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The quiet unnerved Ivashutin, both senior officers fixed upon and absorbed by his map work.

“What is your job, Comrade Kapitan?”

“Comrade General, I head the logging section. All reports come through us for logging and filing.”

“Not any more. You’ll be allocated four men and a second officer to create a new section specifically to officially undertake,” she spared a wry look for her aide, “The task that Comrade PodPolkovnik Poboshkin wisely asked you to commence… in October?”

Again, Ivashutin looked uncomfortable

“Err, September, Comrade General.”

“September?”

“Yes, Comrade General.”

The man had been wrong to do what he did but his efforts, ones that could easily earn him a place in a Gulag, had highlighted a problem long before it would have been found.

Her mind was made up.

“PodPolkovnik Poboshkin will sort out your new personnel and a suitable place of work. You will keep him informed at all times, understand?”

One nod was enough.

“Thank you for taking the risk and bringing this information to us, Comrade Ivashutin. You could easily have said nothing.”

Nazarbayeva picked up an official letterhead and wrote a formal note, which she passed, to her aide.

Sharing his smile, she concluded the session.

“Now, go with Comrade Poboshkin and report back to me once you have settled into your new office. 1900 hrs on Saturday should give us both sufficient time. Make sure he’s properly dressed please, Comrade Poboshkin. Dismissed.”

The two officers saluted formally, one knowing everything, the other knowing nothing, at least until he was shown Nazarbayeva’s written order promoting Ivashutin to Major, effective immediately.

Tatiana looked at the closed door, her mind working hard on how she would present the information and conclusion to the General Secretary.

But first, a warning to Konev.

She picked up the phone.

1637 hrs, Thursday, 5th December 1945, Headquarters, 2nd Red Banner Central European Front, Schloss Rauischholzhausen, Ebsdorfergrund, Germany.

Konev was listening to the latest planning direct from Marshal Kirill Meretskov, the man who replaced him as commander of the 2nd Red Banner.

Transferred in from Manchuria, where his services in the scaled down Far East force were not required, Meretskov had spent a lifetime soldiering, making Marshal despite having been arrested in the early days of the Patriotic War.

Quietly briefing his commander, Meretskov was interrupted by Petrov, still in place as CoS for the 2nd Red Banner.

“Comrade Marshal, GRU General Nazarbayeva for you. She states it is extremely urgent.”

Konev snorted.

“I’ve heard of this Nazarbayeva, Comrade. Efficient woman, by the rumours.”

“Well, you’ve heard wrong, Comrade Meretskov. She’s a meddling cow who seems to have attracted the sponsorship of the General Secretary. I don’t know why, especially as she was close to that fool Pekunin.”

The bald Marshal leant forward and whispered.

“Maybe he’s sticking it up her arse, eh?”

Konev laughed loudly, failing to notice that Meretskov did not join in.

“I heard from Georgy Zhukov that she’s efficient, honest, and without side.”

“Well there you have it then! Support from Zhukov is to be trusted as much as a shed full of sex-starved Cossacks!”

The phone rang.

“Meretskov… yes, good day to you Comrade General… yes, he is.”

The receiver was held out to Konev.

Nazarbayeva screamed in anger.

“Idiot! Fucking useless idiot! Prick of a man!”

The door burst open and Nazarbayeva was temporarily alarmed as Poboshkin materialised behind the Tokarev that had been the first thing to make an appearance.

“I’m sorry, Comrade General. I though you… err… sorry.”

“Come in and shut the door, Comrade PodPolkovnik.”

When the two were alone, Tatiana again gave vent to her anger.”

“That man’s an idiot!”

Poboshkin could attach that label to a number of people so ventured the question.

“Who, Comrade General?”

“Konev. He tells me that air reconnaissance has reported nothing in that area for weeks, patrols have taken prisoners from second-rate units, and that I am panicking unnecessarily. Prick!”

Poboshkin, Nazarbayeva’s confidante, decided to remain silent.

Regaining her composure, Tatiana moved on.

“I must go shortly. Do you have the files ready for me?”

“Yes, Comrade General. The last copies of agent’s reports are being made. I must point out these two particularly.”

He passed a piece of paper bearing the notations that marked it as coming from a highly placed agent and requiring sensitive handling.

“I remember this report well. Our man in their Air Ministry. Central European mainland on Wednesday at 1000, so he believed. Yet another opportunity for GRU to look bad, sending out warnings for non-events. The man’s normally so reliable too!”

“Yes, Comrade General. Now this one.”

The second report had only arrived an hour ago, so was new to the GRU commander.

“Wheat? Who is Wheat? Remind me, Andrey.”

“Wheat is a Portuguese officer in their London Embassy, Comrade General.”

In her right hand, a report from a low-level source relayed very firm rumours of a forty-eight hour delay to a large Allied operation.

In her left hand, a report from a high-level source stating that an Allied attack would commence on Wednesday at 1000.

“Tomorrow, at 10 then.”

“It would seem so, Comrade General.”

“I’m sure the Comrade General Secretary will agree.”

2328 hrs, Thursday, 5th December 1945, the Kremlin, Moscow.

Her own aircraft had made a precarious landing at Vnukovo. Despite the best efforts of clearing crews, the snow and ice combined to make her aircraft slide dangerously off the runway and onto a grassy area.

As she stood waiting for her car to pick her up from the point that the aircraft had come to rest, she was a full witness to the tragedy that befell the next aircraft to land.

A Yak-6 of Soviet Naval Aviation bounced heavily and veered offline, clipping one of the fire tenders that had rushed to the aid of Nazarbayeva’s Li2.

The Yak, its two crew and three naval officer passengers had died as the light aircraft cartwheeled across the snow, the wood and fabric coming apart too easily to provide any possibility that life might survive the experience.

The distraction of finishing her presentation to the GKO was welcome as her car sped to the Kremlin.

Now, stood before the powerful, she waited as her bombshell was assessed.

“Comrade Marshal Beria?”

The NKVD chief was, unusually, in his uniform, and it didn’t suit him.

“Comrades, I cannot refute this information. Indeed, some of it ties in with what my own reports have indicated.”

Prior to the GRU briefing, Beria had been at great pains to emphasise the latest NKVD intelligence assessments, and the new information dovetailed with his submission perfectly.

“Comrade General, what did Marshal Konev say to this news?”

“I directed my aide to present the evidence to Marshal Konev personally. I’m not aware as to how it has been received, Comrade Marshal.”

Beria, of course, was aware of how the woman’s telephone call to Konev had been received earlier that day.

As was Stalin.

Not bothering to go through the motions of gathering consensus, the General Secretary acted immediately.