Nazarbayeva folded the paper and slid it inside her breast pocket, extracting another which she passed to Golov, although she addressed the senior man.
“Comrade General, I find myself needing to speak to the man on that piece of paper and, rather unusually, on a matter of huge importance to the Motherland.”
The statement didn’t really make sense until Golov passed the slip of paper over.
Then, whilst he didn’t fully understand, he understood more… maybe.
Nazarbayeva also suddenly had a moment of light, as her mind clawed deep into its recesses and prompted her to bring forth a memory of words written on a piece of paper by her long-dead mentor..
‘V.K.G.? Can it be him?’
The out of place presence of a Christmas tree gave her the opening she needed.
Nazarbayeva gestured at the thinning spruce.
“When this is all over, Comrades, I look forward to next Christmas with my family once again. Perhaps somewhere other than home. I’ve heard that there is nothing like Christmas in Krakow.”
Only the silent nods of men with bittersweet memories of home returned her enquiry.
‘Not him then.’
Obukov broke from his thoughts first.
“May we all have that opportunity, Comrade General.”
It was ten minutes to midnight before the man named on the paper was shown into a small workshop that had been set aside for Nazarbayeva’s use.
The escort moved away, as instructed by Golov, and left the two alone.
Salutes were exchanged, as they always were, regardless of their status in other surroundings.
“Comrade Starshina.”
“Comrade Mayor General.”
Saluting hands relaxed, as did the voices.
“Husband.”
“Wife.”
The two hugged and kissed before settling down on a padded bench.
“What are you doing here, my woman?”
Part of him feared the worst, the sudden sadness in his wife’s eyes declaring her as the bringer of bad tidings before she uttered a word.
“Is it Ivan? Ilya? What is wrong?”
Tatiana shook her head slowly.
“As far as I know they are both safe and well, Yuri.”
Confused that he had misread his wife’s face, Yuri Nazarbayev looked again.
The pain was still present, etched all over her pretty face.
“My love, what is wrong? What is it?”
Taking his hand, and the deepest of deep breaths, Tatiana Nazarbayeva started her story.
Yuri Nazarbayev listened, without interruption, as his wife told him all that had happened on that December day, or at least, all she believed had happened…
…and only up to a point.
She spared him some of the more delicate matters, purely through her own embarrassment.
When she finished, the silence was oppressive, her eyes filled with tears and concern as she watched her husband wrestle with the enormity of her words.
Almost as if waking from a trance, Yuri frowned and looked at the woman sat beside him.
“So how did you manage this little enterprise then, wife?”
“Does it matter, Yuri?”
“I’m just curious.”
She produced the document that had caused such an effect on Obukov and Golov.
It had once been issued to her husband by a magnanimous leader wishing to assist a concerned husband to reach his wife’s side in timely fashion.
Yuri Nazarbayev read it aloud.
“In the name of the Soviet Government and the Bolshevik Party, I command all persons, civil, military, and political, without exception and distinction of rank, to assist the bearer of this document, … …Comrade Nazarbayeva… in the carrying out of their proper instructions, and thereby guaranteeing the bearer’s freedom of movement and action as they see fit to discharge any and all orders given to them on matters of extreme state importance.
Issued by my hand on behalf of the Soviet Government and the Bolshevik Party, 20th August 1945.
He brought the paper closer to his eyes.
“You changed it, Tatiana.”
She shrugged, unsure as to what was happening and why her husband was examining the minutiae of her tampering with the document when there was the enormity of her transgression to deal with.
“Just a single A, my husband.”
Which had been all that was needed to make it applicable to her; the addition of a single A.
Handing the document back, he composed himself, as he had been trying to do since the mother of his children had revealed everything of her shame.
Taking her hand in his, he spoke softly, but with conviction.
“It is done, and we both wish it was not so, but it is. It cannot be undone, my wife, and both of us will carry it like a burden from now onwards.”
Tatiana nodded.
“There was no intent, my love. You did not set out to defile our marriage. It just happened. The rich food… the company… the wines…”
A crackle of emotion stopped him speaking further, and he coughed gently, willing himself to a less emotional state so he could continue and say exactly what he wanted to say, and in the way he wanted to say it.
“Wife, we will put this behind us and never speak of it again.”
Taking her face gently in both hands, he spoke his final words.
“We… you and I… we’ve already lost too much, Tatiana. We will lose nothing more to this. If you seek my understanding, then you have it.”
Both of them cried.
“If you seek my forgiveness, then you have that too… both without condition.”
He kissed her on the lips, and on her cheeks, absorbing her tears.
“You are my wife, and my love. This will not stand between us.”
They hugged in silence.
The great man had only just arrived but, as was his dynamic style, instead of taking the opportunity to shower and eat, he had swung straight into action.
He sat at Rossiter’s desk, listening to the latest snippets that had been added to the information that had brought him from the States to England.
“So no-one else knows what we got here, Sam?”
“Some of the RAF boys know the basics of the numbers, but not names, and I had my troops clean up the raw intel at Archdale, just to make sure the name wasn’t mentioned. I believe we’re clean, General.”
Major General William J. Donovan, head of the OSS, trusted his man, but the prize was so tantalising that he had to ask some basic questions.
“A plant?”
“Not a chance, General. No way, no how.”
It hadn’t seemed likely in any case.
“And he is who he says he is?”
“The paperwork supports it. He describes his family as we know ’em, and clearly doesn’t know about any promotions, probably ‘cos he was sort of outta the loop where he was.”
Donovan nodded his understanding, policing up the large folder that represented all they knew on their prisoner and his family.
“Right then, Sam. Let’s get down to brass tacks. I know you’ve developed some pretty good ideas on how we can use this gift horse. I’m going to leave you to run with this ball, but we’re going to share this with our cousins. That’s why I’m here, to help smooth matters as to why we didn’t let them know immediately.”
He held up his hand, silencing Rossiter’s protest in its infancy.
“I know you’ve worked hard to hang on to this, Sam, but it’s got to be shared.”