“On what basis, Comrade General Secretary?”
Stalin, unusually, chose a softer path than that others had suffered on the rare occasions his orders were questioned.
“On my authority, Comrade Nazarbayeva. I possess real evidence that he may have deliberately sabotaged a military operation, and I also possess evidence that he has motive for doing so. Am I clear, Comrade Nazarbayeva?”
“Yes, Comrade General Secretary. I understand my orders.”
Poboshkin could see from her face that Nazarbayeva did everything but understand what she had just been ordered to do.
“Good. Report to me immediately you have successfully detained him. An NKVD unit is on its way to relieve you of the prisoner as soon as possible.”
The phone went dead in her hands, the empty electrical sound growing in intensity, as her mind tried to deal with the enormity of the situation.
‘I have no choice. My orders are quite clear.’
Part of her laughed in mocking response.
‘Your orders? Hiding behind orders, are you?’
Her stomach rebelled, and she spilt her dinner on the wooden floor.
“Comrade Polkovnik. What is wrong?”
She looked at her aide, barely recognising him, her mental faculties locked in confrontation.
‘Orders are orders, and there is cause!’
‘Really?’
She regained her composure, wiped her mouth, and stood up quickly, her hand automatically ensuring that her service automatic was in place.
“Comrade Major, retrieve an automatic weapon from the guard commander’s rack, on my authority, and bring two of his men here now, similarly armed.”
Poboshkin did not need to comment, his look drawing Nazarbayeva into further words.
“We have orders to arrest General Pekunin. Immediately.”
Four minutes later, Nazarbayeva knocked on the door of Pekunin’s office. The General was also working late.
“Come in.”
The old man seemed genuinely pleased to see his protégé, although his smile faded a little when he saw her expression.
And the men she left outside the office.
“Welcome, Comrade Nazarbayeva. You have something to tell me, Tatiana?”
“I have orders, Comrade Polkovnik General.”
She hesitated.
“If you have orders, then you must carry them out, Comrade Polkovnik.”
“My orders are direct from the General Secretary, and they require me to arrest you immediately.”
Picking up the Chinese puzzle box, he made a deliberate slow play of unlocking it, completing the first three stages, clearly a ploy to allow him to choose his words carefully.
“Then you must obey your orders, Comrade Nazarbayeva, for they were given to you, specifically, for a good reason. Otherwise our Socialist brothers of the NKVD would have been tasked with my detention.”
“I am here to arrest you, and hand you over to them when they arrive, Comrade Polkovnik General.”
Something changed in Pekunin’s demeanour.
“And if I resist arrest, what will you do, Tatiana, eh?”
The woman in front of him showed doubt and indecision, her normally iron exterior suddenly brittle under the pressure.
“I will obey my orders, Comrade, and I will arrest you.”
“And if I resist arrest, what then?”
Her hand reached for the Tokarev, its cold metal turning her arm to ice as she pointed it at her mentor and friend.
“I have orders to arrest you, Comrade Polkovnik General.”
Pekunin reached for two things, placing the Chinese box and his favoured Nagant revolver on the table between them.
“Listen to me, Tatiana. I will not be arrested,” he held up a hand to silence her protests, “There is no way I will place myself in the clutches of that NKVD snake Beria, you have to understand that.”
She could, but could not find the words for the moment.
Pekunin continued.
“Before I resist arrest, take this,” he slid the puzzle box across the table.
Their eyes met, the pain and anguish equal in both, the mutual feelings of respect and tenderness openly declared between them for the first time.
“It is my personal gift to you. Use it how you wish. Believe it, and believe nothing else, Tatiana.”
Shouts developed on the edge of their consciousness.
“Clearly, our comrades of the Secret Police have arrived.”
Tatiana had not taken her eyes off the box, despite the increased volume of an obvious disagreement outside.
“Comrade Nazarbayeva, you must now accept one final order from me.”
She automatically clicked to attention.
“I will now reach for my revolver, and fire a shot into the wall beside your left shoulder.”
She automatically inclined her head to the left, catching herself before she went too far.
“You will then ensure that the Chekist bastards cannot hurt me, or my family, further. Will you do this for me?”
She shook her head violently, relaxing her body posture.
“No, Roman Samuelevich, I cannot. You are a good man, and this is all wrong. All wrong!”
The external noise was now becoming overpowering.
“But you must, or we are all lost, Tatiana.”
Pekunin picked up the revolver and aimed at the wall. Nazarbayeva, by reflex alone, brought up her Tokarev.
The door almost folded inwards as Lieutenant General Kochetkov burst in, brandishing his own weapon. Behind him, a scuffle between NKVD and GRU personnel was growing in intensity.
He saw the situation in the office quite clearly, but misread it totally.
His first bullet struck Nazarbayeva in the side of her right breast, passing through the soft tissue, and out again in an instant.
Pekunin’s instincts made him change his target, one of his bullets taking Kochetkov in the chest.
Nazarbayeva, part in understanding, part in self-preservation, placed her own bullet in Pekunin, the impact knocking him back into his chair.
Through red teeth, he managed to speak.
“Not good enough, Polkovnik, make the next one better. Goodbye, and good luck. Now!”
He tried to raise the revolver, his strength ebbing with every beat of his heart.
The NKVD General finally swept into the room with most of his entourage, in time to witness a bleeding Nazarbayeva put a bullet through the head of the traitor, Pekunin.
The woman, tears, both of pain and of grief, streaming down her face, swivelled like a combat veteran, the Tokarev steady, aimed at the Chekist’s head.
“Enough, Comrade Polkovnik, enough. You have performed magnificently,” he gestured at her obvious wound, “And you have been wounded. Stand down now, and let my men take over.”
His relief was obvious as the muzzle of the automatic lowered gently, the woman’s gaze returning to the ruined features of her former boss.
Her mind worked fast, her hasty plan to use bluster and authority to secure her needs.
“Right, Comrade General. The wound is nothing, and we have work to do Comrade. You and your men secure these two vermin, and get them away. Have them photographed immediately. The Comrade General Secretary will wish to see the evidence of this night’s work.”
She slipped the safety on, and placed the Tokarev on the table.
“I have to report directly to Comrade Stalin straight away, so please get these two out of my sight immediately.”
The NKVD officer was not about to be ordered about by some GRU pup, and certainly not a woman, until the mention of ‘the’ man, and the implied intimacy between him and the killer of Pekunin.
The woman bulldozed on.
“Mayor Poboshkin!”
Her aide arrived at the door, the evidence of a struggle quite clear on his face and uniform. The large glowing red weal, where his face had been struck, failed to hide his concern for his senior.