“Good afternoon,” Molotov said in English, and turned around. The sight of the un-uniformed SS officer – clearly an SS man, for he had the same… tingle as the NKVD men – was a surprise. Was he here to support the Ambassador, or was he here to keep an eye on him. Molotov smiled; no one in his right mind would trust Ribbentrop with anything important.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Ribbentrop said, in flawless English. He’d studied in England, hadn’t he? Molotov could not remember. “How is life in Comrade Stalin’s paradise?”
Molotov, as aware as Ribbentrop that the entire conversation was being recorded, smiled non-committal. “It proceeds well,” he said. “One long-term problem is being wiped out; another will never get the chance to become a problem.”
“Poland and Afghanistan,” Ribbentrop said. Molotov nodded; the news of the humiliating defeat in Afghanistan had shocked Stalin to the core. “And your procedures for handing the problem?”
“The Poles are already being punished for their future defiance,” Molotov said. “Our forces are preparing, even now, to crush Afghanistan before it can become a problem. And, of course, Iran – as I’m sure you are aware. We will crush Islamic Fundamentalism before it ever becomes a problem to the Rodina.”
“Excellent,” Ribbentrop said. “The Fuhrer has sent me to offer to coordinate our actions. The capitalist powers will oppose an invasion of Iran; coordinating our efforts would limit what they could do to us.”
Molotov lifted an eyebrow. Stalin had given him very specific instructions for this eventuality. “You wish us to share information with you?”
Ribbentrop nodded. “I am at leisure to inform you that Operation Spinet will begin in two weeks, barring unforeseen circumstances,” he said.
Molotov was astounded. Had Hitler really authorised such information, or was Ribbentrop trying to impress him? “Our invasion of Iran will begin somewhere around that date,” he said. “However, we require something from you.”
Ribbentrop blanched. The SS officer showed no reaction. “What would you like?” He asked. “The Fuhrer has ordered me to be generous.”
“One coming problem is Finland,” Molotov said. “We intend to finish it off.”
Ribbentrop laughed more than the weak pun deserved. “I would have to consult with the Fuhrer,” he said, “but I can see no problem with it. Our relations with Finland are cordial, and correct, but hardly important.”
“Of course,” Molotov mused. Ribbentrop ignored the sarcasm; perhaps he didn’t recognise it. The SS man’s face darkened with sudden anger; he had recognised it. “So, shall we meet again in a week?”
“Of course,” Ribbentrop said. “I’m sure that the Fuhrer will recognise the legitimate claims of the Soviet Union.”
Molotov bowed politely and the NKVD man showed the two Germans to their rooms. They had been invited to dinner, but Molotov suspected that they would not appear. The presence of the SS man had been annoying; he had intended to pry into atomic science during the meeting. Germany apparently had some of the future knowledge, but they’d been careful not to share any of that with the USSR. Ribbentrop might have been tricked into revealing more than he had intended, but with a watchdog even he might guard his words.
None of them showed on his famous immobile face. Picking up a sheet of paper, Molotov sat down to draft his report to Stalin. One way or the other, the Soviet Union would emerge triumphant from the war.
Chapter Twenty-Four: The Holy Cities
SS Rottenstall
Mediterranean Sea
1st September 1940
Darkness cloaked the small convoy as it slipped through the inland sea, hidden from prowling German aircraft and Italian submarines. In theory, the two frigates escorting the force would be able to fend off any attack directed at the small fleet, but in practice – if the Germans continued to swarm the modern ships – they would be quickly sunk and lost.
“I imagine that you’re excited,” Father O’Reilly remarked, as Shahan McLachlan paced the deck. The freighter hadn’t been designed for passenger travel; many of the troops were travelling in unpleasant conditions. For the Catholic Priest, travelling to meet Pope Pius in Rome, the trip was proving fascinating.
“You have no idea,” Shahan said, examining the map. The Germans had established bases in Italy and were working on establishing them in Greece. The convoy had to reach Egypt in a day, before the Germans noticed them and tried to sink them. The remains of the Italian Navy had refused to fight for the Germans, but the German Air Force was proving a bitter foe.
“All my life, I’ve dreamed of an opportunity to snuff out Wahhabism in its lair before it could ever arise,” he continued, smiling. “Now I have it; the chance to establish a modern Muslim democracy in the Middle East and change the course of history.” He grinned. “What about you?”
“The Holy Father has not replied to our messages, or to messages from the Irish clergy,” Father O’Reilly replied grimly. “You know how some religions are taking the news of the future; not even De Valera could hide the truth about all the trials Catholicism will face in the future. The Holy Father could change all of them, if he bothered to see us.”
“I suppose being told that your power is on the verge of extinction is not good for anyone,” Shahan said. “You do realise that they might just burn you at the stake?”
“It’s been a while since that happened,” Father O’Reilly said, with a confidence that Shahan suspected he didn’t feel. “You know; in the original time line the Church refused to condemn the Holocaust, and I always felt that all the troubles we had stemmed from God as God’s punishment to us. So many people condemned the Church that we lost so much; in the 1960’s thousands of Americans used contraceptives without a care for the Vatican ruling in 1968. Your own growth might be because we had surrendered our moral authority and…”
“Without that ruling, you might have saved millions of lives in Africa,” Shahan said, without condemnation. “Has your council worked out what the Transition means for you yet?”
Father O’Reilly grinned. “No more than the Muslim Council of Britain has,” he said wryly. “Apart from you, of course; they were scared to oppose you. Finally, a cause that’s popular with the young, the converts and the government… and the only cost is the loss of some of their power.
“We’re still arguing,” he said. “I wish that the troublesome woman priest hadn’t given the Irish a list of known paedophiles among the Irish clergy. The revelations about the nunneries were bad enough; once the news spread, people started pulling their daughters out of them and what did that do for their faith?”
“I suppose they wanted to keep them safe,” Shahan said. “Are they the same people?”
“I wish I knew,” Father O’Reilly admitted. “The law has ruled that a Contemporary person is not the same as a 2015 person, at least when it comes to crimes they haven’t committed, yet. And, at the same time, are they in positions we would want them to be in, knowing what they might do?”
He shook his head. “Which leads to a second point; are souls being twinned? Did God create two separate versions of… that girl in America, whose closest relation is her own older self? Or are they the same soul, but different versions of it? If so, will one of them go to hell for the crimes of the other?”