“You have it all wrong,” said Doctorov. “No demands are made here, nor do I come here to make threats. Your brief perusal of that document will make this immediately clear.”
Tyrenkov reached slowly and took up the folder. “I should take this and throw it in that barrel fire across the room,” he said coldly. “After that, I should have you dragged upstairs to the butchery and cut into small pieces to feed the pigs. Do not think you have the benefit of any diplomatic cloak here. You, and everyone else who is a part of your Orenburg Federation, are considered enemies of the Free Siberian State.”
“Of course, of course,” said Doctorov. “Yet things change, Mister Tyrenkov. Things change. If my horrid death in the manner you describe would satisfy you, at least let me finish this cup of tea before you sharpen your knives. Within that folder you will find a sincere overture for peace. You may roll it up, place it between the teeth of my severed head, and send it back to Ivan Volkov if you wish, and then our little war will carry on. If, however, you might see the possibility of some positive direction in our relations, then give that document careful consideration.”
“I forgot just how good you are at calling another man’s bluff,” said Tyrenkov, but he had no further questions, nor did he make any further threat concerning the wellbeing of the would be Ambassador. He took the folder and stood up. “A truck will be waiting outside the packing facility. My men will provide you with the appropriate garb, and then you will be taken to a safe house where you may take some rest. After all, we are not barbarians here, even if I have to sound like one from time to time. You will be brought here, as if employed, at six AM tomorrow morning on that same truck. If there is any interest in the content of this folder, you will be informed at that time. Good day, Mister Doctorov.”
Meeting later with Karpov at another safe house, Tyrenkov discussed the unexpected overture from Orenburg.
“My,” said Karpov. “This was the last thing I ever expected out of Volkov. There must be something behind it. Do you think those unusual troop movements you reported could be spooking our old nemesis?”
“We may have underestimated those reports,” said Tyrenkov. “Just to be thorough, I looked over the latest, and there seems to be something afoot. The Germans ordered the Grossdeutschland Division into the Kuban three days ago. It is now north of Kropotkin on the big bend in the river Kuban. That is one of their most elite formations, and most powerful.”
“Has it been committed to combat?”
“Not yet, but it seems that it sent an equally powerful message to Volkov. He has been shipping in all the reserve divisions and mechanized elements of his 3rd Army—from Astrakhan to the lower Kuban. And what is more, several divisions of his 7th Army have also been given orders to move by rail south, and now we know they are not going to stop at Volgograd. The 7th Mech, an armored brigade, and cavalry regiment moved on through Astrakhan.”
“Something is clearly going on,” said Karpov. “Your thoughts on this, Tyrenkov?”
“Control of the Kuban. Hitler’s latest directive stated that Germany would henceforth retain control of all territories liberated by its own troops. They have just liberated the Kuban, and now the fighting there has reached Krasnodar and beyond. The two panzer divisions they committed have crossed the river to the west of the city, and there have been landings on the Taman Peninsula from the Crimea, and from Maripol. The Soviets tried to interfere with their Black Sea Fleet, but it was largely destroyed by Raeder’s task force. The Germans now control the Black Sea and Sea of Azov.”
“And Volkov is getting nervous,” said Karpov. “He wanted the Kuban back, and now Hitler won’t give it to him. Most interesting. And here we get this little peace overture as day follows night in that man’s mind.”
“Should we entertain it any further?” asked Tyrenkov.
Karpov thought about that, and decided they should. “They propose a cease fire and demilitarization of our mutual borders,” he said. “They offer cooperation on the shipment of oil and other needed resources to Siberian territory, and make the startling suggestion that our two nations should cooperate in the development of military arms.”
“He needs tanks,” said Tyrenkov. “His own designs have not been successful, except the T-44. Yet he has not been able to ramp up production on that tank. And his air force continues to languish. There has not even been any further airship production on their side for the last six months.”
“They still have the edge on us in numbers, even with Baikal and Siberian added to the fleet,” said Karpov.
“Strange that he should come to us this way,” said Tyrenkov. “Over 70 percent of his total armed forces are deployed against Sergei Kirov.”
“Tyrenkov, do you think he may be making a similar proposal to the Soviets?” Karpov shifted in his chair.
“Thus far, my network has not picked anything of that nature up. But considering the trouble they went to in order to keep this meeting secret, that is not surprising. We’re watching key Soviet officials who might typically respond to such a proposal. If they make any unusual movements, it may tip us off.”
“The secrecy doesn’t surprise me,” said Karpov. “They certainly would not want the Germans to know about this little proposal, and they took a great risk in even going this far with it here. If Hitler learns about this, Volkov may have the devil to pay—and quite literally.”
“What should we do, sir? Shall I open further discussion with Doctorov, or send the man home?”
Karpov smiled. Then he gave Tyrenkov a respectful look. “Tyrenkov… Thank you for coming to me with this.”
“Sir? Who else would I take this to?”
“My brother. You could have gone directly to him for any discussion or decision on this matter, but instead you came to me. Perhaps that was more convenient, as my brother is out to sea, but it is nonetheless appreciated. In fact, I am grateful for the respect you have always shown me, and your flawless efficiency. Have you also informed my brother of this?”
“No sir. You are acting head of the Free Siberian State. If your elder self needed to be informed, it was my assumption that you would make this decision yourself.”
Karpov took a deep breath, feeling very gratified. “I think we’ll have a further chat with Doctorov—only here. Our theater with the meat packing dungeon has had its effect. Bring him here, Tyrenkov. Let’s get to the bottom of this. Then I will take it to my brother and see that he is properly informed.”
The Siberian would eventually learn of the proposal, or rather he would have what he felt to be an inner hunch confirmed when Nikolin received a coded message about it later on. It was something that he could feel in his bones, some sea change in the winds of war that promised either terrible disaster, or a great windfall for his cause in arms. It was as if he instinctively could feel, and know, all the things his brother self was privy too, even though he was separated from him by thousands of miles. That strange connection would continue to deepen over time, but for now, he experienced it as an inner muse, a subtle feeling emerging from his unconscious mind, a hunch.
Something was happening, and his thinking about the war, and all their aims here was also caught up in the same inner shift of that wind. As he often did when considering such things, he would eventually seek out the one man that had been a consistent sounding board for him—Anton Fedorov.
Part XII