The initial moves were entrusted to the Foreign Ministry, with Molotov taking the lead, and to the GRU, or, more specifically, to Nazarbayeva.
From her office, a message went out, one that travelled by diverse means before arriving in Sweden.
Per Karsten Tørget, head of Swedish Military Intelligence, enjoyed a glass of fine wine as he waited for the mystery to be solved.
He checked his watch, estimating that it had been nearly an hour and a half since the cryptic call from Lingström.
‘Soon this little secret will be explained.’
No sooner had the thought developed than the sound of urgent feet reached his ears, as a pair of boots hammered on the floors of the main hallway, bringing his number one double agent closer.
He responded to the knocking and Lingström admitted himself, clearly bursting with something extremely important, a something that Tørget’s sharp mind had failed to work out whilst he sat waiting for his prodigy to arrive from Copenhagen.
“Well, you look like you have a story to tell, Överstelöjtnant. Sit.”
Lingström did so and took a deep breath to control himself.
“Speak, Boris. What has got you so excited eh?”
“Överste, I’ve received a message from my Russian masters. I am to report back, as a matter of extreme urgency, on any information that I can gather on the Swedish position regarding anything related to a direct approach that will be made to Minister Undén tomorrow.”
“The Minister for Foreign Affairs? Are they threatening us or asking for an alliance… either way, they can go to hel…”
“Neither, Överste. They will be seeking our help… the government’s help…”
“And what do they mean by that then?”
“Hägglöf was summoned to see Molotov in Moscow today, and the envoy has reported back to Minister Undén, indicating that Soviet Ambassador Kollontai will present herself tomorrow with a genuine proposal… one that the Soviet Union hopes that Sweden can both broker and oversee.”
“In Loki’s name, spit it out, man!”
“The Communists are seeking a truce.”
Tørget’s mind rejected a number of replies, instead sending messages to his mouth to stay firmly closed.
Lingström used his boss’s silence to expand on his bombshell.
“The Soviet Foreign Ministry will be sending a high level delegation to meet with Minister Undén, at which time they’ll seek Sweden’s help in organising a face to face with the Allied leadership, under the chairmanship of Undén, in order to broker a ceasefire in place, and to negotiate terms for a permanent peace.”
Tørget rose, so Lingström automatically stood and came to attention.
He resumed his seat as his commander waved him to relax.
Topping off his own glass, and wetting a new one for the bringer of such incredible news, Tørget returned to his seat, offering the glass of vintage Bordeaux to Lingström.
“Skol!”
The glasses clinked together and taste buds were assaulted by the fine wine they contained.
“Remind me… you have been contacted why?”
“I’m to report back on anything that seems disingenuous… any sign of treachery… any activity behind the scenes that might undermine the process.”
“Maskirovka?”
Lingström took a gentler sip of the wonderful red before replying.
“I’m not being risked… I’m not being asked to do anything actively… just to report back on the… err… genuineness of proceedings… and of course, anything I hear on the bargaining position of the Allies, once talks get underway. I don’t sense anything here but a genuine approach to end the war.”
More wine flowed before Lingström added a codicil.
“Whatever their reasons may be, Överste.”
Tørget savoured the taste.
“Indeed… whatever their reasons may be.”
The delegation, headed by their unconventional ambassador, Alexandra Mikhailovna Kollontai, laid out the bare bones of the Soviet Union’s approach to Sweden, expectations and wishes, hopes and fears, and emphasised the trust that the Rodina had in Sweden’s impartiality.
Despite the physical change and slight speech impediment that a stroke had inflicted upon her, Kollontai managed to eloquently convey the essence of the message she had been tasked to deliver. Alexandra Mikhailovna was a consummate politician, and her sincerity was appreciated by Östen Undén, Swedish Minister for Foreign Affairs.
Undén, already pre-warned by Tørget, confirmed that the Swedish Government would be only too pleased to assist in brokering a full and meaningful peace in Europe, and would offer safe passage and guarantees of safety to all persons attending.
Kollontai was not fazed by the fact that Undén had clearly known of the Soviet approach, and known sufficiently in advance for the Swedish government to have discussed and developed an official position, although it would figure in her report.
She was not privy to the advance ‘work’ of the GRU.
The Soviet Ambassador continued with her request.
“The people of the Soviet Union would also request that the government of Sweden makes the initial approach to the Allied governments through diplomatic channels, without directly revealing that we have instigated this process… but to do so in such a way as to offer to initiate a dialogue, and to mediate all discussions as an honest broker, and to work with both sides to bring about a lasting peace. We would be most grateful if that could be seen to be a matter that Sweden has been proposed to us, and that we are prepared to be a party to.”
Undén was unprepared for the suggestion, and held his tongue as he worked the issue in his mind, deciding if it was disingenuous, a plain lie, an inaccuracy, an acceptable mechanism, or any one of a number of labels he could think for being a party to a statement that was not wholly the truth.
He was a politician, so he quickly found a compromise that he could live with.
“I believe that my government will, in the spirit of bringing about this peace, represent that the idea as ours, and ours alone. After all, I’m sure the rest of the world will be grateful for our leadership in the matter.”
Kollontai smiled, knowing that Undén was already imagining real advantage for his country, by way of trade agreements and similar kudos.
“So, Minister, are we agreed?”
“I speak for my government in this matter. We are agreed.”
They nodded, stood, and shook hands, understanding each other perfectly.
“Sir Stewart.”
“Hmmm?”
The knocking continue again.
“Sir Stewart.”
The head of MI-6 summoned himself from the depths of his dreams with great reluctance, the previous evening’s entertainment, in the company of Percy Hollander, having broken well into the new morning.
“Yes…what?”
“Sir Stewart, there are two gentleman to see you, Sir… said it’s extremely important… wouldn’t take no for an answer, Sir Stewart. One is a colonel, the other a naval officer…I’m sorry, Sir, but they were most insistent.”
Sir Stewart Menzies looked at the bedside clock and frowned.
“I’ll be there directly, Squires.”
“Very good, Sir Stewart. I took the liberty of installing the gentlemen in the terrace area, and of providing them with tea, Sir Stewart.”
“Right ho, Squires.”
Menzies swung out of bed and headed for the sink, intent on blasting away with the cobwebs with cold water.
It didn’t help much, but would have to do, the reason behind someone… two men, he corrected himself… hunting him down at the club at this early hour was intriguing him. More to the point, decidedly bothering him.