determine just how interested our country should be in these secret German physicists if they really exist.”
“Do you realize, Comrade Beria, that you’ll have practically no time to train these boys?” Stalin went to the table, took out a box of 'Herzegovina Flor' from the drawer. He gutted one cigarette and, having spread it on a piece of paper, filled his pipe with the tobacco.
“That's right, Comrade Stalin, I understand. We’ll prepare them based on the 101st school, but according to a separate curriculum. They won’t have contact with the rest of the cadets. I believe they’ll be able to fulfill their tasks in six months.”
Stalin thoughtfully lit his pipe and, blowing a ring of gray smoke towards the half-open window, remarked:
“We still think it's all a big gamble. It’s such a delicate matter, and we’re sending an old wolfhound and a couple of green boys…”
Beria shook his head vigorously.
“I don’t agree, Koba. Judge for yourself: after Abakumov’s capers, we have no active residency left in South America, so, no individual observers. Any newly installed network will immediately come under the scrutiny of the Argentine special services and, consequently, the Americans. According to our intel, Langley is already preparing their group for transfer to Argentina. We’re very limited in our actions, unlike our American friends. Since the end of the war, they feel like they’re in their own backyard in Latin America. But the ambassadors won’t help us – what remains of the network is barely enough to collect pine trees from a forest. These three will be next to impossible to account for because they’ll act like amateurs. We need their impartial observations, along with their fresh eyes.”
“And if they catch them?” Stalin narrowed his eyes slyly. Beria shrugged his shoulders.
“In war, as in war. We will renounce them. Or neutralize them before they land in an Argentine prison or an American safe house.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes, Koba.” Beria sighed and got up. “It seems to me that is the only way to break through all the barriers and find this most mysterious 'Archive’. Then, if necessary, they can connect up with the rest. We cannot risk the last agents on this continent.”
Stalin walked over to the table, sat down heavily in his chair, leaned back.
“In other words, you’ve written out a one-way ticket for this trio, right, Lavrenty?”
Beria awkwardly his feet, then shrugged:
“In the worst-case scenario, Koba. Only in the worst-case scenario. They will have a minimum of information and won’t be a danger to us. The usual insurance. Losing of one or even three 'cogs' in the great machinery of the state won’t be critical.”
Stalin raised his thick gray eyebrows in surprise.
“And I didn’t think you could be so vindictive, Lavrenty. I honestly didn't.”
Beria shrugged his shoulders:
“What’s that got to do with me? The loving people quote your speeches all on their own.”
Stalin chuckled.
“Lenin, however, isn’t quoted in the pubs and at the market, is he, Lavrenty?”
Beria supported the joke:
“He isn’t quoted even in our Politburo, Comrade Stalin.”
“It’s all in vain! You need to know the sources. Here we were once not too lazy. We read. And now, a lot in this world is clear to us. Even if the author wasn’t completely right. By the way, when are you going to send the group?”
Beria did not even look into his unchanged leather folder.
“I’ve already mentioned.”
“You won’t have six months, Lavrenty. This is the catch. They need to be in Buenos Aires no later than Christmas. Catholic, of course. Don’t think this is by our whims. We operate with reports from many services and roughly represent the military and the political situation in the world. In short, preparations should be completed no later than November. Plus another couple of weeks. Make sure it happens.”
Beria put the folder aside, straightened his shoulders:
“Of course, Comrade Stalin. We'll manage.”
“That's great.” The Leader of all the peoples of the Union slowly puffed on his pipe and suddenly smiled. “Come on, lay it out, Comrade Beria. What else do you have up your sleeve? You didn’t come to see me tonight with only this problem.”
Beria grunted and again took up the folder, carefully dropped the fasteners, and finally opened it.
“As always, you are perceptive, Koba. There is, besides Argentina, one more problem we have. And if only that.”
June 21, 1950
14:35
Special installation of the MGB: 101st School
Major General Svetlov looked at the folders in front of him, of which there were two. Personal files of the new cadets. They had just been brought to the location yesterday under the close supervision of Kotov. Yuri Borisovich knew the major for what seemed like a million years, but was constantly surprised by his ability to always find himself amid some odious events or adventurous operations of his home department. How many of his graduates Svetlov had handed over to him was unimaginable, but the General knew for sure that they all returned from their missions intact and relatively unharmed. Kotov’s reputation as a lucky man and wonderful intelligence expert was firmly entrenched.
But these two definitely caused to the head of the 101st School some bewilderment, if not outright doubt. He couldn’t think of a more seemingly incompatible pair!
One is a darling of fate, the son of successful parents, who was born, as they say, with a silver spoon in his mouth. A professor's apartment, a prestigious university, female fans, the Lord did not deprive them of their appearance. Knows three languages, is erudite, bold and prudent at the same time.
The other came from a simple working-class family. His father was buried somewhere around Rzhev, so the son came to conquer Moscow and entered, not just anywhere, but the Mechanical Institute. He took the nuclear physics course by the same Kurchatov, without even knowing he got lectured by the creator of the first Soviet atomic bomb. Athletic, strong. It goes without saying that this university scarcely took any other kind.
And these two, his instructors will have to mold into field agents in a short time. Moreover, according to a special program, since their task is supposed to be more than a little difficult. As a professional, Svetlov understood the almost complete hopelessness of this venture. But he also knew what was at stake. And who is behind the order to carry out this crazy operation?
The General opened the secret checklist of cadet Sarmatov, ran his eyes over the graph: great-grandfather, paternal grandfather, maternal line, father… Father… Academician, Professor Sarmatov, opposite the surname of a couple of special marks well-known to the general. However, Sarmatov-senior did not differentiate in the methods he chose to achieve his goal, which was getting to the top of his career. Copies of his denunciations were immediately and carefully filed with the meticulousness of the security personnel. The frequency of this aspect
