Opening the folder again, she found herself on a page recording one of the GRU interviews with the General.
‘Tiger tanks?’
The GRU interviewing officer had calmly suggested that Makarenko’s small force could have contributed something to prevent the defeat at Barr during the disastrous Alsace campaign.
Tatiana smiled.
Makarenko had, equally calmly, suggested that the interviewing colonel had ‘his head up his ass.’
She thumbed through, seeking the abridged NKVD report, containing their interpretation of the same event, finding it with ease.
Their wording had initially been very different by far, not suggestions, just bold statements of cowardice and of deliberately avoiding enemy contact, but, eventually, they had accepted the statements put to them, and the Barr matter had been dropped.
Wiping her buttery fingers on a cloth, Nazarbayeva moved quickly forward, scanning the pages, noting the repetition, the standard NKVD attempts to wear down a suspect.
‘Suspect? The man is a hero of the Motherland and they’ve shown him no respect!’
The final sections dealt with his escape through enemy lines, Makarenko’s personal account tailoring with that of the Shtrafbat commander in almost every detail.
The last two documents covered the award of the Hero of the Soviet Union, and the travel arrangements to get him to Moscow for the presentation.
She frowned.
‘Today?’
Chewing the last piece of bread, Tatiana tidied up the folder, ready to return it to the filing clerk.
As her mind worked on arranging some meeting between her and Makarenko, certain notations on the file sleeve called out to her, unconsciously at first, but growing stronger, until they broke through her thought pattern and became foremost in her mind.
On the outer sleeve were a number of cross-reference sets, indicating other reports that had contributed to the totality of the main folder.
Perhaps she had missed seeing that number as she flicked through previously?
Perhaps it was in the later section that she had quickly skimmed?
The cross-reference set itself was wholly memorable, five of the same number and two of the same letter, which was what had drawn her attention in the first place.
‘55555CC.’
She was still searching the folder when her aide arrived in the office.
“Good morning, Comrade General Mayor.”
Preoccupied with her search, the normal pleasantries escaped the GRU general.
“This report is incomplete, Poboshkin. Two cross-referenced reports are not here.”
The Lieutenant Colonel leant around the desk as his commander pointed out the two omissions.
“55555CC and 55579MA are not here.”
Poboshkin was on the phone to the filing section within seconds and the order for the missing files was received by the Senior Filing Officer, who immediately understood that the rest of his career’s course depended on the swift execution of the instructions he received.
“My apologies, Andrey Ivanovich. Good morning to you.”
To further reinforce her contrition, Nazarbayeva poured the last of the samovar’s contents into two mugs and passed one to her man.
A knock on the door heralded the arrival of one of the NCO clerks, complete with a folder.
“Comrade PodPolkovnik. The Mayor is still searching for one of the files, but directed that this one be brought to you immediately.”
The file changed hands and the young Corporal saluted, moving away at the highest available walking speed, namely just under a run.
“55579MA, Comrade General.”
Nazarbayeva consumed the short report avidly, the Army doctor’s findings on Makarenko’s condition using all the standard medical terminology such people always used to stress their own education and importance, although two sections speculating on his better than expected overall physical condition drew a second reading.
Consulting the documents prepared by GRU and NKVD physicians, such observations were notable by their absence.
“These two reports are dated 1st January and 3rd January respectively.”
Poboshkin nodded by way of agreement.
“Neither speak of his better than anticipated physical condition.”
“This one, however, dated the 25th December, carried out by a frontline doctor, shortly after Makarenko returned to our lines, reflects surprise at the General’s remarkably healthy condition.”
“Different standards, Comrade General?”
Nazarbayeva set the folder down gently and grabbed the sides of her desk.
“Or did the two doctors on the 1st and 3rd see a man who they expected to be that fit, or did they just not put two and two together, Comrade?”
The knocking interrupted the analysis.
The same corporal stood there holding 55555CC.
Saluting, his retreat was this time more leisurely and controlled.
Nazarbayeva sipped at the last dregs of her tea as she examined a three page report from an area agent, combining local gossip and acquired information on a modest and relatively unimportant area of the Alsace and Vosges Mountains, the latter location being the reason it had been cross-referenced in the first place.
She stopped, carefully placing the mug to one side, sliding the new report across to leave room for the main folder to be opened and for an examination of Makarenko’s interrogations to take place.
Her eyes flitted between the two documents, as she searched one section, then another, always seeking corroboration but finding none.
Makarenko had not mentioned Natzwiller.
Pushing 55555CC and the main file towards Poboshkin, she sat back, calculating the possibilities, waiting for her aide to come up with his own thoughts.
“Govno!”
Poboshkin suddenly remembered where he was.
“Apologies, Comrade Mayor General. This report is low-level of course, but should have been properly cross-referenced. The number indicates that the recipient identified a possible link, so clearly the absence is a procedural error.”
He shook his head slowly, the enormity of putting the two pieces of information side by side not lost on him.
“That’s for the future, of course, Comrade PodPolkovnik. For now, unless you can tell me that we have any other paratrooper Mayor Generals missing, then I can only assume that the man seen at Natzwiller on December 3rd was Makarenko.”
Nazarbayeva did not wait for a reply, immediately leaning across to the telephone and grabbing the receiver.
“Get me Marshall Beria immediately.”
“Deputy Chairman.”
“Good morning, Comrade Kaganovich. Mayor General Nazarbayeva of GRU speaking. I’ve been diverted to you as Marshal Beria is uncontactable.”
“Comrade Nazarbayeva, good morning. Comrade Marshal Beria is with the General Secretary this morning, making medal presentations and receiving ambassadors. Can I help?”
“You must, Comrade Kaganovich. I have reason to believe that one of the medal recipients may not be what he seems. There are some inconsistencies in reports that have only just come to light. I believe that he must be detained until we can be satisfied that he is a good and faithful servant of the Motherland.”
As much a man of action as his Chairman, Kaganovich started writing notes, flicking his fingers to get the attention of the NKVD Colonel sat opposite.
“Mayor General, you say… ah. Yes, I know the man.”
The junior NKVD officer lifted the other telephone as the senior man scribbled his large letter notes and instructions, nodding by way of confirmation of his understanding.