by Colin Gee
“These language specialists… Latvian… Lithuanian… Estonian…”
“And we’ve the reports of Norwegian officers being integrated into all enemy units in Norway, Comrade General.”
“Also, Comrade General,” Guvarin, the bald and scarred Kapitan, quickly searched for a report, locating it easily, “Radio intercepts on units in Northern England report Norwegian in use by some stations.”
Silence.
“Why would they do that?”
Nazarbayeva aimed the question at no-one in particular.
“Testing their systems, Comrade General? They were in code, but the accents were unmistakeable.”
She nodded at Guvarin’s suggestion.
“To mislead us?”
Poboshkin pursed his lips and continued.
“Using the language… well, they know we monitor their radio network… and the messages, whilst in some sort of code, were identifiable as Norwegian. It stinks, Comrade General.”
Pinkerova, the young Lieutenant, returned clutching a new report, but she decided not to interrupt the debate in progress.
Nazarbayeva stood in front of the board, tapping the Norwegian photo recon entry.
“How many other flights have been successful, Comrade Major?”
She turned to Poboshkin, encouraging him into a quick response.
“This is the only set of up to date photos that we’ve received from Naval command, that I know for sure. Comrade Mayor Ergotin?”
Ilya Ergotin checked the file that recorded photographic intelligence and quoted directly.
“Comrades, we have received three other sets of photographs from successful aerial reconnaissance missions on the north-west coast of Norway… Narvik and Harstad on 30th November, Tromso on 3rd December, and Hammerfest and Alta on 13th December.”
That stunned everyone into disbelieving silence, broken by a softly spoken Nazarbayeva.
“So, no photos since 13th December, and now we are presented with some taken on 12th March? Three months?”
She approached Ergotin’s position.
“Tell me, Comrade, how many missions did Navy fly between December 13th and March 12th?”
“I do not have that information, Comrade General, but I’ll get it immediately.
He was gone before the echo of his words had subsided.
Poboshkin noticed the waiting Pinkerova and beckoned her forward, extending a hand to receive the report she was so desperate to share. He encouraged her to speak.
“Comrade Polkovnik, the originals will be sent to us as soon as possible. I have asked them to include the pilot’s report on the mission as well. I quickly jotted down some pertinent remarks from it.”
Poboshkin scanned the short list and offered it to his commander.
It took only a moment for her to reach a conclusion.
“Clear skies with no cloud over enemy territory or the target… attempted enemy interception, by Spitfires, failed due to poor pilot skills… enemy anti-aircraft fire ineffective… no damage sustained…”
She gripped the paper tightly.
“Good work, Comrade Pinkerova. Comrades,” she called the room’s occupants to focus on her, “I want a reason, any reason, real reason, a fact, not a suggestion or assumption, but a reason to believe that the intended point of the Allied attack is the northern border of Norway and the Kola.”
No-one said anything.
“Anything at all… give me one single fact that supports the notion, Comrades?”
“The photos of Harstad, Comrade General?”
Captain Guvarin became the focus of attention.
“And what do they show exactly, Comrade?”
“Laden vessels at anchor in the harbour, Comrade General.”
She nodded vigorously, looking around the room.
“One thing, Comrades, just one thing, and even that may not be what we think, eh? Now look at what we worry about.”
She counted them off on her fingers.
“Norwegian spoken on radios they know we listen to.”
“No photo recon for three months and then we get some perfect shots.”
“Enemy aircraft and AA totally ineffective, so much so that our…”
The door burst open, admitting a red-faced Ergotin.
She stopped talking immediately.
He passed her a report and stood back.
Poboshkin couldn’t help himself.
“Well?”
“Nine, Comrade PodPolkovnik.”
“Nine?”
“Yes, Comrade PodPolkovnik, and all unsuccessful.”
“And the pilot’s reports. What do they have to say, Comrade Kapitan. Cloud, engine trouble, what?”
Nazarbayeva passed Poboshkin the report and focussed on Ergotin’s reply.
“There are no pilot’s reports, Comrade Polkovnik. All aircraft failed to return.”
As bombshells went, it was huge.
Nazarbayeva sat against the edge of the desk and eased the tension in her neck with a quick probe of her fingers.
“Who now feels that a Norwegian-Kola operation is probable?”
After a few seconds silence, Poboshkin ventured an opinion.
“Maskirovka, Comrade General. Has to be.”
She and most in the room nodded in agreement.
“Maskirovka indeed. However,” she turned to Ergotin, “I want your section to maintain focus on Norway operations and come to me with anything, anything at all, that might make us rethink this opinion, Comrade Kapitan Ergotin.”
“Now, the Baltic, Comrades.”
The analysis went on late into the night and the group did not seek rest until three in the morning, leaving Nazarbayeva sat with Poboshkin, gazing at the board for some moment of inspiration.
“So, after all that, we have reasons to believe that any of the Baltic States could be the target. We can discount Finland. There is nothing to suggest Poland as a possibility, not even a possible maskirovka, which, in itself we find worrying. We cannot even state for sure that the SAAG exists and that the threat to Bagramyan’s forces is real.”
There was something on his mind, and it showed.
“Go on, Andrey, spit it out.”
“Your new found friendship with Colonel General Kaganovich…”
“Go on.”
“Perhaps you could take advantage of it and find out what the NKVD knows about all of this, Comrade General?”
Nazarbayev feigned horror at the idea.
“What? Share with the Chekists?”
“We’re supposed to be on the same side, after all.”
“I will think on it, Andrey.”
Her voice trailed off into a tired low tone.
Poboshkin ventured to state the obvious.
“Perhaps we’ll see matters more clearly after a good sleep, Comrade General?”
“Very possibly.”
She laughed and yawned, all in one distorted action.
“You are dismissed, Comrade. Sleep well.”
He took his leave with a less than impressive salute.
Ten minutes later, the night duty officer found his commander fast asleep, and covered her over with a greatcoat.
Espionage, for the most part, involves finding a person who knows something, or has something that you can induce them secretly to give to you. That almost always involves a betrayal of trust.
Aldrich Ames
Chapter 137 – THE COUNTDOWN
1600 hrs, Friday 15th March 1946, Meeting Room 3, The Kremlin, Moscow.
The opportunity to test her new relationship with the NKVD deputy came sooner than she expected, as Nazarbayeva was woken at seven-thirty by a messenger with orders for her to report to Moscow, where she would be required to deliver an intelligence assessment on Allied Spring intentions.
To her surprise, Beria was absent, apparently away inspecting a new facility near Stalingrad.
Kaganovich was there in his stead, complete with all the NKVD files regarding potential Allied operat
ions.
His remit was broader, and so reports of possible Allied activity in Iran and the southern borders were new to the GRU General. Neither was she aware of the assessments regarding potential seaborne invasion of Siberia. Both of these were substantiated by reports from her peers in the Southern and Pacific GRU commands.
Projections for Europe were less clear although, inexplicably, Kaganovich could supply perfect copies of the original Norwegian recon photographs.
The Soviet system and, in particular, the traditional rivalry between GRU and NKVD, was sometimes less than helpful to the Motherland.
On the matter of Norway, the two seemed to reach agreement, and swift access to extra information on both sides reinforced the reasoning behind the advice to treat any Norwegian operation as maskirovka.
Stalin grunted as the two gave their conclusion, understanding that the two Intelligence Officers had an ability to work together, something traditionally absent between GRU and NKVD officers. He wasn’t sure that he liked it, as divide and conquer had been his life-long way of working.
Nazarbayeva delivered her assessment of the Baltic first, and understood the GKO’s frustration with her recommendations which, basically, amounted to ‘cater for everything until more information comes to hand’.
Kaganovich could add little to the assessment, save some reports from agents in Poland that suggested increased friction and factionalisation between the two Polish Armies. Stalin directed immediate exploration of any divide between the leaderships of the Polish units.
However, Kaganovich did bring something very interesting to the table; the photographs and written report of Captain Jabulov of submarine S-22.
The photos did the rounds of the table, and drew some admiring words on their quality, as well as excited chatter on the content.
Kaganovich became aware that the photos were not getting back to him, the pile in front of Georgy Malenkov growing by the second.
The Minister responsible for Aircraft Production suddenly leapt into action, sweeping up every one of the photos and moving around to Stalin’s side, all in one easy motion.
Encouraging the General Secretary to move out of earshot, a hurried discussion took place, laced with frequent finger pointing at two particular photographs.
Judging by the Minister’s face, the conversation clearly went against him.
Both men resumed their positions at the conference table, Malenkov tight-lipped and clearly perturbed.
The General Secretary felt the need to push his man into action.
“Tell them.”
Malenkov reluctantly dropped the two pictures to one side, tapping them both to draw the other’s attention to the content.
“This is a large explosive bomb; in its own right it is impressive but it is also built to resemble, in every way, another and different special kind of bomb.”
Heads craned, assessing the size against the objects photographed with the ‘thing’ to establish scale.
“Needless to say, Comrades, this matter is of the utmost secrecy, but we are working on a weapon of immense power that also more than resembles this… err… conventional bomb.”
That was, perhaps unsurprising, given that their agents had provided them with considerable information of the Fat Man bomb.
The existence of an Atomic weapons programme was news to a few of those present, who had never seen any of the reports from GRU and NKVD agents within the Manhattan Project.
Most of those in the room knew that Malenkov also wore the hat of Head of Research and Production for the Soviet Atomic Energy Programme.
Stalin took the lead.
“So it seems that our enemies are practising with their normal bombs before they use the improved ones, Comrades. Our agents have reported nothing?”
His eyes alternated between Kaganovich and Kuznetsov, NKVD and GRU commanders, seeking verification of his claim, or additional information if available.
Kuznetsov, recently returned from a long bout of ill-health, took the plunge.
“If I may speak freely in front of our Comrades, Comrade General Secretary?”
Stalin respected and liked the relatively young GRU Colonel General, and took the point fully.
“Comrades, nothing that is spoken of in this room may be spoken of outside of it. There are no exceptions.”
His eyes swept the assembly for any sign of dissent.
“Continue, Comrade Polkovnik General.”
“Comrade General Secretary, according to our current information, the Amerikanski are still some way from producing a viable type-2 device, their last attempted test also resulted in failure.”
Nazarbayeva paid full attention to the world that was slowly exposed to her, although she shuddered naturally when specifics about field agents were mentioned..
“Between us, the NKVD and GRU have seven agents well-placed within the innermost workings of their programme, and we have had reports regarding all sorts of problems, from basic geometry to advanced physics. All of which have set back the Amerikanski programme.”
Pausing whilst Stalin fired up his pipe, Kuznetsov took the opportunity to fire an apologetic look at his European Commander, whose face, he felt, indicated her unhappiness at being excluded from everything in the first place.
He had no idea that Nazarbayeva been part of a briefing on the Atomic programme before, and therefore had worked out the existence of the full project.
None the less, the detail being laid bare now was all new to her.
Stalin’s cough brought him back to the matter in hand.
“These photos, made available to us by the diligence of our Naval comrades, clearly indicate that the Amerikanski intend to deliver this weapon by air, and using this type of aircraft. This confirms what we suspected from their intended Japanese use.”
He silently offered Kaganovich an opportunity to take up the baton, and the NKVD officer took the opportunity, nodding to the GRU Commander.
“We must both contact our agents, and confirm the time scale to which the enemy project is working, Comrades. From memory, the last date suggested was November of this year, and that was without the additional problems that they have obviously experienced with the latest failure.”
He pulled himself upright, addressing himself to Malenkov.
“This appears to be a race between them and us. Can the Comrade Minister tell us where we stand with our own development?”
Malenkov looked at Stalin, pleading with his eyes, hoping not to have his hand forced. He received no succour from his superior.
“Our own project is expected to yield a viable weapon by September…”
A noise escaped many lips, as the thought that the Motherland would possess a super weapon before the enemy gave voice to cries of pride and relief.
“No, Comrades, no… not this September. We estimate September 1947.”
Relief turned to despair in a half-second, as minds did the simple maths.
“Continue, Comrade.”
Malenkov looked at his leader with incredulity.
“Comrade General Secretary, I must protest.”
“Continue, Comrade. Tell them a little about Project Raduga.”
“But w…”
“We did, and now I decide that we will share something to warm the hearts of our comrades. Continue, Comrade.”
“Perhaps it should wait until Polkovnik General Vannikov can be here to deliver a fuller briefing, Comrade General Secretary?”
There was no humour present in Stalin’s reply.
“Perhaps I should find a new Head of Research and Production for our Atomic Programme?”
The message was received.
“By our orders, Comrade General Vannikov, in conjunction with Comrade Admiral Isakov, and scientist from the Motherland and other friendly nations, has been working on an alternate weapon, harnessing some of the same properties but with less complications.”
He made his stand.
“The Amerikanski project has suff
ered another reverse with their latest failure, and that will almost certainly mean a delay of months for them. I am afraid that I cannot reveal the precise nature of the Raduga weapons, but I can tell you that we anticipate that they will be ready for use by February next year, which should be well in advance of any Amerikanski system.”
‘Enough, Iosef?’
It seemed so, as Stalin leant back in his chair, puffing away on his pipe, happy that the ensemble now felt more positive about the future.
Nazarbayeva, a previous recipient of a limited Raduga File, now understood that the GRU Commander, Kuznetsov, had no idea of the existence of Raduga, something she considered bizarre, given his foreknowledge of the Atomic weapon programme.
1843 hrs, Friday 15th March 1946, Scientist’s residential block, Los Alamos, New Mexico.
Of those seven agents, five were already identified and turned by the FBI. One had chosen a dramatic way out, and his ‘suicide’ had deeply affected those working with him at Oak Ridge.
At first, the powers-that-be had wondered if that was finally the extent of the penetration, until a wisp of something not quite right emerged from New Mexico.
A wisp had become a sniff; a sniff had become a scent. More assets were moved to Los Alamos, and pretty soon a scent became a trail.
That trail, after weeks of exhaustive checking and rechecking, led Colonel Da Silva to the door he now knocked on.
The bespectacled young man who opened the door seemed unfazed by the uniformed presence at his threshold.
“Good evening, Colonel. May I help you?”
“I rather think you can, Mister Fuchs. May we come in?”
The last agent of the Rosenberg ring was in the bag.
1912 hrs, Friday 15th March 1946, Office of the NKVD Deputy Chairman, Lyubyanka, Moscow.
Having paid a visit to the office of the GRU Commander, Nazarbayeva still had time to accept Kaganovich’s offer of a private meeting.
Ordinarily, she might have excused herself, but her impressions of the NKVD Deputy had been positive, so she decided to see how far matters might progress.
Her arrival had been silent and unspectacular, and she was ushered into Kaganovich’s office, where she found the Colonel General sat expectantly at a table filled with the makings of a decent dinner.
