he was there!”
“So it would seem, Comrade Marshal. Continue, Leytenant.”
The rape went on.
“…Dzerzhinsky Street for him after Stranov has had his way…”
They both heard that loud and clear.
“Stranov.”
“Whoever he may be, Comrade Marshal. Now I have a name, it won’t take me long to find out everything we need to know.”
The Marshal stood swiftly.
“I’ve had enough of watching this. It’s suitable for our purposes, but I pity the poor woman for her ordeal. There’ll be a day of reckoning for these bastards, I’ll see to that personally.”
“Actually, I don’t think you will, Comrade Marshal. Our political thinker has an idea on how best we can use this to our advantage.”
“Explain.”
“Thank you, Leytenant. That will be all.”
Laberova unlocked the door and left. The key was turned in an instant and Kaganovich passed on Khrushchev’s idea in hushed tones.
“I don’t like it…. not at all… in fact… it stinks.”
“I agree, Comrade Marshal, but despite that it would seem to offer us everythi
ng we need in one foul swoop.”
It did, without a doubt.
But at a huge cost.
“We’ll talk on this some more. In any case, we’d be nowhere near using this yet.”
“I agree, comrade Marshal. Now… at least you’ve seen it. Let’s get you out of here and back into the real world without anyone seeing you. Where do you go now?”
“I have a meeting with Vladimir Konstantinovich. He is eager, I’ll give him that. Always felt he was lacking in commitment but, judging by the note I received, his doubts have gone. Any reason I should know about?”
“None at all. I’ll put some men on it, Comrade Marshal.”
Kaganovich knew only too well why Vladimir Gorbachev was now straining at his master’s leash, but the Marshal didn’t need to know, and he had sworn Gorbachev to secrecy, not that the recently promoted commander of military training for the Moscow Military District would wave the folder proving that his niece had become one of Beria’s night time sexual victims under the Marshal’s nose.
Whilst it might have been true, the folder was carefully constructed to ensure that the commander of military training for the Moscow Military District, a man who was responsible for over one hundred thousand men, was fully with them when it changed from planning and talk to action.
Lieutenant General Vladimir Konstantinovich Gorbachev, incensed by the evidence set before him, had sworn loyalty to the coup and extracted the promise that he and he alone, would be responsible for avenging his family, a promise that Kaganovich had no problem honouring and no intention of facilitating, unless it suited him personally and aided him in his quest for command of the NKVD… or more.
Nazarbayeva waited as two NKVD officers were ushered to their waiting transport.
Her meeting with Malenkov had gone well, but she couldn’t help but think he was hiding something, a something she could not fathom, either for what it was or for why it should be hidden from her.
Her own vehicle moved forward and was then stopped in favour of another, which quickly drove into prime position at the bottom of the steps.
She almost missed the arrival of the senior officer, but managed to hide her surprise behind a smart salute.
“Good afternoon, Comrade Marshal.”
The man returned the salute, accompanying it with a genuine smile, for Nazarbayeva was universally popular with the men who commanded the soldiers of the Motherland.
“Are you returning to Headquarters, ahh… I see… Comrade Leytenant General? A promotion?”
“Yes, Comrade Marshal. And yes, Vnukovo flight at 1710.”
“Congratulations and that is excellent. Me too. We’ll travel together. Come in my car. I’ve got a lot to ask you before we return.”
The driver doubled round to the rear door and opened it, permitting the Marshal and GRU officer to enter.
At the entrance to the square, two smart guards came to attention and saluted the exiting vehicle as Vasilevsky and Nazarbayeva quickly descended into an earnest conversation on European intelligence matters.
0755 hrs, Saturday, 12th October 1946, Headquarters, NATO Forces in Europe, Frankfurt, Germany.
Gehlen was ushered into the office by Strong’s aide, and his demeanour told the general everything he needed to know about the nature of the meeting ahead.
The normally reserved German intelligence officer was clearly agitated beyond words.
“Coffee?”
Gehlen nodded as he rummaged in his briefcase.
“Maitland. Coffee for General Gehlen. Tea for myself. Thank you.”
“Sir.”
The door closed and Strong eyed his visitor.
“So, General Gehlen. Middle Machinery?”
“Indeed, General Strong.”
The paperwork passed from hand to hand.
“Uspenka? Enlighten me.”
“There is, so typically Russian, more than one place of that name.”
He stood and walked over to the wall map.
“May I?”
“Be my guest, general.”
Gehlen picked up the pins and stuck them in the map, one at a time.
“Uspenka… near Luhansk in the Ukraine.”
“Uspenka, southwest of Donetz… here.”
“Uspenka on the Dneipr River, just southeast of Kremenchug.”
“Another here… near Akhtubinsk.”
“One here, south of Yelets.”
The knocking preceded the arrival of the drinks and Gehlen took a moment to check his notes. He waited until they were alone again before continuing.
“One here, southwest of Novosibirsk.”
“Uspenka… north of Odessa… about here.”
“Kazakhstan.”
“Uspenka… halfway between Kursk and Kiev.”
“Another one just the other side… east of Kursk, and another southeast of Kursk.”
Strong got the idea.
“To be honest, general, there’s probably more that we have yet to discover.”
Strong joined Gehlen at the map and handed him his coffee.
“The proverbial needle in a haystack.”
“I do not understand, General.”
“Apologies. So one of these, or maybe one we have yet to find, contains something relevant to the Ministry of Middle Machinery?”
“And the intelligence doesn’t narrow the field at all?”
“No, General. The source was a travel document. It was a hand notation on the official documentation. Best guess from my agent is that was made by someone on Malenkov’s staff.”
They drank in silence as their eyes flitted from pin to pin.
“Novosibirsk?”
“That is logical, General Strong. Industrial relocation took so much of their war industry there. We would expect to find such things there. Better to hide something in such a place.”
“Indeed.”
“The others are not all familiar to me. This one has a large camp close by at Akhtubinsk. Perhaps I can get one of my Red Cross agents near the place.”
“Or I one of mine.”
“Or both.”
Strong tapped the map.
“This one near Luhansk. We had suspicions about it some time back. From memory, I think we thought it had some underground facility. Turned out to simply be mining. Perhaps we should take another look.”
Gehlen nodded.
“General Strong, it makes sense to me that any secret facility would be more likely some considerable distance away, either well-hidden or, as we say with Novosibirsk, hidden in plain sight.”
Strong understood the point.
“Kazakhstan or Novosibirsk then?”
“If the Russian stays true to form, then one of those two would be my choice, General Strong.”
“So… who do we have? I can ask the Poles. They’ve a few people in the strangest of places. We need to review our interrogations of Soviet prisoners, in case there is something relevant that we’ve missed… now we have the name.”
“Of course. I may have someone I can use in Novosibirsk. Difficult communications naturally. Very difficult indeed. I’ll try and get in touch.”
“Excellent. Now, I’m thinking we keep this close to the chest for now… until we get something firm. Agreed?”
“Agreed, General Strong.”
They resumed their seats and finished the drinks, during which Strong sensed there was something else on the German’s mind.
“I have a meeting at 0830… do I need to cancel it, Reinhard?”
Gehlen was taken aback that Strong should use his name, which was the precise reason the British Intelligence officer had used it.
“Just something that is concerning me, General.”
Strong sensed that it was more than concern but decided on a soft pedal approach.
“If you wish to share, then it will stay in this room. If not, perhaps I can help in other ways?”
Gehlen picked up his cup, not remembering he had already finished his drink.
“Another?”
“No, thank you, General Strong.”
He decided to share his concerns, a mark of how much he trusted the Englishman.
“Does the name Rudolf Diels mean anything to you, General?”
“Not immediately, but I assume it should.”
“Diels was a protégé of Göring… a former head of Prussia’s Department 1A…”
“The Gestapo?”
“Yes, the Geheime Staatspolizei.”
“Yes, I remember now… wasn’t he implicated in the assassination plot against Adolf?”
“Implicated yes… but he was not involved. Diels fell short of being a committed Nazi in many ways… but not all.”
“Meaning what, Reinhard?”
“Meaning he was considered to be not ruthless enough in his prosecution of Nazi ideals.”
“OK, so where does he fit in with your clear concerns?”
“He has an office in the government building. For what purpose I’m unclear, but I believe he has an intelligence brief.”
“But you’re th… oh.”
“I’m excluded from many matters now, more than ever before. I give information but receive little on what is going on.”
“And what is going on?”
Strong had caught the tone in Gehlen’s voice and understood that the issue was not simply one of Diels’ presence.
“Speer is working to a plan. I am sure of this. To what end, I’m unclear but I can tell you this. It involves the Poles. I have never known so many secret exchanges between us and our old enemy. Exchanges from which I am excluded… totally. I receive nothing. My agents in place have all been moved on or silenced in other ways. My top agent in the Polish government met with a fatal riding accident only a month ago. My best man in the Oberkommando was close to Guderian. He’s now attached to our embassy in London!”
“Bloody hell.”
“No accident… all of these moves or losses are no accident at all. I seem to serve no purpose in the upper circles any more. Whenever I’m in a meeting, I feel like the fifth cock at a four whore party.”
Strong stifled his laugh, understanding that the unusual outburst was simply Gehlen letting off steam, built up under the pressure of the obvious exclusions.