Opening Moves (The Red Gambit Series) (8 page)

“It will be ready for immediate dispatch after the GKO meeting Comrade.”

The order was already prepared and in his briefcase.

“Good. Now tell me more of this plan for the slant-eyes.”

1542 hrs, Tuesday, 12th June 1945, The Kremlin, Moscow, USSR.

At the same time as they left the Kremlin, a small message was starting its journey down the line to a number of Soviet agents throughout the whole project. The message was simple.

‘Priority 7. Prepare to damage/destroy Manhattan within 72 hours of receipt of codeword “Napoleon”. Codeword 'Wellington' when ready to proceed. Imperative be ready to expedite by 6th July latest.’

First say to yourself what you would be; and then do what you have to do

Epictetus

2241 hrs Saturday, 16th June 1945, Scientist’s Residential Block, Los Alamos, New Mexico.

Mathematician Perlo opened the letter, ostensibly from a cousin in Washington with whom, the FBI had noted, there was regular correspondence. Waiting until privacy was assured, a small geometry reference book was taken from a bedside drawer, and an exercise in decoding commenced.

The message was as clear as it was surprising, if not terrifying. A slightly trembling hand sought and found a bottle of bourbon and a large measure was consumed to steady the nerves.

Quickly reverting to proper field craft, the textbook disappeared back into the drawer and the decoded message was burned, a chesterfield being lit from the burning embers to cover the fumes. The pad was checked for impressions from the soft pencil used but none was apparent. None the less, the top two sheets followed the message into the ashtray. Lastly, a brief note was penned to the cousin, using a simple phrase that would acknowledge receipt and understanding to the recipient, actually an undercover communist agent working for the Turkish Embassy in Washington.

Another chesterfield was lit, this time for pleasure, and Perlo lay back on the bed and prepared to spend a restless night wrestling with the technical issues of effectively destroying years of scientific work.

The mathematician’s security access did not cover the physics labs, engineering and assembly areas, so how could successful sabotage be undertaken?

When morning came, Perlo was no closer to knowing how to damage the important work.

About the only decision reached in the restless slumber Perlo had experienced was that to damage the project irreparably was virtually impossible. The project had assembled the world’s finest minds and any damage that was inflicted would be purely temporary.

Sitting on the side of the bed, naked and red-eyed, Perlo reached across for a pack of cigarettes, lit up and drew the heavy smoke into expectant lungs. The dawn sun suddenly broke through the window, bringing light, and also bringing with it the germ of an idea.

Perlo’s face started to come alive as the suggestion grew further. Bringing the lighter up parallel to narrowed eyes, a simple flick of a finger brought it to life, its yellow flame steady in the breezeless air, suggesting the resolution of the problem.

‘
The world’s finest minds
,’ words that echoed in the mathematician’s own mind as it devised the way to damage the important people.

Hegel was right when he said that we learn from history that man can never learn anything from history.

George Bernard Shaw

1100 hrs, Monday, 18th June 1945, The Kremlin, Moscow, USSR.

The simple message to return for briefing and consultations had gone out all over Europe two days before, arriving on a Saturday lunchtime and spoiling the plans of a number of very senior military men; Marshalls of the Soviet Union mostly. The same message had gone eastwards a day earlier. When such a summons was received, it normally spelt either death or promotion. Marshall was virtually the pinnacle of Military advancement in the USSR so some in that rank feared the worst. But still they came, flying into Vnukovo Air Force base and making the short journey to the seat of power in staff cars sent specifically for the purpose.

One by one, they arrived, until the chosen meeting place was full of senior officers and their aides. Cigarette smoke filled the room and whilst some of the talk was of wives, daughters and mistresses, or a son needing advancement in someone else’s area of responsibility, the conversation eventually turned to the one question no-one could answer but, about which, everyone was prepared to venture an opinion. Why on earth was every senior commander from the entire Red Army and Air force assembled in this room? The interestingly small numbers of naval seniors present fuelled speculation further.

Some still expected a squad of heavily-armed NKVD to rush in and spray the room with bullets but most appreciated that something very momentous was about to be revealed.

An NKVD Major-General entered the room at the allotted hour of eleven o’clock precisely and sent the aides away, leaving solely their bosses who submitted themselves to the requests of the NKVD officer and followed him into the larger chamber from which he had emerged.

Another room from the bygone age of the Tsar’s, gold leaf still shining on ornate cornicing and wooden wall panelling polished to a deep velvety glow by generations of servants. Some of the art works hanging on the walls or displayed on marble plinths represented an entire tank regiment in rouble value. It would be fair to say that most there failed to appreciate the beauty and opulence of their surroundings, especially once they saw the entire GKO assembled on a podium at the end of the former music room, with the General Secretary sat in the middle, silent and coiled like a snake about to strike.

Directed to their designated places on the arranged seating plan, Marshalls and Generals alike sat down and were presented with a simple folder. The name in large bold type on the front cover gave more than one a moment of mirth, but not one that survived a withering stare from Stalin or Beria. They knew better than to open the file yet but it did not stop their minds from working hard to fathom the meaning of the title. There were only two officers present that did not search for the link between their presence here and the title of the folder. Those two were GRU Generals who were intimately familiar with the documents it contained.

A nod from Stalin and the Deputy Commissar for Defence stood, the room hushed and waited expectantly.

Nikolai Bulganin stroked his goatee beard for a second and then spoke in a deep gruff voice.

“Comrades, you have answered the call to come here and you will now learn of the part each of you will be required to play in shaping history.” That certainly got their attention, especially as most felt they had already played a useful part in shaping a positive history for the Motherland and, for that matter, the world.

“The German is defeated and cowed, half his lands and cities are ours, and we will bleed all we can from them in reparation for their bloody unprovoked attack on our Motherland. That is our right.”

The surprising spontaneous but light applause died a swift death as a silencing palm was raised.

“But comrades, we cannot rest there whilst others go unpunished for their aggression and treachery. Part of Germany is still free, occupied by the capitalist states; the same capitalist states who prevaricated, doing nothing of worth whilst you and your men bled in 42, 43 and half of 44.”

That drew a few nods and sounds of agreement. A raised hand again brought silence and Bulganin continued.

“Yes, the Capitalists Allies initially fought hard against the German and soon they broke them, those pitiful few divisions that faced them,” Bulganin qualified in a dismissive tone.

“We fought for every metre of land, ours, and theirs, and paid in blood! Whereas these Western Allies, these democratic nations, Ha! ,” Bulganin snorted his disgust, “They were welcomed with open arms into the German lair, the green toads surrendering in their thousands whilst they fought us tooth and nail.”

More positive noises of agreement from the group and again the hand was raised.

“The capitalists have lordship over the better half of Germany and have constantly threatened and tried to bully our Motherland over our agreements to withdraw to some apparently agreed lines on a map,” his voice rose, “Expecting us to concede ground rich with the blood of our troops!”

“We have responded to our agreements and relinquished some territory, as they have,” he conceded, “But they still sit on lands won from the German at great cost, not to them but to us!”

With a solemn shake of the head, Bulganin almost reluctantly continued.

“Berlin, bloody Berlin. How many of our sons’ hearts were stilled in those streets eh? Streets made sacred with our Soviet blood! And yet we have ceded vast portions of the city to honour our agreements.”

The diatribe was having its effect and some of the ensemble were becoming agitated. Stalin sat inscrutably and observed the emotion build.

“What they gave up to us does not measure against our own concessions!”

Bulganin’s voice continued its ascent in both pitch and volume.

“That is not right and must be, will be, changed. However, they refuse our requests for change; refuse our reasonable suggestions for further developments. The Nazi lackey Spain should be brought to heel but no, they refuse to remove this blight, despite the fact that they fought us and killed our soldiers!”

His disgust was evident.

“Italy, whose soldiers fought us on the steppes, is now a partner, an ally! It should be ravaged and made to pay, its coffers emptied to recoup the payment we have made in blood, but no, the Western Allies now venerate them as allies, because they switched sides when the writing was on the wall! Govno!”

A pained expression swiftly took hold of his face.

“France, vanquished, humiliated, and crushed is somehow now an equal partner?” A look of disgust spread across Bulganin’s face swiftly becoming a sneer. “A sharer in Berlin and German territories? For what? As a reward for years of Vichy cooperation and service to the German toads? Mudaks!”

The informed observer would be amazed at Bulganin’s delivery and the effect he was having on everyone present. The man’s passion was evident.

“Land bought with the bodies of our comrades cannot just be handed back to those who are not fit to lick their boots! Not without proper acknowledgement of our efforts!”

Three of the group actually stood and shouted their opposition to such handovers before calming down and resuming their seats.

“Your revolutionary spirit does you credit comrades, and you will not permit this injustice to stand, this I know.”

“Now we have discovered why these Western Allies act as they do, for there is something else here; something called treachery!”

Bulganin looked at Beria who fished inside his briefcase and took out a simple folder and it passed theatrically from hand to hand until it ended up with Stalin. Casually and without flourish, although it was a trump card in its own right, it made its way to Bulganin who removed the first sheet and brandished it to his military audience.

Bulganin’s voice began strongly.

“Our own sources inside the British bureaucracy have provided Comrade Marshall Beria with some interesting information.”

As Stalin relit his pipe noisily, Bulganin continued.

“It would appear that Churchill ordered a military study on invading our territories,” interrupted by a deep breath, “In May.”