[message ends]
Message authenticates. Codes for non-compromisation valid.
Attention is drawn to spelling error, in last sentence. Check has been done with accepted distress indicators, and this error does NOT indicate distress.
RECEIVED 09:19 21/7/45-B.V.LEMSKY’
“Comrade General Secretary, firstly to explain the terms. ELM is the explosive lens maths, a complicated set of equations that dictate the shape of the thirty two identical charges, ensuring equal focus when they explode.”
Beria had had an extended phonecall with Igor Kurchatov, head of the USSR’s Atomic Research programme, trying to understand the scientist’s interpretation of the message, and deciphering it all into non-technical language, suitable for Stalin’s consumption.
“EBW is a type of detonator, extremely precise, by all accounts, which is necessary for the exact ignitions required to compress the core material.”
“I understand this, Lavrentiy. Now, Kurchatov’s interpretation?”
“Comrade Kuchatov believes it is definitely possible that our own programme may well be affected. Both EBW and ELM have progressed, not as far as he had hoped, by his own account. Given our limited suitable material, he believes it is advisable to commence our own review of the maths, prior to conducting tests.”
“What sort of review?”
“Mirroring those of the Amerikanski, Comrade. The message is quite specific. It is perfect on paper, but flawed. The Capitalists have missed something, and Kurchatov wants us to find it before we test.”
Beria loosened his collar.
“I should also say that Alkonost is a mathematician, and a specialist in Geometry. Undoubtedly, our agent will have worked in this area, although there is no claim to having sabotaged the calculations. My understanding is that all such calculations are doubled-teamed, to ensure consistency and accuracy.”
Stalin grunted and leant back in his chair, filling his pipe, and digesting that instalment of Beria’s report.
Stalin brought Malenkov into the firing line without warning.
“What delay does Comrade Kurchatov anticipate if the check goes ahead?”
Malenkov hadn’t thought up a way to sweeten the pill, so he was committed to baring the facts and hoping the tirade wouldn’t come.
“Anything up to eight months, Comrade General Secretary.”
Silence.
Striking a match, Stalin drew the orange flame down into the bowl of his pipe, drawing noisily on it, until rich smoke started to fill his mouth.
He shook the match out, placing its charred remnant carefully in the ashtray.
“Eight months? Eight months, to do a set of sums? Is he mad?”
The questions lacked much of Stalin’s normal bite, and both men sensed it was just for show, and that the Soviet Union’s leader was resigned to the delay.
They stayed silent, just in case, leaving Stalin to continue after a few furious puffs.
“And the detonators? What of them?”
Malenkov deferred to Beria.
“Kurchatov is less clear, but it should be less time than the maths. Even less, if one of our agents is successful in obtaining better information on the EBW. He only has a hand sketch by Alkonost to go on as the basis for our own devices.”
The rapid puffing continued.
“So, Comrade Marshal, we come to the spelling error. What do you make of that?”
Back on safe ground, Beria could speak more easily.
“Alkonost has never made an operational spelling mistake before, and only once during training.”
He shuffled through a report originating from the Agent in charge of her American training programme, and read the relevant line.
“In a speed typing test, the word ‘Goebbels’ was misspelt, omitting one ‘B’. Operative confirmed it to be a simple error.”
Stalin clearly drew on a dead pipe, and coughed his way through the relighting process, whilst Beria waited, ready to continue.
“The available means of informing us of duress are unused. There are a number of ways that could be done, although,” he conceded, “If the Americanski controlled our agent, some, not all, might prove difficult to conceal.”
He shied away from Stalin’s unwavering gaze, pretending to read a few more lines of the report.
“I see nothing here to throw doubt on the information. However, I do feel some unease here, Comrade General Secretary.”
Stalin’s eyes sparkled, enthused by the discomfort of his Chief of Spies.
“Calm yourself, Lavrenty, calm yourself. If this message was an attempt to mislead us, would it say that their own project was disabled by errors? No, I think not. It would speak of their progress and readiness.”
Beria could not argue against that.
Turning to Malenkov, the Soviet leader silently sought a response.
“I think you are right, Comrade General Secretary. Comrade Beria’s assurance and your logic is enough for me.”
There had been great debate over what, if anything, should be fed back to the NKVD. A number of important participants felt that it would be far better to do nothing, and that utilising the Soviet agent to send disinformation was playing with fire on a grander scale than the world had ever known.
A decision had to be made.
Either abandon the opportunity or use it. If the decision was to use it, then something had to be done quickly, or the turned agent would be out of touch for too long to maintain usefulness, and her absence could have been seen as suspect.
The eventual decision was to allay the USSR’s fears about Allied progress, and introduce the geometric and ignition failures, with the secondary hope that Soviet scientists might commence their own review, causing further delay to their project. Further lines of disinformation would be cultivated and fed into the exchange at a later date.
“So, what brings you to my door so early, General?”
As was his normal style, Gehlen said nothing as he sorted through his small briefcase, extracting the set of photos that were the subject of his visit.
Rossiter took in the details of the first shot.
“Ah, Major Savitch, we meet again.”
The picture showed the NKVD officer presiding over the hanging of some unfortunate individual.
The rest of the pictures were of the remains of the village of Fischausen, shots apparently taken of ruined buildings, and a handful of complete dwellings, which just happened to also illustrate the defensive positions and other things of interest to anyone planning to visit the area.
“Excellent work, General. I hope your agent is ok?”
Gehlen nodded.
“I assume there is something else?”
“My agent informs me that, according to Savitch, discussions are underway to bring all family members of known serving German officers into one camp.”
That would be bad news for Operation Sycamore.
“Our attempt to provide advance evidence of Werewolf activity may have backfired on us, Oberstleutnant Rossiter. Some additional units have been sent to the area, which we anticipated of course, but…”
That had been a calculated risk, but creating a ‘history’ of partisan activity would help satisfy the Swedish need for the operation to appear German in origin.
Leaving the last word hanging in the air, Gehlen produced another three photographs from the set.
The armoured cars in two of the pictures started the bad news rolling, a post with two quadruple Maxims AA mounts completing the recent arrivals at Fischafen.
“My agent also took these two pictures. I suggest they stay between us.”