by Arno Baker
Beria, Fitin, Merkulov, Kudrashev, Abakumov, Molotov and a few more faceless but lethal bureaucrats took their seats. The obese Malenkov arrived last, out of breath but sporting his falsely amiable fat boy smile. Stalin was in no mood for joking or any amenities: the crisis was extremely sensitive and required that important decisions be reached at that meeting.
Stalin began by asking Beria to read the radio message aloud for everyone to hear. The words fell in Beria‘s Georgian lilt as if they were pieces of rock being chipped away from a venerable monument. As usual Stalin went around the table patiently requesting reactions and solutions like a stern taskmaster. When Fitin‘s turn came to speak, the air seemed to suddenly be sucked out of the room.
The NKVD general’s neck was on the line and with it, the heads of most of his top staff. He cleared his throat and looked directly at Stalin who was quietly smoking his pipe stuffed with cigarette tobacco. Stalin kept his eyes averted and studiously avoided looking directly at anyone. From time to time the
“Gensek” as they used to call him, was seen drawing small animals on his pad then he’d look up and stare directly at the person speaking with his yellow eyes for a few frightening seconds before looking down once more.
“Clearly this effort by the Americans comes as a surprise especially following such good working conditions after 1941. We know that the order to pull back the FBI surveillance teams came from Roosevelt himself and was transmitted to FBI Director Hoover and his staff. However a light but very effective surveillance was maintained by the embryonic Soviet section mostly in the larger cities. But we now learn that this may actually have been a deception since U.S. Army G2 was working on the decryption of all Western Union telegrams and cablegrams emanating from our embassy, consulates and other offices including Amtorg since 1943. Without one of our own men on the inside we would never have discovered that this operation even existed and our agent is still operational but under deep cover with heavy security clearances which makes it very difficult for him to have access to our case officers.”
Stalin suddenly tapped his pipe on the table to empty the tobacco and all eyes left Fitin for a few seconds as if they expected an unpleasant reaction from the Boss. Instead he quietly interrupted Fitin, in itself a very bad sign.
“General, how many case officers are operating currently in the United States?”
Fitin’s voice had suddenly lost its vigor and was quivering with fear.
“243 case officers for 931 agents currently active a ratio of...”
Stalin interrupted quietly in his soft voice,
“I can calculate ratios Comrade Fitin, but please go on, and give us your recommendations on how to solve this problem.”
Fitin turned white as a sheet and went on stuttering slightly. It was the kind of life and death moment Stalin enjoyed the most, when a man‘s very existence was in the balance or at least when the intended victim thought it was.
“My recommendations are that we shut down all active networks for six to nine months and reactivate only a select few afterwards. The rest should remain dormant until further notice. This does not preclude in depth investigations and uncovering defections of agents who have been subjected to FBI or other pressure. The weakest agents are to be closed down first unless valuable information is forthcoming…”
Stalin looked around the table and began tearing the paper off one cigarette after another as he stuffed more tobacco into his pipe. Then once his pipe was lit and he was surrounded by a blue cloud of thick smoke he asked,
“Does Lavrenti Pavlovich agree? This cuts very close to your operational area.”
There was a short silence then the answer in a loud voice,
“I do, Iosif Vissarionovich, but with one additional provision: that all scientific intelligence be spared the interruption since we need valuable information for our projects.”
Stalin nodded and knew that Beria was alluding to the project known as Enormoz, the building of the Soviet Atomic bomb, the USSR‘s single most important military effort that depended exclusively on key information to be pried out of the United States, Canada and the United Kingdom. Without secret espionage Russian scientists were predicting results within 10 to 12 years.
The others all concurred and Stalin concluded,
“So this committee agrees that we temporarily shut down NKVD and GRU units operating in the United States. I shall add one more clause to this decision: that all attempts to defect, to pass over to the enemy any Soviet State secrets, or to be found derelict of duty, of discipline for whatever reason shall be punished by death and subject to liquidation wherever the perpetrators may be located. Soviet citizens may be compelled to carry out the sentence. The defector‘s family and extended family shall be subjected to traditional retribution as provided by the Party code. Does anyone in this room object?”
There wasn‘t a single dissenting voice, not even the usual heavy breathing coming from the grossly flabby Malenkov. Only a thick silence and profuse perspiration as Stalin nursing his pipe, concluded calmly,
“Good! Then we are all in agreement. The meeting is adjourned, comrades.”
As they were all exiting the study and almost as an afterthought he said,
“Molotov, please remain, I need to speak to you.”
The foreign minister immediately returned to his seat and clasped his hands together nervously. Stalin continued smoking his pipe quietly, looking down at his pad covered with doodles. Once everyone had left the room the Boss pressed a button on the console on his right and within seconds Poskrebyshev appeared in his trademark green tunic and soft black boots identical to Stalin‘s. He placed a thick file on Stalin’s right and took a seat in the back behind Molotov who was looking more and more concerned, and blinking frequently.
Stalin opened the file and began examining the documents one by one not uttering a word. He turned one page after the other glancing at the text which he already seemed to know well. Once he reached half way through the file he stopped and began puffing on his pipe once more. Finally he looked sideways at the now absolutely terrified Molotov.
“I have a problem with you, Scriabin.”
Said Stalin using Molotov’s original pre-revolutionary family name,
“Perhaps we can overcome this problem together or perhaps we shall both conclude that you have picked the wrong career and should have followed your family tradition of composing quality bourgeois Russian music? We shall therefore find out whether you made a mistake or, if not, what exactly did take place.”
Molotov was totally motionless as if he’d turned into a statue and he betrayed no outward emotion except that he kept on blinking and began sweating profusely as he swallowed hard. He merely said in a weak voice,
“Yes, Comrade Stalin.”
“Good. Well then, you agree that we must remain vigilant at all times especially when anyone who is part of the top leadership travels extensively to an imperialist country. I know that you have no objection to that, so now listen to me closely and answer all my questions truthfully, Scriabin.”
Molotov nodded and for the first time wiped his chin with his handkerchief.
“Yes, Comrade Stalin.”
“I have a memorandum signed by you, Scriabin, that strongly supports issuing a passport to Solomon Mikhoels to visit the United States and Great Britain. This is dated April 1943 and the visit took place in July that year. Is this correct, Scriabin?”
Stalin slowly pushed a piece of paper in Molotov‘s direction who looked at it without picking it up and nodded.
“Yes I did, that is correct.”
“I know it‘s correct, Scriabin, I know it is. But now you see there is another problem in your file. First you support the Zionist Mikhoels, as the leader of the useful Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee. But the talented actor Mikhoels also happens to be a man of strong emotional convictions even though he does cooperate and works with the NKVD when required. Now as I read on, I find something that you would not recognize which is
also part of your personal file. It happens to be the timetable of your first trip to America in 1942, Scriabin.”
Again Stalin pushed another page filled with typed numbers that looked like a schedule. Molotov again looked at the page and shook his head.
“I don‘t understand Comrade Stalin…”
Stalin expelled a long puff of smoke,
“You will find that your timetable indicates that you took two days off to travel from New York’s Grand Central Station to New Haven in the state of Connecticut. Why? Because in your request for that side trip on a Saturday you stated that you wished to visit your wife’s relatives. Fine. We all know that these American Jews are invariably militant Zionists, and that they are, to say the least, ambivalent about the USSR! And yet you have no hesitations and visit them even though you are the Foreign Minister of the Soviet Union! Do you see my point? But let’s go on.”
Again Stalin flipped carefully through the file until he pulled out what looked like an NKVD report. It was a very dense single-spaced five page text with a signature at the end. Stalin looked at the report for along time as he slowly stuffed his pipe once more and lit it with a long match. Then he said,
“What I find particularly odd is that after visiting your wife’s relatives, you should decide to travel by train to Washington when a car with a chauffeur and bodyguard was readily available at the consulate in New York.”
Molotov had a ready answer and was relieved to interrupt Stalin‘s disturbing soliloquy.
“Comrade Stalin, this is absolutely true but I was already on the train returning to New York, so it would save time and be much simpler to remain on board rather than borrow several officers who were badly needed at the consulate to drive to Washington.”
“This is logical and apparently true in your version of the facts. But let me ask you: did you stay on the same train or did you change trains to go to Washington?”
“I…I sincerely don‘t remember…”
“No, Scriabin, don’t deny it because that is not plausible. That you should suddenly fail to remember, just like that, a man with your extraordinary memory? No, no, it didn’t happen that way at all! But let me refresh your recollections as to how things really took place. Your train back from New Haven in the state of Connecticut was a local commuter train. It arrived at Grand Central Station at noon. Your bodyguard Kurchinski certified as much under interrogation. He also agreed and signed a confession that you dismissed him once you arrived at Grand Central Station. Why would you do that?
You know very well that you must always travel with one or more NKVD bodyguards. Those are the rules set by the Politburo, and I follow them scrupulously myself! Ah, but here comes the true explanation: to go to Washington you must change railroad stations and take a different train from Pennsylvania Station at 2 p.m. So in order to travel alone you dismiss the only bodyguard that could accompany you without difficulty. The reason? Because, Scriabin, my dear fellow, you needed to be alone on the Washington train to hold a confidential meeting with someone and what better place to have such a meeting than during a train journey lasting some four hours? Gospodin Scriabin: do you wish to suddenly be cast as a bourgeois, decadent, deviationist and possibly a traitor and an imperialist spy? What have you to answer? If you have done nothing wrong you have nothing to fear. Now you must speak up.”
The way Stalin used the old pre revolutionary form of address of “gospodin” was an even more ominous condemnation for Molotov who could never overcome the black mark of his wealthy upper middle class family origins. In his mind he was already resigned to the fact that he would probably be placed on trial. It was also very possible that his confession was already signed so that he could be shot once the verdict was read and distributed to the press. But then, he still wasn‘t sure that Stalin was finished with him since he hadn‘t been dismissed nor had guards been called in to drag him to the Lubyanka. Poskrebyshev was still sitting behind him taking notes. Perhaps there was some hope. He was expected to play the game.
“I regret this lack of revolutionary discipline, Comrade Stalin, you are right of course, I was in deep error when I took the train alone and spent five hours unaccounted for…”
Stalin stopped him with a slight wave of the right hand holding his pipe,
“Fine, then you acknowledge your errors Molotov… all your errors? Correct?”
“Yes Comrade Stalin, I do.”
Stalin tipped his head slightly at Poskrebyshev who brought another thick pile of papers to Stalin who promptly separated them in three equal piles of about fifty pages each. He then handed one stack to Molotov.
“Read, and initial each page and sign the last page, Comrade Molotov.”
It was a detailed confession by Scriabin aka Molotov where he acknowledged all the errors Stalin had previously mentioned but in terms of espionage and betrayal of the Soviet Union. He was being asked to sign what amounted to a full-fledged confession that he had long been and still was a British and American spy. There was no possible escape, no sense of even trying to deny any of the fantasies contained in those pages. Molotov knew he was a dead man. He would have to sign but first wished to make one request:
“Comrade Stalin, if I may ask that my wife…”
“Obviously Polina Zemzuchina is a Zionist agent and should be shot for that reason alone, but we shall cross that bridge when we come to it. First we must conclude this order of business.”
Molotov initialed and signed all three originals as perspiration fell in droplets over the pages. He already knew that one original would remain in Stalin‘s private secretariat with Poskrebyshev, the second copy would be kept in the secret file in the Lubyanka, and the third would go to the central state archives. The question was whether Stalin would change his mind later if he suddenly discovered that he “needed” Molotov: then all copies would disappear except the one held by Poskrebyshev that could always be used and published to justify a sudden execution, for example. Stalin believed in maintaining the appearance of legality.
Once he was done he sat quietly with both hands flat on the surface of the table, waiting for Stalin to end the session with an order to arrest him. He knew the routine. As he walked down the steps of the Kremlin, before reaching the main doors to the vast esplanade, a group of NKVD officers would surround him and he‘d be quickly taken by car to the basement entrance of the Lubyanka. There two possibilities existed: either he would be executed immediately in the rooms adjoining the garage or he would be placed in a cell indefinitely as he was interrogated in the minute detail, a process that could last for years. The conclusion, however, was identical to the one in the first option.
Stalin spoke while Poskrebyshev collected the confessions and left the office, which was in itself surprising. The meeting continued and Molotov suddenly began to think that there was new reason to hope: no NKVD guards had been summoned apparently. Could it be possible that Stalin needed him right then and was only seeking a powerful tool to exert maximum pressure? Stalin said.
“We must liquidate Kollontai, don’t you think, Molotov?”
Molotov was startled and stuttered for a few seconds at the unexpected question. He knew that Stalin was very serious. He was well acquainted with Alexandra Kollontai’s file and Stalin’s annotations asking that they discuss the possible liquidation of the former revolutionary and Soviet ambassador to Sweden,
“She is very sick, Comrade Secretary. She may not live too long anyway.”
“No matter, she could still be a source of embarrassment. Her movements in Sweden went far beyond what her instructions allowed. There is ample evidence to prove her imperialist connections. She should be shot.”
“Yes, Comrade Stalin.”
Stalin puffed on his pipe and chuckled,
“But then, we can’t shoot everyone, can we, Molotov?”
“I agree.”
Stalin laughed.
“I knew you would, Molotov. That‘s why you shall be spared…for now. But just remember what you signed
which is sufficient for several death sentences and the wiping out of your entire family. As for Kollontai make sure her family is packed off somewhere as a warning. She is intelligent and will understand. You may go now.”
Molotov stood up and saw Poskrebyshev clearing Stalin‘s desk of the old files and replacing them with a new thick stack. As he went down the steps Molotov still expected to be arrested at any second. Stalin was known to have acted in such a deceitful way, playing cat and mouse, offering false forgiveness, mock reconciliation and so on, but then in the end carrying out the umpteenth “Politburo” inescapable death sentence. In any case Molotov knew that sooner or later he was a dead man. But he was not alone and there were many others under such threatening clouds as well. He emerged from the Kremlin entrance, there were no NKVD guards surrounding him, and then miraculously his car appeared. This wasn‘t meant to be the day, he thought.
XVIII
The woman in her mid-40s sitting at the stark table in the FBI interrogation room on Foley Square was neither attractive nor ugly, just a plain Jane but distinctly upper class. Most people would have referred to her as a “lady” with her white gloves, neat little hat, leather pocketbook and flowery dress. She looked like she belonged in the Social Register as a member of the DAR or as a second cousin of Eleanor Roosevelt! Behind the mirror, with tape recorders ready, various interested parties were listening in: J. Edgar Hoover, Clyde Tolson and members of his staff, Justice Department officials and a court stenographer. Then Murphy entered with Willy Anderson. They both sat opposite the lady. Murphy was in charge of the interrogation routine.
“For the record: this is October 18, 1945 at 1:35 p.m. Miss. Elizabeth Bentley, residing in New York City, New York County, Borough of Manhattan, has come to the FBI out of her own free will to offer confidential information of interest to national security. Miss. Bentley are you prepared to answer some preliminary questions?”
