'Odin' and Stalin's Secret Committee

[Wraith11B]

Certain standards must be maintained, lest civilisation falls to the barbarians.

And yet, no update from you for a top of page billing...

*Haughty snif*

 

[El Pip]

And yet, no update from you for a top of page billing...

*Haughty snif*

But I was top of the page. And as Louis XIV would doubtless have said in these circumstances;

L'AAR c'est moi.

You could also imagine a Hobbesian Leviathan should you naturally recoil from a Bourbon themed example.

 

[Wraith11B]

But I was top of the page. And as Louis XIV would doubtless have said in these circumstances;

Doubtless.

You could also imagine a Hobbesian Leviathan should you naturally recoil from a Bourbon themed example.

I do prefer my Bourbon from the Kentucky and Irish regions. Though I have recently been introduced to Aberlour 12year, and that will soon grace my alcohol shelf...

 

[nuclearslurpee]

And yet, no update from you for a top of page billing...

*Haughty snif*

Curse you, I had a very clever Quote-Reply planned to steal the top of this page and you came along with your typical American brashness and mucking-about-ness *kicks flag avatar under nearby furniture* and ruined everything.

Anyways I hope our generous authAAR will nevertheless choose to grace us with an update in spite of your haughty tomfoolery never mind my own plans to ruin everything...

 

[roverS3]

The 20th of October 1942, 1pm Moscow Time,

A hefty dossier arrived as I finished my lunch. A brief note from 'Shest' read:

'These are Lt. Lyadov's uncensored reports from the last 10 days or so. You should read them, and then, tomorrow, I think we need to have a meeting about what seems to have transpired and how we handle things.'

Sounded ominous, so I locked myself in my office and opened the first report, as I did so, a documentation sheet on some kind of motorcycle fell out, I didn't know 'Shest's packages included publicity now:

Spec sheet for the L-8 and Izh-12 motorcycles.​

Spoiler: More on the L-8 Motorcycle

The L-8 is a motorcycle produced starting in 1939 at the 'Red October factory in Leningrad. It's predecessor was the 1930 L-300 (two-stroke, very heavily inspired by the 1929 DKW-Luxus-300). The series of Izh motorcycles was also based on this same platform, with gradual improvements being made with each subsequent model: the Izh-7, then the Izh-8, before launching the 10 hp Izh-9 in 1940. (all two-stroke) A different approach was taken in Leningrad, where they developed a 348cc four-stroke version of the engine that pumps out a maximum of between 13,5 and 15,5 horsepower. To fit it into the L-300 platform, the frame had to be lengthened with the wheelbase going from 1320mm to 1380mm, bringing the weight up to around 160kg. This gave it the best power to weight ratio of any non-racing motorcycle built in the Soviet Union. The standard model has a top speed of 105 km/h with a three-speed transmission and can accelerate to 80 km/h in less than 6 seconds. Of course, a racing version was developed. The S-1 had a pumped up version of the same engine with just shy of 28 hp. Blueprints of the L-8 were also sent to the Izhmash factory, which soon started putting the L-8's engine into the Izh-9 chassis to make the Izh-12 (the Izh-9 had a 4000mm wheelbase).

12th of October

I had a rather fruitless weekend, spending the majority of my time tailing the Inspector who spent most of his time with the Major, though since that kiss at the ballet, there were no clear romantic gestures, only a conspicuous closeness, and the odd hug. I was issued my own vehicle, an unmarked motorcycle, a dark green L-8.

Things really started moving again on Monday. The Inspector started the morning by gallantly escorting Major Goleneiwsky to the Naval Academy, then he went for a long and circuitous walk, during which he did nothing of note. Rozitis didn't even pass by any of the locations significant to the case, which is almost a feat in itself. I felt like he might be leading me on or testing me. Having timed the walk well, he was back at the Naval Academy in time to have lunch with Irina. They maintained the appropriate distance and decorum between detective and suspect, if you could call it that. It didn't look like an interrogation, but it also wasn't a romantic get-together, it looked like a friendly lunch amongst colleagues (of sorts).

The afternoon was rather boring as the Inspector just sat in our office, staring out in front of him humming some piece of violin music, then getting up to pace back and forth a few times before finding another position on his chair, and another piece of music to accompany his thoughts. He was unresponsive to my inquiries as to what exactly he was thinking about.

Sunday continued to be a day of seemingly aimless wanderings through the city along with Major Goleniewsky. They bumped into Starshina Kharkov, who seemed to be rather drunk. Everything about his behaviour indicated that it was over between him and the Major. Sergei clearly put the blame on the shoulders of Inspector Ivars Rozitïs and his beloved Irina had to stop him from laying hands on the detective. After she calmed Kharkov down, the three of them went back to the detective’s car to drive the Starshina back to his barracks so he could sober up. Then, there was another intimate kiss shared by the detective and the Major in his car, before they headed to her apartment to freshen up.

They left the apartment about ten minutes later, dressed in evening wear, though the Major’s outfit was a lot less flashy than the one she had worn to the opera. She was wearing her regular dress uniform, but with a navy blue skirt instead of the regulation trousers and black evening shoes with a modest heel. I tailed them to the Leningrad Philharmony on Mikhailovskaya Street. My NKVD badge helped me obtain a last minute ticket to the concert, in honour of a certain Hovhannes Arakelovich Nalbandyan who was retiring from the Leningrad Conservatory as head of the violin department. The Leningrad Philharmonic under the direction of Yevgeny Aleksandrovich Mravinsky would play Jāzeps Vītols’ Latvian Fantasy for violin and orchestra (op.42) and Lyapunov’s Violin Concerto in D minor (op.61) with Yuri Isaevich Yankelevich (violin professor at the Moscow conservatory and a former student of Nalbandyan) as the soloist. After the intermission, the renown Glazunov quartet would play Alexander Borodin’s No.2 string quartet in D Major. (Ilya Ovseevich Lukashevsky, 1st violin and founder of the Glazunov quartet, was also a chamber music professor at the Leningrad Conservatory, and a student of Nalbandyan)

The atmosphere was quite different from that at the ballet première, and the outfit change definitely helped the Major fit in. The audience was made up almost entirely of musicians, with a large part of the staff of the Leningrad Conservatory in attendance, quite a few ex-students of Nalbandyan, a lot of current violin students of the Conservatory, and a bunch officers of various ranks and services (Mostly Red Navy and NKVD, likely only the ones who really care about music). As I was finding my spot at the front of the left side balcony towards back of the room, I noticed General Markkur arrive in his US Army dress uniform, just in time for the concert. He was accompanied by a US Marines Corporal, likely from the US consulate security detail. This time, there were no murders during the concert. It all started with a speech by Conservatory Rector Pavel Serebryakov, first celebrating the illustrious career of Professor Nalbandyan, then celebrating the armed forces and the people of the Soviet Union for their fighting spirit against the fascist invaders, before finally introducing the orchestra and it’s conductor amidst thundering applause.

Things became interesting during the intermission, first, Inspector Rozïtis excused himself to go to the restroom, but once again, he entered the artists only area not long after that. While the detective was out of sight, Major Goleniewsky left the room to go grab a drink at the bar. I tailed her, and as she moved away from the bar with her glass of Beluga vodka, she bumped into General Markkur, spilling her drink on his already slightly crumpled uniform. This ‘accident’ left her fumbling with a handkerchief to try and mitigate the damage done to the General’s uniform for several minutes while profusely apologising in heavily accented English. You don’t need to be an international super-spy to realise that they had just created a perfect opportunity to secretly exchange information.

I quickly turned back towards the artists only area, deciding to go have a look behind the scenes. Shortly after going through the ‘artists only’ door, I came face to face with the detective in the narrow corridor. He was on his way back from the artists restroom, presumably. I couldn’t help but notice that right before he saw me, he was slipping something into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. I started the conversation.

“Fancy seeing you here Inspector”

“Likewise, Lyadov. What are you doing in the artists only area? Do you personally know one of the artists per chance?”

“Now, that’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now.”

“The answer is yes, Lieutenant, I personally know one of the artists, just as I personally know one of the artists who played in the Kirov Orchestra last friday. However, I didn’t know you had connections in the Leningrad Classical Music scene.”

“You got me, I don’t. I was really just checking up on you, there is a murderer on the loose, and considering how close you’ve been with Major Goleniewsky lately, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were their next target. Better safe than sorry right?”

“Thank you for your concern Lieutenant, even if it does seem slightly overbearing and a tad unnecessary.” - He might not appreciate me following his every move.

“So, what did you find on your way to the artist’s restroom? You were putting something away just now.” - There was an implied threat that Ivars Rozitis was all to aware of, though I suspect he respected that I didn’t verbalise it. This might be why he decided to share his find with me.

“It’s a photograph. I can’t go into detail as to how I obtained it as that could land myself and my sources into some legal trouble. However, more important is what is on the photograph. Come, I’ll show you.” - He pulled me into a walk-in closet full of cleaning supplies to show me the photograph - “As you can plainly see, this is Irina. Her hair is a little shorter, and she’s a bit bruised up under that make-up which makes her jaw look a little heavier, but it’s definitely her. Now, this photograph was taken at the Soviet Union’s Embassy in Stockholm, Sweden, on the first of March of this year, this man is the British Minister Plenipotentiary Sir Victor Mallet, that’s his wife. She was part of the British delegation to this party.”

“Hadn’t we already established that she used to be a spy before her Red Army career?”

“Yes, at least it was a strong suspicion, but here, for the first time, we have something from her past. We now know that she was likely embedded as an agent in the British diplomatic service, or even with British intelligence. There has to be a connection there with Mr. Brown’s presence, right?
But wait, it gets even better. Here on the back of the photograph, someone wrote: ‘Today is a sad day, the girl was shot dead today, and she was such a nice guest at my party. Stockholm is changing for the worse. I do hope the war doesn’t come to the Soviet Union. Be safe esteemed nephew. A.’ Now, who in this photograph got shot? There are only two women, the Major and Sir Mallet’s wife. I’d argue that Irina is closer to a girl than the wife, and also that we would have heard about the murder of a respected diplomat’s wife.”

“Sure, but if she’s dead, then who is your date to the concert?”

“You see, Lyadov, being killed in the spy-world isn’t the same as being killed in the real world. In the spy world it doesn’t always have to be so definitive, at least it doesn’t seem to have been in this case.”

“Are you saying she faked her death and reinvented herself as a soldier? Why would she have done that? Isn’t it more likely that’s just a close relative or a look-alike?”

“Well, probably because people don’t chase dead people, or seek revenge on them. Looks like it was a clean break, well as clean a break you can get as a spy. It’s not a relative of hers, you can clearly see that scar on her neck in the photograph, a relative or look-alike wouldn’t have the exact same scar.”

“So who wants her dead then? Surely this whole affair has revealed the fact she is very much alive to plenty of people who may have thought she was dead?”

“Could be, or maybe it’s the opposite. Someone who thought she was dead happened to figure out she was alive under her new identity, and that’s what started this whole mess.”

“But then why kill all these other people? The British cultural Attaché? The promising cadet? That naval officer that did some counter-espionage on the side? Captain Johnson? Why not go after her directly?”

“I honestly have no idea. This case isn’t about the straightforward execution of a spy. Killing her isn't enough for this murderer…”

The bell rang to indicate that the intermission was over, putting a premature end to our conversation. The inspector left first, and I followed a little later as to not draw any attention to myself. To be honest I didn’t really pay much attention to the rest of the concert as I was mulling over the implications of that photograph and the accompanying written message.

After the Glazunov quartet had finished, the 71 year old Nalbandyan himself took the stage to make his retirement speech, thanking all those who worked with him, though those who moved abroad during the revolution were not mentioned by name, as that would be rather treasonous. He did mention Roman Voldemarovich Matsov, one of his students who had bravely volunteered for the front as the Germans invaded. Apparently the violinist had risen rapidly through the ranks as he was now a company commander in the 25th Rifle Regiment. Then, theold Professor called his colleague, Professor of Piano Nadezhda Iosifovna Golubovskaya-Iohelson, to the stage for a surprise rendition of Viktor Leonov’s Sonata for Piano and Violin. In honour of the people’s armed forces, of course.

Once the concert was over, the Inspector and the Major retreated back to her appartement, but Rozïtis did not sleep over, returning to his own assigned accommodation by midnight. I returned to Goleniewsky’s place, and caught a glimpse of Starshina Kharkov through the window. The waters are becoming muddier by de day where the Major’s romantic life is concerned. She spends most of her free time with the detective, but then meets up with her (former?) lover in the middle of the night? Very questionable behaviour unbecoming of an officer of our armed forces.

Top to bottom: 1930s men's golfing attire. Reising M50 sub-machinegun, 1933 26 foot triple cockpit Chris Craft boat used by the mysterious golfer.​

Spoiler: More on Krestovsky Island

Krestovsky island continued to have lots of sports infrastructure, several tennis club remained, sailing and boating clubs were expanded, a new sports complex was built in the 1930s. The ‘Dynamo’ served as the sports and football club of the NKVD. It is still in use today, having outlived the NKVD. The small links golf course is gone forever, however. I haven’t been able to find any maps of what it looked like, so I took some liberties with the setting. It does seem to have been all the rage before the revolution, as it was mentioned in the memoirs of several well-known St Petersburg socialites of the era. I don’t know whether it was built over before the great patriotic war, but I would expect at least parts of the golf course to still be there in 1942.

Spoiler: More on the M50 Riesing

The M-50 Riesing was a .45 calibre submachine gun produced in the United States by the Harrington & Richardson Arms Company between March 1941 and 1945. It was originally developed as a police weapon, but with the onset of war, the US military saw it as a decent alternative to the Thompson M1928 in case it became in short supply. It was lighter (7 lbs vs 11 lbs) and cheaper ($62 vs $200) than it’s rival as it used stamped instead of machined parts. The M55 model with collapsing stock was also more compact. It’s intricate closed bolt delayed blow-back system was also more efficient than that of the 1928A1 Thompson, and the M50 was more balanced as a whole and considerably more accurate when firing short bursts. It was first adopted by the USMC, where it was issued to officers and NCO’s as the new M1 carbine wasn’t yet available to the USMC and the Thompson was in short supply, and considered too heavy and bulky for jungle patrols. In Guadalcanal, the M50 quickly gained a bad reputation for jamming, and over-all poor reliability. The folding stock of the M55 also had a tendency to fold when the gun was being fired. It’s complex mechanism didn’t cope well with sand, and the metal would rust in warm humid climates in particular. It was withdrawn from the USMC as soon as sufficient M1 Garands were available. The US Navy was also issued a lot of M50s, but after the issues the Marines had with them, they would also be fazed out by 1943, and the US Army never wanted them in the first place. M50s were used extensively by the OSS and a lot of the ca. 100.000 military spec M50/M55/M60’s ended up being sent overseas as lend-lease aid. It was also used extensively by US law enforcement agencies after the war.

​

13th of October

I spent most of my time alongside the Inspector, figuring out whether Rozïtis’ theory of the Major faking her own death on the 2nd of March in Stockholm held any water. While it was impossible to find out if anyone else was involved in the ploy, at least with our limited connections, we were able to ascertain the fact that a woman of Irina Goleneiwsky’s description was shot dead by a sharpshooter while she was on a boat on the Djurgårdsbrunnsviken, a bay in central Stockholm that borders it’s so-called ‘Diplomat city’. This seems to confirm the statements written on the photograph, and also the inspector’s theory. Of course no one is willing or able to tell us how she ended up there, nor who might have taken the shot. Even in the local Stockholm media, the coverage of the incident was vague and inconclusive, probably due to diplomatic barriers and deliberate state censorship. A description of the scene by a bystander simply states that a shot sounded out, and the young woman fell, lifeless, out of the boat. No mention of anyone else in the boat, the exact model of the boat, where the boat had come from etc. The Inspector had lunch with Goleniewsky once again, still without any overt flirtation, and in the evening he stayed over in her apartment too.

14th of October

After her regular lessons, the Major went on one of her extracurricular training sessions with selected cadets from her class. As I planned to follow Goleniewsky and her cadets as they left the Naval academy, I found the Inspector waiting for me. He suggested we go together in his car. As it was a rather cold day, I gladly agreed.

The inspector had to drive slowly and keep a lot of distance as the marines were marching to the unknown training location, which would turn out to be the disused golf course on Krestovsky Island. We found a good vantage point and whipped out the binoculars. There was nothing too unusual about the training: A good warm-up run, some basic physical training, and practicing squad tactics. We kept a close watch as the cadets moved from cover to cover, firing blanks with their pistols and submachine guns.

Just as we started to fear this could be a waste of time, a man appeared at the top of a small hill, carrying large brown leather golf bag over his left shoulder. He was wearing a woollen sweater over a shirt and tie, baggy short trousers, with long stockings, and black and white spats. A flat cap obscured most of his face and hair, but he was clearly very athletic. What was this man doing here, dressed as if he was in some fancy American country club golf tournament?

The answer was obvious. He was there to play golf, on his own, on an overgrown and mostly abandoned course. Every time he was setting up his tee, he would squat down and cut the long grass with scissors so that it wouldn’t impede his swing and the ball’s trajectory. Needless to say, he was pretty committed to his game.

Not long after the golfer reached the second hole, Rozïtis spotted something else.

“Lyadov. Someone seems to be watching our golfer, look over there in those bushes.”

I looked trough my binoculars, but I didn’t see anything.

“Look for the way the light reflects, lieutenant.”

I waited a little, and sure enough after a few seconds, I caught a strange reflection. There was definitely something, or someone, in that bush.

“What shall we do about it inspector?”

“Let’s go and find out who it is and change position. If we stay here, they will spot us, just like we just spotted them.”

And so we went for a stroll down around the old club house until we could see the bushes in question. A quick look over told us that the cadets were still doing their thing. The inspector was speaking softly as he drew his Makarov.

“We don’t know what’s in there, better be careful.”

We were fully sneaking now, and after what seemed like an eternity we could see a passage in-between the bushes. We went down there as quietly as possible, but then a twig snapped under my right boot, and we heard rustling not more than five meters in front of us. Rozïtis said ‘run’, and I rushed through the gap. I came just in time to see a man sprint out of the bushes on the other side, jump onto a bicycle, and race away. I yelled:
“Halt, NKVD” and as he made no attempt to stop, I took aim with my service weapon to make him do so, but just as I was about to shoot, Rozïtis appeared behind me, slightly out of breath.

“Don’t shoot Lyadov . . . We can’t ask dead men questions, and we don’t need another international incident . . . I’m sure Mr. Brown will be back at the British embassy in no time.”

The man had looked vaguely familiar from behind, but I hadn’t been able to place him in all of the excitement. To be fair, he was dressed very differently from last time, like a factory worker, rather than an apparatchik.

“Are you sure that’s Mister Brown?”

“Not a doubt in my mind. I have to say I’m rather impressed by his swimming exit. You should really watch out for twigs when you’re sneaking up on people lieutenant.”

I nodded apologetically as the detective tried to make me feel better about my mistake:

“Don’t worry about it, he likely wouldn’t have told us anything very interesting. He’s a trained spy after all, and he’s probably got diplomatic immunity to boot.”

We quickly returned to mr. Brown’s hiding spot, to check up on the golf course. Mr. Brown’s vantage point overlooked the golf course even better than our own. We could see our mystery golfer was starting on the final hole now, while Goleniewsky and the cadets continued their training. They hadn’t heard us over the sound of the guns. What was surprising was the total lack of care and attention the golfer was giving to the fact that there was a squad of naval Infantry running around firing guns less than 200 meters from him. The Major wasn’t paying any attention to the golfer either, almost as if they couldn’t see each other somehow.

Mesmerised, by this almost comical scene, we watched as the golfer neared the hole, which really was just 50 meters from where the cadets were training. as he was putting the ball towards the hole, narrowly missing it due to a clump of grass, the cadets were laying down suppressing fire towards the club house while a two of them and the Major moved from cover to cover towards the golfer, without ever looking directly in his direction.

The golfer had now finished his round of golf. He stored his putter and his ball in the golf bag, before pulling out a Reising model 50 submachine gun and a 20 round magazine to load it with. At this point, Major Irina Goleniewsky stepped out of cover as the man, almost certainly an American, approached the training cadets with his weapon, having dropped his golf bag.

The two talked for a minute or so, with Major Goleniewsky pointing out features of the club house. Then, she barked an order, and the cadets lined up at attention. They were too far away for us to hear what she was saying, but it looked like she was introducing the American and the next objective of her unofficial training exercise.

They checked their weapons before forming up and assaulting the club house, with the American tagging along and sticking close to the Major. She wasn’t happy with the results, and they practiced breaching and clearing the building eleven more times until both Goleneiwsky and the American golfer were satisfied with the results. When they were done, the golfer stowed his weapon in the golf bag, and walked off towards the other end of the golf course, where he had come from.

My proposition to go and arrest the American to find out who he is and what him and the Major are up to were denied by the Inspector, on the grounds that the man was likely here to help get revenge for Captain Johnson’s death, and thus to help close our case. At this point we had a decision to make, to follow the American, or to follow Major Goleniewsky and the cadets. We could split up, but of course, then no one would be watching over the inspector. Rozïtis understood the dilemma and decided we would follow the American. We quickly ran to the car, and drove it around the golf course without too much of a hurry. When we reached the other end, we could see the golfer in the distance, walking briskly towards a small pier. Of course he was leaving by boat.

The detective declined my suggestion to commandeer a boat so we drove back, as fast as the little blue car could, to the Bolshoi Petrovsky Bridge. As we stopped in the middle of the bridge, we noticed a sleek open-topped motorboat that had just passed below the bridge at a decent clip. The American was sitting in the rear, his golf-bag besides him, while the skipper was hidden underneath the convertible canvas top at the front of the US-flagged vessel as they turned off the little Nevka and onto the much narrower Zhdanovka river. The inspector quickly slammed his car into gear and we were off over Petrovsky island towards the Red Carpet bridge. This time, we were a little faster, and the boat was coming towards the bridge as we crossed onto Petrogradsky island. We were almost racing the boat down Dobrolyubova and Kronverkskaya quay before crossing the Neva on Troitsky (Trinity) bridge. The boat was picking up speed as it passed under the bridge, and we could barely keep up with all the traffic on Jaurès quay. When we reached Voskresenskaya quay, we started to catch up as the boat slowed down and pulled to our side of the river before pulling alongside the quay at Chernyshevskogo avenue. Our target casually stepped off onto the lower part of the quay as we drove past in order to avoid suspicion.

Parked up about one hundred metres further, we got out of the car to follow on foot. As we followed him, down Chernyshevskogo avenue, I realised where we were headed, and let it be known:

“Inspector, I think he’s going to the United States consulate in Leningrad on Furshtatskaya Street. It’s right over there, to the right in two blocks.”

“This guy isn’t much of a spy, now is he? Leading us straight to the consulate as to leave no doubt of his affiliation?”

“Maybe he hasn’t noticed he’s being followed?”

“As I said. Not much of a spy. Considering the golfing and the boat, I’d say he’s more of a new money playboy turned military officer who’s somehow found himself in the employ of the OSS. Why exactly, I don’t know, but it does seem General Markkur doesn’t particularly care about this new arrival’s lack of discretion. The question then remains as to why he is here, and why he’s now pretty openly collaborating with Irina’s unofficial squad of commando’s. What ever they’re preparing for it doesn’t look like a lot of subtlety will be involved.”

“So why don’t we arrest him? He fired his weapon on government property, he’s participated in illicit paramilitary activity with Major Goleniewsky, and he’s about to walk into a diplomatically protected building.”

“We don’t. For the same reason that we don’t arrest Irina, or Mr. Brown, or any of the cadets. They all have motive to deal with this murderer decisively, they know more than we do, and they’re not about to tell us what they know, nor do we want to know state secrets. Our job is to close this case, and both the Americans and Irina have good reasons to hand us the murderer dead or alive, as soon as they find them. Mr. Brown and the British seem like more of a wild card, but they only seem to be observing for now, so I’m not too worried about them, especially when put in contrast with the brazenness of the American operation.
A second point is, of course, that the NKVD, at least the people who are reading your reports, don’t seem to want us to stop this legally questionable operation. Sure, they want you to keep a closer eye on me, and you’re doing rather well at that, but if they haven’t acted on the legally questionable things I might have done, then that means that they have other priorities. I’m fully aware that I might pay for my conduct of this investigations later on, but this case has opened my eyes…” - The inspector fell silent at this point, implying with his facial expression and body language that to elaborate further would be most unwise.

As I had predicted, our target turned right into Furshtatskaya street walked up to the US consulate and when he arrived the gate was immediately opened by a US Marine who then stood at attention and saluted him as he passed through it.

“This chase was a bit of a waste of time. Let’s go have dinner.”

We went and had a simple dinner in a bar filled with apparatchiks and diplomats. Luckily the night was still young and they weren’t too rowdy. Once we had finished, the Inspector had another surprise for me. He whipped out a poster in German. It offered a reward of 50,000 zloty (ca. 9,500 USD in 1939) for information that could lead to the capture of ‘this woman’. There was a picture of Major Goleniewsky in civilian clothes, and below it the following description

‘Pictured is a French-born British spy known as ‘Madeleine’, ca.1.60 m tall, light brown or maroon hair just shy of shoulder length with the parting on the right side. Lean, oval-shaped face, healthy complexion with a slight tan. Clean skin (no pimples). A scar ca. 7 cm long at the neck base on the left hand side. Blue eyes, small nose, normal-sized and laid-back ears.’

Then followed the usual text promising confidentiality to any informants and specifying where to go or call with the information in order to receive the Gestapo’s bounty, and finally:

‘Warsaw, on 6. February 1942.

Signed, J. A. Meisinger,
SS-Standartenführer’

Nowhere did it say what she had done, so it must have been pretty embarrassing for the Germans.

“So, where did you get this?” - I said

“It just came to me, seems it was left behind in Riga when our forces liberated the city. I had put out some feelers down there a few weeks ago, and it paid off.”

“But what does it mean for the case? That she faked her death to escape Axis bounty hunters?”

“Not necessarily, she might have other enemies as well, but it is likely. In any case, we know she’s got a big target on her back. She must have spilled quite some Axis blood while she was ostensibly working for the British.”

“Inspector, how do we know that she’s not actually a British spy?”

“We don’t know that for certain. However, it does seem unlikely based on how brazen some of her actions have been, and how much tacit support she seems to get from parts of our establishment.”

Then there was a bit about them sharing a bottle of vodka. The final sentence of the day read: ’Rozïtis returned to the Irina’s apartment.’

The Leningrad Philharmonic posing in the Leningrad Philharmonia, their home base so to say, with conductor Evgeny Mravinsky in the centre of the shot.​

​

Spoiler: More on Hovannes Nalbandyan

Hovhannes Arakelovich Nalbandyan was a violinist of Armenian descent born in modern day Uzbekistan 1871. He played concerts in the Russian South and Eastern Ukraine (a lot in the Crimea) before he entered the then St. Petersburg Conservatory at age 15. His teacher was the brilliant Leopold Auer. He graduated in 1894, then spent a few months in Berlin, playing concerts and perfecting his skills with Josef Joachim, he then taught at the Gizhitsky music school in Riga for a year before returning to St Petersburg to become adjunct (assistant) to Auer in 1895. In 1908 he became a teacher in his own right, still in St Petersburg, and from there on he was gradually promoted to professor 1st class (1917), and then to head of the violin department in 1938, having also been adjunct dean of performing faculties for three years. His most famous student was Jasha Heifetz.​

He had a very active career as a performer, playing solo concerts, chamber music, and concertos, mostly in St Petersburg and Russia. As opposed to Auer, who fled Russia in 1918, Nalbandyan stayed on as a teacher after the revolution, during the civil war he performed as part of the Baltic Fleet’s concert group for Red Navy units based in Leningrad and Krönstadt. Later he held educational concerts (half lecture half concert) as part of the musical studies group of the Military Economic Academy. He premiered Glazunov’s violin concerto in A minor (1916), S. M. Lyapunov’s violin concerto (1916), as well as Vitols’ ‘Latvian Fanstasy for violin and orchestra (1908), and Nikolaev’s sonata for violin and piano (1904).​

In our timeline, Nalbandyan died in Tashkent in 1942, still head of the violin department. With no siege of Leningrad (yet) in this timeline, and the war starting a year later, it seems entirely plausible that he would have kicked the can a bit later.​

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Spoiler: Wanted poster for the capture of one of Heydrich's killers. (OTL)

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15th of October

This morning, Inspector Rozïtis spotted a suspicious GAZ-M1 in black with a red pinstripe. A naval infantry cadet parked it across the street from the Naval Academy, it had a different number plate from the one we crossed paths with at the second crime scene. It seemed rather obvious to myself and the detective that this had to be the same car, unless the Major had some kind of off the books fleet of cars, of course. Calling around, I also figured out that the American golfer was in the country under the name James Miller, likely a code name. Otherwise the day was quiet, almost boring, if you could ever call a day spent speculating about such a complex and captivating case that.

19th of October

It looked like a regular quiet monday. Major Goleneiwsky was teaching in the morning, and according to her usual routine she would be going to the rifle range in the afternoon. However, at about 10h52, as myself and the inspector were sat in our office trying out more theories about these murders, our attention was attracted by the sound of a powerful automobile approaching the naval academy. Rozïtis shouted to get to the car, there was no hesitation. When we arrived downstairs at our vehicles, we could see Major Goleniewsky rushing towards the GAZ across the street with 7 of her favourite cadets, all of them had been training at the disused golf course, as far as I could recall. They didn’t even try to be discreet about it, this was clearly time-sensitive, and possibly a matter of life and death.

As we were about to get into the detective’s car, a large American automobile (turns out it was a 1940 Buick Roadmaster) screeched to a halt, right next to the GAZ-M1. There was a deep powerful rumble from what could only be the Buick’s massive idling engine, it was soon joined by the rumble of the cold-starting V8 of the Major’s car. Recalling the KIM-10’s lethargic performance, I suggested to the detective that we should probably split up if we wanted to have a chance at keeping up with those two cars. My light motorcycle would at least allow me to more easily get through traffic. In less than half a minute, they had all packed into the cars. The Major with 4 cadets in her own GAZ-M1, and the five other cadets in the Buick. The driver looked familiar, though much of his face was obscured by a khaki green cap and the B pillar of the car. As soon as the last door slammed shut, they departed with great haste, Goleniewsky driving her GAZ in front closely followed by the Buick.

I sped ahead of the Inspector’s KIM on my motorcycle. Luckily, lunchtime traffic was starting to ramp up, and the Major’s convoy couldn’t use all of the power of their engines, but neither could I, though I could quite easily keep up as we weaved through traffic on the Eastern bank of the Great Nevka. Rozïtis, however, was already struggling. As we reached the Neva and the convoy slowed down to turn onto Liteyny bridge, an NKVD V8 GAZ-M1 joined the chase as we passed the Big House, barely missing me as it made a fast left turn. Just a couple of blocks further, two more cars came flying out of Furshtatskaya Street onto Volodarsky Avenue (now Liteyny Av.) on the left. The first was General Markkur’s Duesenberg, the second would turn out to be a modern V8 ford. Major Goleniewsky slowed ever so slightly, to let the General’s car take the lead, as the Ford slotted in between the Major’s GAZ and the Buick. Not even a minute later, as the four cars at the front had just driven past it, a large car appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, from Pestelja street on the right. The NKVD car in front of me couldn’t avoid a crash as the massive V12 Packard of the US ambassador threw it across the intersection, pretty much destroying the front right corner of the car and littering the road with debris.

I managed to narrowly squeeze myself past the rear of the Packard. Any thoughts of stopping to help out the victims of the accident were quickly dropped when I noticed that the four car convoy ahead had managed to pull ahead by a good 100 meters in the commotion. With Bolshoy Dom (NKVD HQ) just a few blocks away, I was sure they were getting the proper care and attention. I floored it to catch up, but soon had to slow once again to negotiate traffic. The accident had spooked me, and as I took big risks to keep up, it had me seriously considering that the accident could have been planned to put any pursuers out of action, in which case another vehicle could appear from a side street with the sole aim of knocking me off my motorcycle. I managed to claw back a bit of distance as the convoy slowed to turn left onto the rather busy Proletkult street (now Nevsky Av.). A police car tried to join the chase as we passed Moskovsky Railway Station, but their GAZ-A simply did not have the acceleration to keep up. A brief look behind me told me that Rozïtis had also been left in the dust as his small car was no where to be seen.

The convoy took a right turn onto Obukhov Obrony Avenue as it reached the Neva, flying past the old Alexander Nevski Monastery, underneath the Finland Railway Bridge, the ‘Nevsky Zavod’ football stadium, then the proletarian neighbourhood around the Alexander Iron Works. I was starting to struggle a little, as the convoy barrelled on and traffic was thinning out. We passed underneath the Volodarsky Bridge, then between Kurakina Dacha park and the Neva, and past the Bolshevik Plant (aka. Leningrad State Plant No. 174 ‘Kliment Voroshilov’) in Nevskaya Zastava. We were really outside Leningrad now, as we turned off Obukhov Obrony Avenue, onto Rybatskoye Avenue, the main street going through the small village of Rybatskoye. The traffic here bunched us up nicely, and I was able to close to just 50 meters from the Buick before we made a shallow left onto Soviet Avenue, which was just an above-average country road at this point. After a good two kilometres on that road, the convoy suddenly slowed hard before making a hard right onto a dirt road. I overshot the turn by ten meters and had to awkwardly drive over some grass to get back behind the convoy.

My motorcycle wasn’t particularly suited to this kind of off-road driving, even less so than any of the cars I was following. The path meandered a bit through a swampy wooded area, before turning left rather abruptly and delivering us onto the roads of the workers settlement colloquially known as ‘Metallostroy’. This new ‘town’ was relatively quiet, with most of the inhabitants at work at the Kolpino Metal Factory. The convoy made a right onto Garden (Sadovaya) street, followed by a left onto Pioneer Street, slowing down to about 15 km/h to make less noise, before stopping hundred meters further, right next to the middle one of three low-rise apartment buildings (Stalinka’s in this case) on the right hand side.

I quickly hid with my motorbike, pushing it behind a bush across the street. They all got out of their cars, boots were opened, and they were all grabbing weapons and ammunition. I recognised the driver of the Buick as ‘James Miller’, the American golfer. Major Goleniewsky, grabbed her Mosin-Nagant sniper rifle as her cadets grabbed PPsH-41 sub-machine-guns, SVT-40 semi-automatic rifles, one of them even grabbed a DP-27 LMG. A few meters further, six men in nondescript combat fatigues and unmarked US-style military caps, including James Miller were also grabbing their weapons. The Americans all had submachine-guns, either ‘Thompson M1928’s’, or M50 variants. They were getting ready for some serious urban warfare. The last one to leave his car was General Markkur. Major Goleniewsky and ‘James Miller’ went towards the Duesenberg as the General spread out what looked like a map. As they were planning their attack, wherever it was going to happen, I spotted a telephone box on my side of the street, some 60 meters away. I moved towards it as quickly and quietly as I could, when I got there, the General’s (and the Major’s) troops were already moving. The cadet with the DP-27, and Major Goleniewsky climbed through the window into the building they had parked next to (number 8), while the others, split into two mixed teams with three Americans and three Soviet Naval Infantry cadets went around it.

From right to left, top to bottom: 1940 Buick Roadmaster, Volodarsky (Liteyny) Avenue (intersection with Zhukovsky Street), Intersection of Volodarsky (Liteyny) Avenue and Proletkult Street (Nevsky Av.), Vostanniya square in front of Moskovsky Station (Nevsky Av. in the background) 1935, 1913 Railway viaduct over Obukhov Obrony Avenue, 1912 Finland Railway Bridge with Obukhov Obrony Avenue in the bottom left of the frame, BT tanks on Obukhov Obrony Avenue with the 1936 Volodarsky Bridge in the background, The village of Rybatskoye 1930s, Street-scape in Mettalostroy with 1930s two-story Stalinka’s, perspective drawing of a residential area of Novosibirsk as planned in the 1930s.​

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Spoiler: More on the 1940 Buick Roadmaster

The 1940-41 Buick Roadmaster (touring sedan in this case) was a proper rocket-ship. Weighing in at just over 2 tonnes, it was powered by a 165 horsepower 5,2 later straight 8 with so-called ‘compound carburation’, more than making up for it’s considerable heft. With it’s wide body and bench-style seats it could comfortably carry 6 passengers, featuring coil-spring suspension front and rear with ‘double-acting’ shock-absorbers, as well as hydraulic brakes. Over all a very modern and quite expensive automobile that’s surprisingly fast and agile.​

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Spoiler: More on 'Metallostroy'

The area now known as Metallostroy was founded in 1931 by order of the Supreme Council of the National economy of the USSR. Originally it was called ’Sotsgorodok’. The first residential buildings were put up during the spring of 1932. The name ‘Metallostroy’ soon became it’s informal name as the town housed the workers who were building the Kolpinsk Metallurgical Plant, and later those who worked there. The War marked a pause in the construction of residential buildings, though construction of industrial installations continued. After the war, there was a significant expansion of the town with the construction of a central ‘House of Culture’ in 1951, the beautification of the main road that linked the town to the highway, and the construction of larger apartment blocks around the 1930s core. The name ‘Metallostroy’ was finally adopted officially in 1964. In the post-Soviet area, single family detached houses started appearing around the town, especially between it and the highway along the Neva. For it’s size, this cross between an Industrial town and a suburb features good access to public transit, with two railway stations, both on major rail lines that lead to St Petersburg. It takes just 30 minutes to get to Moscow Railway Station by train.

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Ahand-drawn map of the area.​

I reached NKVD HQ and asked to speak to Captain of State Security Bekhterev. When he came on the line, at 11:21, he was agitated, it seems a lot of things are going on at the same time.

“What’s so urgent Lyadov? I’ve got my hands full here.”

“Sir, I just thought I should let you know that 15 heavily armed men and women are moving into a grouping of communal housing on the Northern side of ‘Metallostroy’ in the Kopino region. The leaders seem to be naval infantry Major Irina Goleniewsky, a Mr. James Miller, and General Markkur. The men are naval infantry cadets and foreign operators, likely Americans. I’m expecting the shooting to start within minutes. I’m out her on my own, and I need to get word about this to inspector Rozïtis as soon as possible. I cannot see what they are doing from this telephone box as they have moved into the central courtyard.”

“Lieutenant. Inspector Rozitïs is in my office, I’ll send him down there as quickly as possible. Keep observing the situation as closely as possible, and keep me in the loop. I’ll coördinate with the local NKVD office, have someone rundown the inspector, and get reinforcements to your location as soon as possible.”

“Will do sir.”

“And, Lyadov, don’t try to be a hero here. We both know you and your Makarov can’t handle two squads of trained men with military weapons.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it sir.”

“Good luck.”

I sprinted across the street before quietly moving past the corner building onto School street. I couldn’t see anyone in the courtyard, I ran past the second building, then I decided to take a leaf out of the Major’s book and break into number 14 through the window. I quickly made my way up the stairs and to a courtyard-side window. The entire place was eerily quiet, I pulled out my binoculars, trying to find the two teams. I spotted a flash of black and green moving behind a hedge close to the other side of the large 100m x 100m courtyard. They were moving towards the South-Western side of the courtyard. I didn’t dare go too close to the window lest I be spotted by the Major or the Machine-gunner who no doubt had a similar vantage point to mine to my right, on the North-Western side of the courtyard.

At 11:26, both teams converged onto number 10A, a two-storey building right opposite the one in which the Major and the machine-gunner were located (number 8). More specifically, they were positioned on either side of the left one of the two entrances facing the courtyard. A rifle shot echoed over the courtyard followed by several bursts of machine-gun fire, all coming from across the courtyard, and shattering five windows on the first floor, about 4-5 meters above the two squads. The shooting had barely started when one particularly burly fellow kicked in the door for five other men to rush through it. The second team then followed, which was immediately followed by submachine-gun fire. Then a few grenades exploded inside the building, followed by more gunfire. Two men climbed out of one of the ground floor windows in an attempt to escape or outflank the intruders, though they were quickly neutralised by accurate rifle fire from the other side of the courtyard. It all went very quickly, with more gunfire, and shouts of ‘hände hoch!’ in an American accent, and by 11:32, all gunfire ceased. Then, at 11:33, engines were started, and started moving, judging by the sound, towards me. I rushed to a street-side window just in time to see the General’s Duesenberg and the Major’s GAZ drive by before turning right into the alley that was behind number 10 and 10A, presumably to park right behind 10A. The Major and the General soon rounded the corner and walked into the building. I quickly left my vantage point, finding another telephone box cross the street, from where to call the Captain.

“Captain, sir, they’ve just finished breaching and clearing number 10A on the South-Western side of the courtyard between School street and Garden street. There’s a lot of damage, the first floor façade is littered with bullets, most of the windows are broken, and there are bound to be casualties. Any news on reinforcements?”

“On their way Lieutenant. The NKVD office in Kolpino is sending down a car, which should arrive at your location in about five minutes. A much larger force, including NKVD Border Guards, and some red army personnel is being assembled, but it’s going to take at least half an hour to get there, keep an eye out for them. Inspector Rozïtis started off in your direction minutes after your last call, in a V8 GAZ, along with two of my best people. Keep an eye on the intersection of Pioneer street and School street, that’s where most of the reinforcements should arrive.”

“Understood sir. I’ve got to get back out there now, surely they’ll have an escape plan, and I better be there when they execute it.”

“Good thinking Lieutenant.I won’t keep you.”

Before I could rush back across the street, at 11:37, the Major's GAZ M1 came flying out of the alley, turning left (towards me) on School street. I had to dive behind a bush to not be spotted. Major Goleniewsky was not in the car as far as I could make out, but at least three naval infantry cadets were. As soon as the GAZ had turned right onto Pioneer street, I sprinted back across the street, and through the window. As I got to my vantage point in number 14, two Americans were running back across the courtyard, one of them was 'James Miller'. They disappeared on either side of Number 4-8. The two other cars were started up, with the Buick driving past on School street, and the Ford going the other way onto garden street. The Buick didn’t go into the alley, but parked perpendicular to School street, blocking it. When their engines were shut down, I could hear another vehicle closing in. It was a smaller engine, and it was far away, but it was clearly coming our way. This had to be the NKVD car from Kolpino. As three armed Americans were now standing around the Buick, I snuck out into the courtyard, using various hedges to stay out of sight and get back towards Pioneer street. However, I had only gotten about halfway when a gunshot rang out from behind me. afraid that I might be under attack, I turned around, but there was no follow-up, it must have happened inside number 10A. The NKVD car’s noise was now less muffled, they probably just turned onto Pioneer street. I sprinted towards the gap to the right of number 4-8, towards reinforcements, towards my motorcycle.

I was about to reach the street when I remembered the Machine-gunner. Was he still in number 8, or had he relocated to the other side of the courtyard (number 10A)? There was no time to check, and I couldn’t risk running straight out into the street to flag down the approaching NKVD car. Of course, this also made me less visible for that very GAZ-A that was closing on the junction between School street and Pioneer street.

The car slowed down, but neither the driver nor the passenger noticed me, their attention was on the Buick down the street. They turned onto School street, driving slowly towards the oddly parked car. I peeked around the corner just in time to see Mr James Miller aim a german-made rifle (Kar 98/40) at the NKVD car, which was barely ten meters from me. He fired three rounds in quick succession before the GAZ-A shuddered to a halt. One of the NKVD men in the car had a PPD-40, but he was a bit clumsy, and by the time he got his weapon out of the window and aimed at the Buick, the latter was driving into the alley. At the same time, I could hear the rumble of several engines starting.

I sprinted to my motorcycle. If they were leaving, I figured, their machine-gunner was on the other side of the block ready to leave. More importantly, if I didn’t hurry, they would leave me in the dust. I wasn’t about to let them disappear, not after the mayhem they had caused, not to mention shooting at NKVD officers and damaging property of the people of the Soviet Union. Due to my excitement, it took me three attempts to start my L-8. I heard a few more rifle shots coming from School street, followed by several bursts from a PPD-40 mixed with some pistol fire. As I turned the corner, I was relieved to see that both NKVD men were all right, one had taken a ricochet in his arm, but it hadn’t hit anything crucial. Approximately where the Buick had been less than a minute ago, another motorcycle I hadn’t seen before was on laying on the ground with a corpse next to it, as if the rider had ridden out from the alley onto School street, and the NKVD had shot him until he stopped moving. I had some doubts as to what this meant. Was this an innocent bystander who had ridden through the alley at the wrong time? Was it one of the terrorists who had rather stupidly decided to try and escape towards the gunfire? Was it one of the former occupants of number 10A who had managed to avoid or escape the raid and tried to make a break for it? Hard to know at a glance, which was all I had, before the NKVD officer with the submachine gun yelled halt. I slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop, turned around and showed my badge.

“Lieutenant Lyadov, NKVD Internal Security Leningrad office.”

“Sergeant Kvasov, NKVD Internal Security Kolpino office. If I may be so bold, I would advise against going that way sir. That bike is leaking gasoline, the smallest spark will set it alight.”

"Thank you Sergeant. The crime scene is in number 10A, please make sure no one touches it until my colleague, Inspector Ivars Rozitis arrives."

"Will do Lieutenant."

I opened up the throttle a little, before making a right onto the path to the left of number 12-14, thus avoiding the alley and the oil spill. I could hear the cars set off. Almost immediately, there was a problem. Upon coming out of the alley, the General's car turned right, while the Buick and the Ford made a quick left then right onto the dirt road we had arrived on. I made the split second decision to follow the latter two cars. However, once they reached Soviet avenue, the Buick turned right towards Kolpino, and the Ford went left towards Leningrad. I decided to follow the Ford, as all of the remaining American operators were in it, while the Buick was filled with Naval Infantry cadets. Long before we reached Leningrad itself, the Ford passed a lorry and immediately made a sharp right. I had to slam on the brakes not to overshoot the turn onto another little-used dirt road. My motorcycle struggled in the mud, more so than the Ford, as we moved towards the Neva. I followed them over a crest, only to be greeted by submachine-gunfire. The bullets went into the mud right in front of me. They weren't shooting directly at me, yet, so I drifted to a stop as quickly as the mud would allow, before driving into the bushes to my right. I cautiously looked to see where the shots had come from.

The Ford was parked on an old rotting wooden jetty, with all four doors, and the boot wide open. One operator was looking straight at me, tomy-gun in hand, daring me to come closer, to give him an excuse to shoot me, while the others were rapidly transferring their weapons onto a waiting boat. It was that same boat that had picked up Mr. 'James Miller' from the golf course a few days ago. Barely two minutes later, they all jumped into the waiting boat, the last man throwing a grenade into the Ford V8 as the boat cast off, speeding off towards Leningrad.

I struggled to get my motorcycle out from behind the bush. It took me five minutes to get it started, and I was lucky that it hadn't fallen over. Once I struggled my way out of the mud and onto the main road, I took full advantage of the powerful L-8 to return to 'Metallostroy' and the scene of the crime. I took a little detour to avoid the dirt road, arriving from Pioneer street. I made a left onto School street before parking my trusty steed to the left of number 14. I walked into the alley, and found a black GAZ M1 with a red pinstripe. For a second I thought it was the Major's car, until I noticed the NKVD license plate, and the different front end. As I was looking at the car, I heard a familiar voice coming from a broken window on the first floor of number 10A.

"Lyadov. Get up here!' shouted Inspector Rozïtis. I ran around the side of the building, before I could reach the door, I had to carefully walk around two dead men.Both were armed with a pistol. to the door, which was hanging off it's hinges. The Inspector was coming down the stairs, so I decided to have a look around on the ground floor, careful not to step on or in anything that could be pertinent to the investigation. The forensics team hadn't arrived yet. In the apartment to the left were three dead bodies, one man in the kitchen, a man and a woman in the living room facing the courtyard, all three had a pistol, and on the table in the living room there was an MP-40, which the man had clearly tried to get to before he was gunned down. The apartment to the right of the front door had only one corpse, a middle aged woman with an MP-35.

Upstairs, there were a lot more bullet impacts as large-calibre bullets had torn through walls and furniture at head hight. The flat on the left had only one dead body, taken out by a 7.62/54mm cartridge to the skull. In the top right apartment were a further four bodies, all men in civilian clothes, all armed with pistols, or so it seemed. A chair was lying in the middle of the kitchen, and one of the bodies looked as if the man had been sitting on the chair, then shot, he had a single pistol caliber hole in the back of the head, then the chair was knocked over and his lifeless body with it. The detective pointed out rope-burn on his wrists, suggesting that he had been tied to the chair, and probably still had been at the moment he had been shot.

"So this whole thing was about executing this one man? Why then tie him to a chair first? I don't see any signs of torture."

“I don't think they wanted to kill him. However, now that you've seen the results, why don't you walk me through what you saw, I do believe you were the only witness.”

We spent fifteen minutes waking around the courtyard and the several buildings that were involved as I went through the timeline in detail. Then the detective started whistling Stravinsky’s violin concerto in D as he walked from number 8 to number 10A following the route of one of the Soviet-American teams during the Toccata, reaching the destroyed door about halfway through the movement. He then took his time examining the bodies on the ground floor, paying special attention to the teeth, as well as the contents of the cupboards. As the movement ended, he found a secret hiding place with lots of documents. He took them all out, and humming the start of the second movement, he made his way upstairs. There he spread them out on a large table before going to examine the bullet holes in the walls and furniture, as well as taking another look at the corpses, turning around them, and ascertaining the angle of the shots that took them down. As he started humming the second Aria, he sat down at the table, and started reading and moving the documents around. They were mostly written in German, with some in English, another pile of documents which had already been on the table was in Russian. However, I couldn’t make much sense out of them as they used coded language that seemed very much like a nonsensical list of words without any punctuation. Once the end of the Concerto was reached, he sat there in silence for several minutes.

By this time, the forensics team were starting to arrive, with lots of reinforcements. When the factory workers would return from the morning shift, they would find the entire block, the alley and all three streets around it were off limits. An entire platoon of NKVD border guards were guarding the perimeter and School street had been turned into a car-park for NKVD vehicles, GAZ M1’s, GAZ A’s, various motorcycles, and some Major of State Security (Colonel)’s imposing Zis-101.

The inspector broke the silence as we could hear the first forensics specialists start to work downstairs. He sounded worried.

“Lyadov. What exactly did you tell Bekhterev?”

“I told him what I told you, well an abridged version, but all the key points were there.”

“Damn you Lieutenant, you and your exemplary conduct. Don’t you get it, the Major is nigh untouchable. They’re going to want to bury this whole affair, and I’m not sure they won’t bury you with it. You might well be too honest for the NKVD. Such a shame. The sad part is that I’ve actually grown to appreciate you.”

I wanted to respond, but then the door swung open, and there was Captain Bekhterev, with a submachine-gun in each hand, he handed me a PPD-40, and handed a US Lend-Lease Thompson M1928 to the Inspector. He was then followed by a man in a coal grey suit covered by long grey trench coat who was introduced by the Captain as Major of State Security (Colonel) Borisov. We both stood at attention, and then he started talking:

“Congratulations gentlemen, looks like a very successful raid. An entire nest of Axis spies exterminated, and all it cost us is two Naval Infantry cadets in the hospital with minor bullet wounds. That, and a Stalinka that needs some serious renovations.”

The inspector was quick with his response: “Thank you sir.”

“Credit where credit is due inspector. But what about this spate of murders? That’s your case, right?”

“Major, sir, if I may attract your attention to the documents laid out on the table. These were all found inside this safe house. We haven’t been able to crack the code of the Russian documents, but the ones in German and English are perfectly understandable. This dossier in English is about a Russian female operative. It’s not a full description, more like a resumé of the OSS file on her. It details code names and previous affiliations, as well as mentioning an interrogation that happened in Stockholm earlier this year, though it doesn’t specify what was said or what information was obtained during the course of it. Here, at the end there is a stamp that says ‘DECEASED’.

Now, you may ask, how is that relevant to this case? Well, as you can see, the names the murderer used on the notes he pinned to his victims correspond with this female agent’s code-names. There is even more, only the names that were on the notes have been underlined, as if someone was keeping track of which names had and hadn’t been used yet. Considering that the content of the notes was a closely guarded secret between myself, Lt. Lyadov, and his immediate superiors, this means that, if there are multiple copies of this document, this is the one the murderer was using.”

“Somewhat circumstantial, but it seems to check out. Do we know for sure who the murderer is, and did we get him?”

“Yes sir, we did, but there has been a bit of an accident. You see sir,. . .”
He walked over to the man next to the chair.

“… this is the murderer.” He did have the right build to be the murderer, it fit perfectly with the forensics on the various murders. I spent so much time agonising on those reports that I knew by heart.

Borisov looked at him rather closely: “It looks like he was tied to that chair, and then later executed. Why was he killed, if you had already captured him?”

Captain Bekhterev was cool as a cucumber in the face of Rozïtis’ rewriting of recent history, as if he had been through this before.

The Inspector hesitated a little before answering the question:
“Well, sir, as you very well know, with these matters, time is of the essence. When I received the tip that the murderer was likely in this building, I had to get here fast, as these types of spies and assassins have a habit of not sitting still. With my office in the Naval Academy, I called Captain Bekhterev to get reinforcements, as myself and Lyadov were hardly going to cut it. But, most his men were already engaged in another operation in Zelenogorsk, and getting sufficient manpower from other NKVD units would have taken too much time.”

Captain Bekhterev budded in: “You will remember, Major that we were acting on a tip from your office, which led to the capture of a key Slovakian operative, code-name ‘Jozef Hora’.”

Rozïtis took centre stage once more:

“I thus took the initiative to ask Major Goleniewsky, a decorated soldier and instructor at the Naval Academy if she could assist us, along with a few of her better cadets, to make up the numbers and get some military guidance. I’m just a policeman after all, and my tip-off included a warning that this place was filled with armed spies and criminals.

As you can see, this worked out, following a plan masterminded by the Major, we managed to raid the place very efficiently, with minimal casualties, on our side that is, and we caught one suspect alive. It went wrong during the interrogation as the man kept taunting the Naval Infantry cadets about the way he so easily, so brutally, killed cadet Igor Kalyagin. he then proceeded to make fun of their wounded comrades in arms, saying they were clearly incompetent, and that they weren’t worthy of becoming officers. One of the cadets, I would later find out he had been a close friend of Kalyagin, snapped and put a bullet in the murderer’s head with his Makarov.”

“But you got a confession before the man was shot, right?” - it wasn’t so much a question as it was a suggestion.

“Yes sir. The man described the exact model of the knife he used, another confidential detail, and openly boasted about killing Kalyagin. I suspect he wanted to die rather than end up in NKVD captivity. Moreover, we have these documents in German which trace the various target’s movements. Clearly, I got lucky, as it seems I was about to be the next victim. Here in the margin, there is a note about that ‘cursed’ Lieutenant Lyadov, who was always on my tails, making a murder pretty hard to pull of without being seen. I guess I have you to thank for my life.”
- He looked at me. All I could muster was an awkward smile.

“Great job, Inspector, and you Lieutenant. You wrapped this one up in a nice bow on top. Case closed. Truly impressive. You will both be getting a commendation, and if you play your cards right, there might be a promotion in it.”

That was that. We finished inventorying the evidence, loaded it all into the Inspector’s car, which had been driven over by one of Captain Bekhterev’s men, and the detective went back to the Naval Academy to write his final report on the case. I told him I would stay behind to help with the clean-up but this was just a pretext for me to follow him once more. By 7pm, he had finished his report, put all of his effects, and all of the evidence from our temporary office in his little car, and drove to the Big House (NKVD HQ), where he dropped off all the case files, the evidence, and his report. Captain Bekhterev walked him back to his car, all smiles, congratulating him.

Then, he drove his little car, slowly but smoothly, as usual, down to Decembrists’ Street, right by the Kirov Theatre. He got out of his car, and an elegant brown-haired woman in her early thirties came running out of number 54, and across the street towards him. They embraced, and shared a brief kiss before going inside what I presume to be her little apartment, his arm on her lower back, hers around his shoulders. They looked genuinely happy, like an long time couple who reunite after being apart for several weeks. A quick search in the NKVD files yielded only a rather brief entry for Tatiana Vershinin. She’s a 32 year old violinist who studied at the Leningrad Conservatory. She never had much of a soloist career, but was employed for years in the Latvian Radio Centre Orchestra under Jānis Mediņš. For the last two months, she has been employed as the 2nd chair second violin at the Kirov Orchestra.

I guess that explains why Ivars Rozïtis’ head is always filled with violin music, though it still doesn’t explain how the NKVD never found out about his love affair with the violinist.

Anyhow, with Rozïtis definitely not meeting with ‘his Irina’, I went to look for the Major, only to find her in a similar state of amorous bliss with Starshina Kharkov, on the grounds of the Naval Academy, no less. It seems like their relationship was all a farce after all.

I returned to see Captain Bekhterev. When I told him about the discrepancies between the detective’s story and what I had seen with my own eyes, he said:

“You would do best to forget those hallucinations of yours. Major Goleniewsky is nothing but an innocent bystander who was suspected for being at the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all. Any similarity between her and this female spy in that OSS file is purely coincidental. As for American Generals and soldiers operating on our own soil. Clearly that can only be a total fabrication. I’m disappointed, Lyadov, that you would even imagine that the NKVD would allow such a brazen violation of our sovereignty to go unchallenged, if it were to ever happen.”

Pointing at Rozïtis’ report.

“This is what happened Lieutenant. You better get used to it.”

I’m sure you can understand, Commisioner of State Security (3rd Rank) Kubatin, why I address my final report to you directly. Something is rotten in the NKVD when it allows a Naval Infantry Major to get away with enlisting the help of American commando’s and spies to play vigilante. I’m unsure of Major Borisov’s involvement in this cover-up, though it seems likely based on the tone of his conversation with the detective. It pains me to write this, as I have grown to appreciate the man, but Inspector Rozïtis has been complicit in this charade for weeks now, whether to protect ‘his Irina’, or for some other obscure reason. If I may be so bold, I would recommend strong disciplinary sanctions for Major Borisov, Inspector Rozïtis, and Major Goleniewsky. I believe Captain Bekhterev should be lighter as his biggest flaw, if you can call it that, has been his blind loyalty to a direct superior.

While I realise that even writing this report verges on insubordination, the contents are so alarming, that my only option to resolve this was to circumvent the chain of command.

I hope for your clemency and understanding,

Lieutenant Lyadov, servant to the people of the Soviet Union and the NKVD.

'Shest' had scribbled a few sentences on the back of the page:

Spoiler: 'Shest's note

Borisov's decision to buy Rozïtis' story was his own. He did not run it up the chain of command, and there was no instruction that might be traced. The only witness of the interaction and of the actual events is Lt. Lyadov. This makes him a massive liability. His report was intercepted when Comissioner Kubatin sent it to his superiors in Moscow, it never arrived in their hands, but once we've decided what to do about this situation, they will be getting a slightly different report, which will be tailored to lead to the right outcome for the Secret Commitee.
The tip about Slovakian agent 'Jozef Hora' was phoned in to Borisov by 'Odinatsat' five minutes before she left the Naval Academy to go to Metallostroy. It proved a more than decent distraction. You will remember she has a loose working relationship with Borisov which consists in her occasionally providing him intelligence on foreign spies in Leningrad in exchange for Borisov covering up the 'Ocean Senior' debacle.

As much as the security situation may make this tricky, we need to get 'Odinatsat's side of this story. Was this entire operation in Metallostroy a frame job? Did they really kill the murderer, and who pulled that trigger? Just how deep runs her newfound partnership with General Markkur and the OSS? Those, and many more questions are sure to keep me awake at night for the next few days.

I'll simply conclude by saying that I hope this murder spree is over, and that we might simply go back to fighting and winning the titanic struggle that is our Great Patriotic War.

Greetings,

'Odin'

 

[roverS3]

I’ve never known him to need either excuse or justification to do so!

Neither have I. Though that reminds me that I need to check TBE for a new update after I finish catching up on the HOI3 stuff I missed.

Certain standards must be maintained, lest civilisation falls to the barbarians.

Yes, but also, rules are there to be broken. Sometimes.

And yet, no update from you for a top of page billing...

You could have just left the top of the page open for a month, and we would all have enjoyed this narrative update being posted in it's rightful place. But no, the opportunity to take a stab at @El Pip was to good to pass up... I get it, really I do, because then El Pip comes up with this Gem:

But I was top of the page. And as Louis XIV would doubtless have said in these circumstances;

L'AAR c'est moi.

To which I must respond that running an AAR isn't that dissimilar to running an absolutist monarchy. All that is needed for that to become a reality is that a Pipette ends up taking over the reins of TBE in the year 2063. At which point the big war still won't have started in that universe...

I do prefer my Bourbon from the Kentucky and Irish regions. Though I have recently been introduced to Aberlour 12year, and that will soon grace my alcohol shelf...

I'm somewhat familiar with Whisky and Rum, but as I've never even tried Bourbon,I have nothing to add other than that a 12year old of a type of alcohol similar to Whisky sounds pretty good.

Curse you, I had a very clever Quote-Reply planned to steal the top of this page and you came along with your typical American brashness and mucking-about-ness *kicks flag avatar under nearby furniture* and ruined everything.

Anyways I hope our generous authAAR will nevertheless choose to grace us with an update in spite of your haughty tomfoolery never mind my own plans to ruin everything...

It took a while, but I have deemed it finally suitable to grace you illustrious gentlemen, and ladies, with an update. Your own brand of tomfoolery will have to wait for the next top of the page billing I'm afraid.

All joking aside, there were a few loose ends to deal with, and I also spilled beer on my lap-top, which is out of character for me as I usually take good care of my electronics.
I guess that's what happens when you try to fully participate in a family vacation while also working on a big narrative AAR update, and preparing those last few exams. You open up the laptop in the living room of a small rented vacation home after a tiring but fun day because you're feeling inspired. Someone opens up a few beers and pours you one, and before you know it the strict separation that usually exists between 'drinking space' and 'computer space' starts to disappear. Add in my clumsy-ness, and the disaster was entirely predictable. My files were backed up, and my trusty laptop has made a full recovery, though the surgery did lead to an identity change as it now sports a QWERTY keyboard rather than the AZERTY one that was drowned in beer. The worst part of the story is, of course, the waste of good beer. I estimate at least 5 centi-litres of delicious 'Tripel LeFort' were lost in the accident.

 

[Wraith11B]

Aberlour is a brand of (as @El Pip would say) "proper" Scotch whisky. It's extremely good,. doesn't need any water to open up the flavor...

 

[roverS3]

Aberlour is a brand of (as @El Pip would say) "proper" Scotch whisky. It's extremely good,. doesn't need any water to open up the flavor...

Water or ice with Whisky is sacrilege and a waste of good Scotch. Now I'm going to have to try Aberlour, next time I treat myself to a glass of Whisky.

 

[Wraith11B]

Water or ice with Whisky is sacrilege and a waste of good Scotch. Now I'm going to have to try Aberlour, next time I treat myself to a glass of Whisky.

From the horse's mouth (ie, a Scotsman), the water addition is only a couple drops, and only for the brands that are of the higher ABVs (the 100-120+ Proofs).

 

[RustyHunter]

That was a really great update! I'm impressed by all the historical details you fit in, together with the culmination of the plot. I have to say Lyadov has grown on me (never thought I'd root for an NKVD agent), so I hope the Committee doesn't 'tie up loose ends' violently.

 

[Bullfilter]

Well, that was a bumper edition to return with! It took me a few sessions to read and the detail was amazing.

It seems we’re almost to the epilogue stage of this story arc, though it’s not quite as wrapped up with a bow on top as the Major pretended.

Anyway, I had always suspected those damned Nazis as the brutal perpetrators, but there are still some loose ends to be tied up and potential plots twists to be revealed, I suspect.

Just how deep runs her newfound partnership with General Markkur and the OSS?

That Odin needs to ask this question is a bit of a worry and indicates even more freelancing by 11 than suspected.

I'll simply conclude by saying that I hope this murder spree is over, and that we might simply go back to fighting and winning the titanic struggle that is our Great Patriotic War.

A good point. All the clandestine stuff is exciting and may have some incidental bearing on the greater conflict, but in the end the GPW will be decided by GermanArmy Groups and Soviet Shock Armies committing their industrial scale human destruction, of course.

But 11 has more to say and do, no doubt. And too close an association with the Americans could become a definite liability in the future: there may be a Secret Committee in this timeline, but it’s still Stalin’s Russia!

 

[El Pip]

This is a deeply complicated mess, even by the standards of international espionage and communist bureaucracy. I understand the concern about Lt Lyadov (a man who is unlikely to live long in any event) but as others have said Odinstat freelancing with the Americans is the bigger concern. It's not like the Soviet Union is short on henchmen who will massacre whoever they are told to, she had no need to drag in naval recruits let alone foreign subversives. Merely getting results is no excuse for treason.

Drag Odinstat in, get Lt Lyadov to carry out the interrogation, then give both of them the 9mm good news and bury them both in an unmarked grave in the woods. This is the Soviet Way.

On a more cheerful note the little background intermissions bits were wonderful and led me to discovering the concept of the Firebike. Which is indeed trying to use a motorcycle as a fire engine, a Soviet idea that was sadly ahead of it's time.

 

[roverS3]

It seems we’re almost to the epilogue stage of this story arc, though it’s not quite as wrapped up with a bow on top as the Major pretended.

I had always suspected those damned Nazis as the brutal perpetrators, but there are still some loose ends to be tied up and potential plots twists to be revealed, I suspect.

There do remain some tricky questions, like how the Germans got their hands on those highly classified OSS documents. And of course, what the fallout of all of this is going to be.

That Odin needs to ask this question is a bit of a worry and indicates even more freelancing by 11 than suspected.

This is a deeply complicated mess, even by the standards of international espionage and communist bureaucracy. I understand the concern about Lt Lyadov (a man who is unlikely to live long in any event) but as others have said Odinstat freelancing with the Americans is the bigger concern. It's not like the Soviet Union is short on henchmen who will massacre whoever they are told to, she had no need to drag in naval recruits let alone foreign subversives. Merely getting results is no excuse for treason.

It's definitely a mess. Odinatsat's freelancing is a serious problem, she better have some really good reasons for working with Americans to this extent. Some kind of interrogation is now unavoidable to clean this mess up, and some drastic measures will have to be taken one way or another.

I have to say Lyadov has grown on me (never thought I'd root for an NKVD agent), so I hope the Committee doesn't 'tie up loose ends' violently.

Drag Odinstat in, get Lt Lyadov to carry out the interrogation, then give both of them the 9mm good news and bury them both in an unmarked grave in the woods. This is the Soviet Way.

Looks like there is some serious disagreement amongst the external advisors on how to handle Lyadov (and XI).

Well, that was a bumper edition to return with! It took me a few sessions to read and the detail was amazing.

That was a really great update! I'm impressed by all the historical details you fit in, together with the culmination of the plot.

On a more cheerful note the little background intermissions bits were wonderful and led me to discovering the concept of the Firebike. Which is indeed trying to use a motorcycle as a fire engine, a Soviet idea that was sadly ahead of it's time.

I'm glad the background detail I've included is appreciated, and especially that it has lead you to this beautiful discovery.
That is a beautiful concept. Like many soviet ideas, I'm afraid it's time never came... Maybe a new version could be developed, the fire-fighting electric cargo-bike... At least when the battery catches fire, there's a water tank above it. Of course water doesn't help where Lithium fires are concerned, but that kind of minor detail wouldn't stop a modern day communist utopia.

This last update was indeed quite a bit longer, and took longer to write, than even I anticipated, and as @Bullfilter alluded to, there is aned for at least one epilogue to this mess. Stay tuned for the next instalment, in a week or two. It should be a shorter one with some diplomatic news and some narrative. I've got quite a few irons in the fire right now, so it might still be delayed further still. Have a nice week and don't forget to vote in the The 2021 Yearly AARland Year-end AwAARds , only one more week.

 

[El Pip]

That is a beautiful concept. Like many soviet ideas, I'm afraid it's time never came... Maybe a new version could be developed, the fire-fighting electric cargo-bike... At least when the battery catches fire, there's a water tank above it. Of course water doesn't help where Lithium fires are concerned, but that kind of minor detail wouldn't stop a modern day communist utopia.

The fire bike is a dream that will not die. It appears many people, some of them not even communist, have tried it - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fire_bike

Admittedly everyone on that list appears to have abandoned the idea after trials, perhaps their faith in the dialectic was not strong enough? In any event the gauntlet has been picked up by Taiwan where the very thing you predict has been designed, but not actually built because they aren't crazy. But it does look cool;

A

 

[RustyHunter]

Drag Odinstat in, get Lt Lyadov to carry out the interrogation, then give both of them the 9mm good news and bury them both in an unmarked grave in the woods. This is the Soviet Way.

Looks like there is some serious disagreement amongst the external advisors on how to handle Lyadov (and XI).

El Pip's solution is definitely the Soviet solution, but I enjoyed how you wrote Lyadov and want to see more of him. His problem is he's too good of a communist, so it seems like a waste to get rid of him.

 

[nuclearslurpee]

Not that I like to be one to complain, particularly when running a Soviet AAR is already fraught with moral conundrums at present, but I do want to note that I am not a fan of this new approach of enclosing reports from Lyadov or etc. in quote blocks. The text is harder to read and inconvenient, at best, to quote for a reply - failings I will note of the forum software writers, and thus Paradox who paid them, and not any failure of the authAAR himself who of course has my utmost respect.

I notice that while Inspector Rozitis is the presumed musical aficionado, our trusty Lt. Lyadov has clearly picked up a few more things if he is now even reporting opus numbers in his paperwork.

Eyestrain aside, a thrilling conclusion(?) to this murder mystery, perhaps a bit more action than was anticipated even. Poor Lt. Lyadov, however, it seems that he will soon suffer from a tragic accident in a dark alley...

As 'Odin' says, the big loose end here is Odinatsat as her side of the story remains untold yet clearly some important pieces of the picture are contained therein. Personally I also wonder about this Rozitis fellow, his involvement in this whole chain of events seems more than just a man helping out 'his Irina' to kill her enemy and I suspect a greater degree of intentional complicity from the beginning may yet be revealed. All in due time, of course, if at all.

You could have just left the top of the page open for a month, and we would all have enjoyed this narrative update being posted in it's rightful place. But no, the opportunity to take a stab at @El Pip was to good to pass up... I get it, really I do, because then El Pip comes up with this Gem:

In fairness, taking stabs at El Pip is even better than taking stabs at TBC, if only because the latter is so easy to stab at.

Water or ice with Whisky is sacrilege and a waste of good Scotch.

I am glad there is at least one other sensible man in this dark world we live in.

On a more cheerful note the little background intermissions bits were wonderful and led me to discovering the concept of the Firebike. Which is indeed trying to use a motorcycle as a fire engine, a Soviet idea that was sadly ahead of it's time.

About the only thing it would ever get ahead of, I suspect.

It's definitely a mess. Odinatsat's freelancing is a serious problem, she better have some really good reasons for working with Americans to this extent. Some kind of interrogation is now unavoidable to clean this mess up, and some drastic measures will have to be taken one way or another.

I imagine this interrogation will progress - and end - rather like a Tarantino movie, if I had to venture a guess.

 

[Finshades]

I have to concur with the other esteemed external members - what a mess! 11 and Lyadov, and possibly Rozitis, are all now loose ends that must somehow be addressed, and it's no less concerning that we seem to have Allied intelligence running operations on our turf! I suspect there will be more than a few unmarked graves by the time we can really put this whole affair behind us...

As a side note, it's rather curious the Germans sink this many resources into a roundabout effort to pursue a personal vendetta, when the war seems to be going, shall we say, variably for them. Clearly a direct action team deep in Soviet territory could pursue goals that would be much more significant for the war effort. But more crucially, what of those Russian documents found in their safehouse?

 

[roverS3]

Admittedly everyone on that list appears to have abandoned the idea after trials, perhaps their faith in the dialectic was not strong enough? In any event the gauntlet has been picked up by Taiwan where the very thing you predict has been designed, but not actually built because they aren't crazy. But it does look cool;

Looking cool is definitely a big factor in crazy ideas' refusal to die out.

El Pip's solution is definitely the Soviet solution, but I enjoyed how you wrote Lyadov and want to see more of him. His problem is he's too good of a communist, so it seems like a waste to get rid of him.

Whichever solution will be presented, it will be Soviet, I made sure of that.

Not that I like to be one to complain, particularly when running a Soviet AAR is already fraught with moral conundrums at present, but I do want to note that I am not a fan of this new approach of enclosing reports from Lyadov or etc. in quote blocks. The text is harder to read and inconvenient, at best, to quote for a reply - failings I will note of the forum software writers, and thus Paradox who paid them, and not any failure of the authAAR himself who of course has my utmost respect.

It seems the forum has foiled my good intentions once again. Having myself reverted to the 'Classic' style I did not notice that text in quote blocks makes it hard to read in the standard colour scheme. ALso note that the background colours when you're writing a post are not exactly the same as those once it has been posted. My intention was to reduce the readsAAR's scrolling time and to make it easier to break reading those monster updates into smaller bits. I will now refrain from using quote blocks to structure things in an effort to improve the legibility of the text.

I notice that while Inspector Rozitis is the presumed musical aficionado, our trusty Lt. Lyadov has clearly picked up a few more things if he is now even reporting opus numbers in his paperwork.

Eyestrain aside, a thrilling conclusion(?) to this murder mystery, perhaps a bit more action than was anticipated even. Poor Lt. Lyadov, however, it seems that he will soon suffer from a tragic accident in a dark alley...

One expects that there might have been quite a few conversations about music during stake-outs, lunch breaks, etc. While Lyadov did not benefit from a formal music education, he has been an avid concertgoer since he arrived in Leningrad for his NKVD training, and probably even before.

As 'Odin' says, the big loose end here is Odinatsat as her side of the story remains untold yet clearly some important pieces of the picture are contained therein. Personally I also wonder about this Rozitis fellow, his involvement in this whole chain of events seems more than just a man helping out 'his Irina' to kill her enemy and I suspect a greater degree of intentional complicity from the beginning may yet be revealed. All in due time, of course, if at all.

We desperately need XI's side of the story, because right now, it looks like she committed treason to achieve her aims, and if we go off Lyadov's reports, it doesn't seem like a big deal to her. Does her loyalty lie with the Soviet Union, or is she only loyal to her own self-interest?

I imagine this interrogation will progress - and end - rather like a Tarantino movie, if I had to venture a guess.

No need to wait much longer, the next update will be out tonight.

As a side note, it's rather curious the Germans sink this many resources into a roundabout effort to pursue a personal vendetta, when the war seems to be going, shall we say, variably for them. Clearly a direct action team deep in Soviet territory could pursue goals that would be much more significant for the war effort. But more crucially, what of those Russian documents found in their safehouse?

These are good questions. It is indeed curious, some answers to be provided in a few hours.

My apologies for the long wait. I was in a pretty violent traffic accident about a month ago. I sustained only minor damage considering the forces involved; A broken toe, some torn muscles, and a whole lot of bruises, mostly on my legs. My bicycle was basically totaled, I was exhausted for a week, and definitely a bit less productive for the last few weeks. I had to reorganise my movements to use public transit etc. and I've been spending way too much time dealing with insurance.
Just in case any of you ever finds themselves flying over a car following a frontal crash, the trick seems to be to break the fall with your feet and legs (and especially that one big toe...), just enough that you can transition into a controlled sideways roll over the ellbow, tucking in your hands and head... Needless to say: Do not try this at home.
As the insurance claims are still ongoing, I won't go into detail on how the crash happened on the off-chance that the counterparty's insurance company reads this...

 

[Bullfilter]

Oh heavens above! That must have been very traumatic, though I’m glad the physical injuries were not too severe. Best of luck with the insurance process and hope that doesn’t drag on. In terms of the landing you described, it sounds like a second career in acrobatics, as a stuntman or paratrooper seems in order!

Looking forward to where RL and nervous energy levels allow you to get Odin, 11 et al going again, but till then I’ll try sending positive energy your way.

 

[roverS3]

22nd of October 1942, Somewhere outside of Volchov, 2,2 °C, 4 pm Moscow Time

I met up with ‘Shest’ last night at the Vologda Railway station, he had just gotten off the express from Moskva. We shared a cabin on the night train to Volchov. Of course, we were thoroughly disguised to fit in with the mix of factory workers, NKVD troops, apparatchiks, and Red Army and Red Navy officers. ‘Shest’ played the part of a riveter, and I was a welder. Our luggage was filled with alternative identities.

Volchov railway Station in the 1860s. The station building was still the same in the 1940s, but the rest of the town industrialised rapidly
and Volchov, located on a critical railway junction, became a large hub for railfreight. (The freight yard is behind the camera)​

Blending in with the morning crowd, we walked into the station building to get some breakfast. The trip with ‘Shest’ really had one objective, to resolve the situation in Leningrad without being seen in the city. I did quickly call in to the Secret Committee’s war room to get the latest news from the front before joining ‘Shest’ for breakfast at his safe house. As we ate, he brought me up to date on the situation in Leningrad.

“Lt. Lyadov is being placed on temporary leave by the NKVD. Officially while allegations of insubordination are investigated, unofficially, while Commissioner Kubatin waits for a response from Lubyanka (NKGB HQ) on how to handle the situation.

Major Goleniewsky was also placed on temporary leave for ‘not following proper procedure and organising training activities outside of the chain of command’. Colonel Turgenev also scheduled a meeting with Major of State Security Borisov, presumably to tell him he’s demoting Goleniewsky to Lieutenant, whether the NKVD likes it or not.

Inspector Rozïtis requested a week of leave, which was granted. The US Minister Plenipotentiary has also been publicly praising the detective, and he hinted that he should be getting some kind of award or decoration for solving this tricky case so quickly. In British and American newspapers he is celebrated as the genius detective who brought the German killers of a distinguished US officer, a British diplomat, and some other people, to Justice. Of course, there was no word on what exactly Captain Johnson or Cultural Attaché Herbert Smith were doing in the Soviet Union. The British consulate joined the chorus, officially thanking the Leningrad NKVD, and Inspector Roziïtis for the quick resolution of the case.

General Markkur is still at the US Consulate, though there is no sign of his little blue-green men. They are probably laying low somewhere in the Leningrad area, waiting for some kind of ride home. Lyadov’s descriptions of the OSS goons have been circulated throughout the Leningrad NKVD with the vague mention that they are wanted for anti-Soviet activities, the worst, and least well-defined accusation in the NKVD arsenal. General Markkur remains out of the NKVD’s grasp thanks to his diplomatic immunity.”

We had an hour to go over the plan in detail, a plan that was already in motion. I had some doubts, but ’Shest’ was confident:

‘Odin’: “You’re sure this is going to work? That she’ll go along with this?”

‘Shest’: “She knows the consequences if she doesn’t.”

O: “And Lyadov. He’s not going to try something clever, is he?”

S: “His concerns have been brushed aside by the Leningrad NKVD and his future is uncertain. I’m sure he’s jumped at the chance of potentially bringing Major Goleniewsky, and all those who swept her actions under the rug, to some kind of reckoning, even if the methods utilised may seem somewhat unorthodox.”

Padt of a schematic of the Soviet Railway network in 1941. Leningrad, Vologda, and Volchov are marked in blue.
​

Dressed as railway workers we walked the long way around to the rail yard next to the Station, there we found an enclosed ZiS-5 lorry. ‘Shest’ had the key. He jumped behind the wheel as I jumped into the passenger seat. The rail yard was busy, with personnel, vehicles, and wagons moving around at a frantic pace. We crossed a few tracks before turning down an access ‘road’, well it was more of a dirt track between two siding tracks. To our left were multiple siding tracks, all filled with freight cars, the ones to our right, often used for freight trains to bypass the passenger station, were empty. We moved at a leisurely pace and had, made it barely 20 meters down the ‘road’, when, at exactly 10:23, a freight train rolled into view on the track to our right, about five-hundred meters in front of us, but closing rather rapidly. The massive locomotive bellowed smoke as it slowed down. A look into the rearview mirror confirmed that the signal at the end of the siding was indicating the train had to stop. ‘Shest’ continued driving slowly, until the locomotive had crawled past us, hiding us from view. He floored the accelerator as he counted the wagons, then about a hundred-fifty meters further, he slammed on the brakes, coming to a stop right next to a reddish brown 20 tonne boxcar close to the rear of the train. ‘Shest’ jumped out, shouting:

S: “Get in the driver’s seat and keep the engine running.”

I shuffled over and made sure that the four-cylinder engine continued running smoothly, well as smoothly as such a rudimentary engine can run.

“Shest” climbed into the bed of the lorry, and he quickly opened up part of the sidewall of the enclosed cargo compartment, on the right hand side. It had clearly been modified for that part to fold outwards. Then, he knocked three times on the sliding door of the boxcar, waited briefly for a response, before pulling open said sliding door with his soot covered face turned away from it. Two figures jumped from the boxcar, into the lorry’s enclosed cargo compartment. ’Shest’ closed the secret door in the side of the lorry, quickly fastened it. He then closed the sliding door of the boxcar and hopped back into the cabin on the passenger side. Even before he was in his seat, he told me,in no uncertainterms: “Floor it!”

The ZiS-5 'breadvan' (or boxtruck for the yanks).​

I floored it, and shortly before we reached the end of the train, he gestured for me to slow back down. ‘Shest’ looked at his watch and smiled. Behind us, I could hear the train slowly pulling away. The extraction had happened without a hitch, in just a few minutes. To the casual observer, the lorry had simply passed behind the stationary train at a leisurely pace. I drove out of the rail yard, through Volchov, and onto a relatively straight narrow but hardened road in a South-Westerly direction. After about half an hour, ’Shest’ indicated a earthen trail to our left. Luckily, the ground was dry, and I managed to wrangle the vehicle onto the treacherous path, into the forest. It took another ten minutes before we reached a rather large log cabin, surrounded by a metre-high barbed wire fence. Difficult to spot from a distance, but still enough to stop the curious from simply strolling in. There were about twenty guards in NKVD uniforms. I recognised them from the Garrison of our Vologda compound. As they saw the lorry, the guards at the gate, if you could call it that, opened the barrier and waved us through. Quickly, all of the ‘NKVD’ men pulled their scarves over their noses so only their eyes were visible.

An order was barked and by the time I brought the ZiS lorry to a stop next to the cabin’s front door, a squad of guards was ready to reception our guests. Myself and ‘Shest’ quickly made our way inside, up the steep stairs and into the tiny first floor room. Peeking through the window, we could see Major Goleniewsky and Lt. Lyadov hop out of the back of the lorry. Both were searched and their weapons were removed (multiple in the case of ‘Odinatsat’). There was no need for handcuffs as they had followed the instructions that lead them here willingly. Both of them were lead to a small room on the ground floor. We heard the guard explain things.

A traditional Russian log Cabin. This one is rather large and ornate, a hunting cabin for noblemen which predates the revolution.​

“Unless expressly stated otherwise, you will not leave this room. If you do so on your own initiative, you risk being arrested or shot on sight. You are here to show your loyalty and goodwill, following orders would be a good start. You will have an opportunity to eat at lunch time, which is in exactly one hour and seven minutes.”

The upstairs bedroom served as my and ‘Shest’s temporary office. It had a telephone, and eavesdropping equipment to listen in on the conversation between Lyadov and Goleniewsky.

Before we could start on the next step, the telephone rang. It was, of course, ‘Tri’.

“ ‘Odin’, you won’t believe this mess. So, remember how a bunch of US Commando’s landed in Bodo in Northern Norway, a few days ago?”

“Yes, I remember we sent two VDV Regiments to make sure they don’t take control of the main road to Narvik. The operation should have been concluded successfully yesterday. What about them?”

“It went off without a hitch, the US commando’s are now, in effect, confined to their beachhead by two Regiments of 1 VDD. They’ve already started moving back to Narvik.”

“So what is this about then, ’Tri’. Get to the point.”

“The commandoes must have radioed back that their path was blocked by stern Soviet Paratroopers, because the US Ambassador in Moscow sent an angry letter to the Kremlin, demanding that control of the Soviet-held areas of Norway be handed back to Norway’s ‘legitimate’ government, which is in exile in London. Threats were made about the US sending more Lend-Lease to the Brits, to our detriment. I don’t need to tell you our Comrade General Secretary is furious.”

“I’m getting furious right now, we don’t need this distraction, and we definitely don’t need a reduction in Lend-Lease aid.”

“Of course, I immediately got in contact with my people in London, and it turns out the Norwegian government in exile has been making secret overtures to us for a while. Our negotiators will now try to convince them that the Allies aren’t trustworthy Allies.

After all, the Norwegian Army held off the German invaders for over a year, and in all that time, they only got a single British Airborne Division to help them out. In comparison, the Soviet Union’s investment of resources into the liberation of Norway has been substantial. I’ll keep you up to date.”

And he hung up. Another diplomatic debacle, I just hoped the VDV wouldn’t end up in a fist fight with those American commando’s, or worse, while this is sorted out.

In the meantime, our two captives had started talking:

Lyadov: “What is this place? Why weren’t we invited or taken to Lubyanka?”

Goleniewsky: “You must be joking. That’s where everyone was expecting us to be brought. The Germans, the Americans, any corrupt NKVD people, who knows who else is watching that place.”

L: “There’s something else I don’t get Major, as a ‘former’ spy, perhaps you can enlighten me? Why was I ordered to only bring you in, and not Inspector Rozïtis?”

G: “Rozïtis is not a threat right now. Don’t you see, I’m the one who, allegedly, made the choice to work so closely with the OSS to solve this case. Ivars was just along for the ride. He’s not a spy, just a humble policeman.”

L: “I see. So, why then did I end up imprisoned in a cabin in the woods.”

G: “Don’t be so dramatic Vasily. We’re not being held captive, we are guests, at the pleasure of Soviet state. As long as we coöperate, and give the right answers, we’ll come out of this unscathed. If anything, I’m risking more than you are.”

L: “That brings up another issue. Why did you come with me so willingly?”

G: “Maybe because you asked nicely, Vasily, or maybe I felt a little bit bad at the thought that a man such as yourself could become collateral damage in our beloved Soviet Union.”

L: “I would appreciate it if you could stop calling me Vasily, I prefer Lieutenant, or Lyadov, in a professional setting.”

There was a muffled chuckle, probably from ‘Odinatsat’, and then they things went quiet for a little. ‘Shest’ went downstairs. He installed himself in a rather large armchair, which had been positioned facing the window of the living room / kitchen / dining room of the cabin. As soon as his diminutive frame had sunken from view, he called for the Lieutenant to be brought in. Lyadov took a seat on a wooden stool, and the guard left the room.

“Lieutenant Lyadov, NKVD. Nice to finally meet you. Forgive the theatrics, you do not have a need to know what I look like, so I would appreciate if you did not move or attempt to sneak a glimpse of my features.”

“I understand, sir. One can never be too careful.”

“To the matter at hand. I’m impressed by you Lyadov, truly. Your reports were detailed and rigorous and your conduct was in the strictest tradition of the NKVD. You rightly questioned the practices of Inspector Rozïtis and of Major Goleniewsky, and you should be rewarded for that.”

‘Shest’ stopped ever so briefly to catch his breath, and he was interrupted by another, younger voice.

“If I may be so indiscreet, who are you?”

“That is not important Lieutenant, all you should know is that I know everything about you, and that your life is in my hands. Now, first things first. You’ve been keeping track of Major Goleneiwsky and Inspector Rozïtis’ movements since they were both put on temporary leave?”

“Of course, Sir.”

“So what have they been doing?”

“Sir, during the day, the Major accompanied the Starshina to the Air base, where she helped him pulling apart and putting apart American-built aero-plane engines. Then, last night, they all met at the Philharmony. The Inspector was there, his beloved was in the orchestra, Major Goleniewsky had brought Starshina Kharkov along, and General Markkur was also there. The Leningrad Philharmonic played Shostakovich’s Seventh Symphony. Afterwards, the General made a show of thanking the Inspector for solving the murders before leaving in his car. The two couples then went to have a few drinks at a bar across the street. Seems like they were celebrating. A few Naval Infantry cadets also stumbled into the bar a few hours later, joining the party. The Goleniewsky, Kharkov, Rozïtis and Vershinin (the violinist) all went home at around two in the morning, the cadets continued their festivities. As I followed the Inspector home, and then went to check on the Major, I don’t know when the cadets left, or where they went, though I do know that they must have left before three thirty, as that is when I rode past the bar again, and they had closed shop.”

“So, when did you intercept the Major to get her onboard for this extraction?”

“Last night, at the concert, I managed to get a few seconds alone with her during the intermission. I wasn’t sure she got the message. You can imagine my relief when she showed up at the rendez-vous point this morning. If you don’t mind me asking. Why did we have to come all the way here? Wouldn’t it have been more discreet for yourself, or someone you trust to go down to Leningrad?”

“My apologies, Lieutenant, a man in my position has to take the necessary precautions to protect himself. You were very clear in your report about the fact that the State Security directorate’s Leningrad Division has been compromised. There is no point going into a lion’s den when you can avoid it. This was just the safest way for me to talk to you without any prying eyes, or listening ears. As much as this may look like a normal logging cabin, admittedly one on the larger side, these walls are actually soundproof, so the Major could not overhear our conversation, even if she tried.”

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, what will you do about all of this? Precaution or not, I can’t help but notice that, except for the Major, the other participants in this travesty are still roaming free in Leningrad.”

“This whole affair is over for you, Lieutenant. One way or another, order will be restored. People will be reassigned, neutralised, disappear. Everyone gets their due in the Soviet Union, exactly what that is is not something you need to know.”

“So I can just go back to work?”

“Not exactly. Even if your name hasn’t appeared in the national or international press, people in Leningrad know that you were involved. They will ask questions about it, and you will be tempted to answer them. We cannot take that risk. I’m sure you understand that the mere idea that American operators could be allowed to operate on Soviet Union soil with the implicit permission and coöperation of a member of our military is very dangerous. The idea that such an operation would be seamlessly covered up by opportunists within the NKVD, who would take all the credit in the same fell swoop is even worse. The NKVD thrives on it’s reputation of ruthless efficiency, ideological purity, and blind dedication to the state and the Communist Party - arguably the same thing-. Anything that threatens that reputation threatens the whole of the state security establishment.”

“So, what you’re saying is that, by doing the right thing, I’ve become a threat to state security? Does that mean, …” - He was starting to audibly panic, but ‘Shest’ cut him off.

“There is no need to worry Lieutenant. You did nothing wrong, and your dedication to the state is exemplary, to the point that you went around your chain of command when it acted, at least so it seemed, against the interest of the state. I’m sure that was very tense for you, wasn’t it?”

“Yes sir, it was very stressful, indeed.”

“For your own safety, I think you would benefit a lot from a quieter posting, far away from this mess. Considering you are free of romantic entanglements, and that you haven’t visited any member of your family for at least five years, I gather that you wouldn’t be particularly bothered by moving far away.”

“No, I suppose that wouldn’t bother me too much.” - He was a bit apprehensive, which is only natural, as Siberia does qualify as far away, after all.

“Perfect. You have requested reassignment and have been reassigned to Krasnodar. They were looking for a Senior Lieutenant of State Security with investigative experience, you will do very nicely. You will not be returning to Leningrad. We will send you on your way to Krasnodar where you will report to Major of State Security …” - there was a short pause as ’Shest ‘ checked his notes - “…Vovkodav. All of the documents are in the brown envelope in front of you, all they need is your signature. There is a letter in there to notify Captain Bekhterev of your reassignment, a commendation from Commissioner Kubatin, your contract of employment, and a map of Krasnodar, along with a telephone number you can call if you get lost on the way to your new office. Any questions?”

“Yes sir. I do not have many wordly possessions, but would it be at all possible for me to go back very briefly to get some items of particular sentimental value?”

“No, but if you make me a list of the items you wish to take with you, and their exact location, I’ll have them delivered to the Krasnodar NKVD office.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Of course, in the interest of state security: This meeting never happened, you were never here, I don’t exist, if I ever were to exist, we never met, this place doesn’t exist, and the relocation to Krasnodar was entirely on your own initiative. Understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“You will be dropped at a railway station just in time to take a Southbound train this afternoon under an assumed identity. All the required documents are in the white envelope, along with some petty cash. Do not share any of this information with the Major, or anyone else for that matter. Please returne to the room you were assigned upon arrival, and tell Major Goleneiwsky to come out. We have a lot to discuss.”

“Sir yes sir.”

I was about to make my way downstairs to confront ‘Odinatsat’, when the telephone on my desk rang again. It was ‘Tri’ once more. He was straight to the point:

“We made a deal with the Norwegians. Their government in exile gets to return to running Norway, well the part not in German hands, but Norway becomes a Federal Socialist Republic, severs ties with the Allies and joins the Comintern.

“Soviet Forces in Norway are to continue operating freely, with the Norwegian government having a say on civilian matters only as long as there are German troops in the country.”

“What about the king? Surely they want to keep Haakon VII, that beacon of Norwegian resistance?”

“That’s the only real concession we’ve had to make. Some creativity was needed here. Haakon VII was appointed for life in a mostly ceremonial role in the new administration. He will be the Chairman of the Norwegian Central Executive Committee, essentially the same role that Igor Kalinin has in the Soviet Union.

Upon his death, the Norwegian Politburo will vote his successor amongst his siblings, his children, and the children of his siblings. Of course, he can leave the name of the preferred successor in his will, but this isn’t binding.”

“Seems like a bit of a mess. A ceremonial king in all but name in a Federal Socialist Republic. How did the Americans take it?”

“Not very well. They’re confused, screaming betrayal while at the same time warning the Soviet Union not to topple this Norwegian government. Some American politicians are arguing that Norwegians are now ruled by a Norwegian government, even going as far as to tout this arrangement as proof that the Soviet Union isn’t as ideologically rigid as it may seem, that this could be the prelude to a lasting normalisation of relations between the ‘democratic’ west and the Comintern.”

“All right, ‘Tri’, so Norway is now firmly anchored within the Comintern, even if they won’t be joining the Soviet Union itself anytime soon. And we don’t have to police the Norwegian population. Sounds like a win to me.”

“That’s how I see it, Stalin was a bit ambivalent, but I explained that this would help us sway Swedish opinion towards the Comintern, and that this solution precludes the establishment of an American or British base in Norway while guaranteeing that all of Norway will end up in the Comintern, whomever liberates the remaining bits. Of course, they won’t become a true socialist state overnight. We expect to slowly transform Norwegian Society from within by increasing public support for the Norwegian Communist party, well the part of it that didn’t just defect from the Labour party. We’ll turn these Social Democrats into true Socialist soon enough. Bye ‘Odin’. Say hi to ‘Shest’ and ‘Odinatsat’ for me.”

I came down the stairs, to see ‘Odinatsat walk into the room and close the second of the two door separating the living room from the small bedroom Lt. Lyadov had now returned to. Before any of us could say something, the telephone on the wall, next to the door started ringing. ‘Shest’ jumped up from his armchair to grab the telephone with a barely apologetic:

“I need to get this.”

I instinctively looked over at ‘Odinatsat’ to see how she felt about this interruption. There was no annoyance, nor surprise, on her face. Before she noticed I had turned to her, there was a brief flicker of both relief and self-satisfaction. As if she had known what the call was about even before ‘Shest’ had gotten out of his armchair. She glimpsed at her military issue wristwatch, a ‘Kirova’, likely to make sure this was the call she was expecting.

A 'Kirova Type I', the most widespread domestically produced wristwatch in
the Soviet Union throughout the war.

Spoiler: Watchmaking in the USSR

The First State Watch Factory was set up in Moscow in 1930 under orders of Stalin himself. This was done thanks to the purchase by the Soviet government of two bankrupt American companies: The Ansonia Clock Company of Brooklyn, and the Deuber-Hampdem Watch Company of Canton, Ohio. All of the machinery was shipped over, along with twenty-one former Deuber-Hampden employees, who helped set up the factory and trained Russian watchmakers. It was named after Sergei Kirov in 1935, following his assassination (see previous mentions of Kirov). From that point onwards, their watches were called ‘Kirovas’, with the pre-war (and early-war) model known as the ‘Kirova Type I’. By the time the patriotic war rolled around, they produced hundreds of thousands of watches every year. Despite relocating twice, and shifting most of it’s resources to ammunition production, the Kirov watch factory produced over 300,000 ‘timepieces’ during the war.

After the war they produced the ‘Pobeda’ (victory), and the legendary ‘Shturmanskie’ worn by Yuri Gargarin on the first manned space flight. Starting in 1964, the factory produced watches under the ‘Poljot’ brand (still colloquially referred to as ‘Kirova’). After the fall of the Soviet Union, things became a bit more complicated. A ‘businessman’ bought out the company, but shifted production elsewhere. Since 2012, no watches are produced under the ‘Plot’ name. In 2000 former Poljot employees managed to buy the remnants of the factory and get production restarted ,under the name Volmax, on replicas of the classic Aviator, Buran, and Shturmanskie watches. Volmax itself relocated to Switzerland after their supplier which produced the authentic ‘Poljot’ movements near Moscow using the same soviet-era machines, went bankrupt around 2012. They now produce Swiss watches, with Swiss movements, inspired by Soviet era Russian designs.

On a slight side-note. The ‘Vostok’ watch factory in Chistopol still produces watches that are technically near identical to the 1965 Komandirskie and the 1967 Amphibia designs, so if you want an authentic Soviet era mechanical watch, it is still possible to get a brand new one for less than 100 euros - depending on the exchange rate. (at least it was before this Ukraine business). Vostok is an offshoot of the First State Watch Factory, as part of that massive factory complex ended up being shipped to Chistopol, while the most of it’s operations were shifted to Zlatoust. All the machinery and people moved in Zlatoust were moved back to Moscow after the war, but those in Chistopol stayed put and continued developing their own watch models.

When he hung up the telephone, I could tell that, under his ever calm demeanour, ‘Shest’ was rattled by the news he had just received. There was the briefest of hesitations, as he pondered whether he should take me aside to share the news, or whether we should proceed as planned, and then he decided to do the latter. The three of us went to sit at the small dining table. Myself and ‘Shest’ on one side, ‘Odinatsat’ on the other. She had some explaining to do. ‘Shest’ started us off on a forceful note:

“Heavily Armed American commando’s operating in the motherland, with your assistance, alongside impressionable young officer cadets! Really. In what world is that a reasonable proposition?! You can call yourself lucky that you have friends in high places who are foolish enough to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

‘Odinatsat’s had expected the question, and prepared accordingly. Her response was calm and collected.

“I realise it is a tad unorthodox. -“

‘Shest’ cut her off:

“Unorthodox?! … No. Treason. It’s treason. Plain and simple! There are certain lines you do not cross! -“

Curious about exactly how ‘Odinatsat’ would justify her behaviour, or weasel her way out of this one, I cut ‘Shest’s rant short:

“Maybe we can at least hear her out before we decide to execute her for treason?”

‘Shest’, realising that getting agitated wasn’t getting us anywhere, sat down, and motioned for ‘Odinatsat’ to speak. She did:

“As I said, it was unorthodox, even by my standards, but I believe it was necessary.

You see, this murderer wasn’t just some German spy-hunter with orders to dismantle the little counter-espionage network I had built, nor was he an assassin with the singular objective to neutralise me. No, it was much more sinister than that. He wanted to torture me, to destroy me long before he killed me. He was taunting me with his seemingly encyclopaedic knowledge of my previous aliases and espionage activities while he killed one person after another who was connected with my endeavours. This was one heartless bastard with a personal vendetta against me, and had he not been stopped, he would have kept going until he destroyed everything, and everyone I work with or care about.

The Leningrad NKVD’s counter-espionage efforts had been quite amateurish until I started helping them out. Their job, and mine, was further complicated by the fact that we have no active agents within Germany, and thus no warning of when and how many axis agents are going to arrive. So far as I was aware, the only potential sources of the kind of information this murderer had were the Secret Committee, and the OSS, more specifically General Markkur’s division within the OSS. As it is not in the Committee’s interest to let such information leak, and as ‘Shest’ has been doing an excellent job in making sure such things do not occur, I had to turn to the Americans, to General Markkur.

Of course, I was very apprehensive at such a move, not so much because it might place the OSS in the path of this killer, but because the OSS might be partially, or even wholly, responsible for these killings. The death of captain Johnson at the ballet showed that even if the Americans were at the source of this operation, they had clearly lost control of it. The positive fallout from that murder was that General Markkur was now fully motivated to use all resources at his disposal to track down whomever was doing the killing, and the Americans do have at least one well-placed agent within German intelligence circles, and despite my best efforts, they still have several cells in the Soviet Union. However, considering his resources and the crucial information he had, Markkur held most of the cards in what had become a personal crusade for him. He was hurt, he was furious, much more emotional than he was in Stockholm. He insisted that he had to be there, with a few of his men, when we captured or killed the murderer, or murderers, and had I not agreed to this condition, there would have been no sharing of intelligence. One might even argue that I was coerced.

The case would have probably ended a few days, or even weeks later, with a few more murder victims and an unsanctioned OSS raid to grab the murderer without any involvement from the NKVD or others. This would have inevitably lead to OSS personnel shooting at NKVD forces to make their getaway, well more than what they did. It would have been nigh impossible to sweep that under the carpet, and it would have significantly negatively impacted Soviet-American relations. General Markkur was looking to avenge Captain Johnson, and he didn’t care about the fallout. I acted to limit this fallout as much as possible and to remain in the loop of the investigation.

Of course, you could argue that I might have been able to track and eliminate Markkur’s commando’s before they could do any damage, but then the murderer would have likely gotten wind of the foiled OSS operation to take him out, and he would have gotten away, and maybe even ramped up his killings. I shudder at the thought of who would have fallen victim next. Inspector Rozïtis? Naval Infantry cadets? High level NKVD personnel? My beloved Sergei? Who is to know exactly.

Another consideration that affects you two directly is that the longer this case dragged on, the more would be revealed about my past, the more Inspector Rozïtis would have pieced together, and the more likely that someone, somewhere, who was following the case, might have figured out that something like the Secret Committee exists, and that it has occasionally been pulling strings for me. None of us wants that.”

As ‘Odinatsat’ took a breather, ‘Shest’ started firing off questions:

“How did you get Inspector Rozïtis to go along with your plan? And how did you get the NKVD brass to fall into line?”

“Rozïtis has his reputation as star detective to defend, and he was handed a case which he could not solve through conventional means, because he simply did not have the means to get a lot of critical information held by myself and Markkur’s OSS. No matter how good a detective he was, he wasn’t going to get information even the NKVD doesn’t know, no matter how many contacts he had. He was in over his head, and for all the show and bluster, he knew it. He’s a very pragmatic man, you know, he will do what is necessary to rise through the ranks, to avoid losing face, and he doesn’t seem to have many moral inhibitions. As for my seduction of him, that was to protect Sergei more than to get him to follow my lead. I don’t think Ivars ever fully bought it, though he did let my affections stroke his ego, I’m sure. Lyadov did buy it, despite Rozïtis explicitly telling him that it was all a ploy to get closer to me in the hope that I would spill some of that critical information. That means the murderer might have bought it too, and they might have gone after the detective before going after my ‘ex-lover’ Sergei. I believe the next target on the recovered documents was the Inspector, so that seems to have worked. Of course, I wouldn’t put it past the Inspector to add his name to the document when he found it in order to add to the dramatic value of his story.

The NKVD brass were easier to convince. They weren’t roped in until the very end. With their dependency on my counter-espionage operations to keep their masters in Moscow happy, they had no choice but to give me a lot of leeway. This meant that, between myself and Inspector Rozïtis - yes we did coördinate our stories quite well if I say so myself - they were faced with a fait accompli once they arrived at the scene of the raid in Metallostroy. Their choices were simple: Go along with Rozïtis’ version of events and sweep any suspicions of American involvement they might have under the rug, or admit that they had lost control of the operations of both myself and Inspector Rozïtis. The former would result in a commendation for a job well-done, along with a reprimand for utilising naval infantry cadets for state security purposes, the latter would end in the replacement of most of the Leningrad NKVD state security directorate brass for treason, incompetence, and negligence. Self-preservation kicked in, and they chose to pick the option that did the least amount of damage to their careers, at least that’s how it looked to them at the time. Of course, Lt. Lyadov ends up being the fly in the ointment, revealing the entire charade in a letter that ended up being sent to Moscow by a Commissioner Kubatin who showed a surprising amount of backbone in doing so. This, of course created quite the dilemma for you two, as you either have to eliminate a straight shooting and loyal NKVD lieutenant to protect a bunch of corrupt incompetent cowards, or you need clean house at the Leningrad NKVD Internal Security office. The fact that Lyadov is still alive tells me that you’re leaning more towards the second option.”

‘Shest’ was quick with the retort:

“What makes you any better than those treasonous officers who covered up your mess? You created it, didn’t you? The way I see it - and it pains me to say this as there was I time I cared for you very deeply - you committed treason by facilitating and allowing OSS operatives to operate on Soviet soil, all because you were scared an impatient.”

She looked at her watch as she responded.

“That’s a bit harsh ‘Shest’. Do you really think so little of me? You, who trained me, who worked alongside me, who has seen what I am capable of. What is it you said, back in Paris? Events will largely speak for themselves. Do you have a minute of patience?”

She seemed very confident that somehow the answer would be revealed to us within the following minutes. Slightly stunned by her iron faith in whatever was going to happen. I had to stop ’Shest’ from lashing out again while we sat in anxious silence for three minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Then. The telephone rang, and ’Shest’ rushed to pick it up.

His face turned a few shades whiter as he tried to contain his shock and surprise at what he was being told. Visibly shaken, he returned to the table after w few minutes. Before he could start explaining what those telephone calls were about, ‘Odinatsat’ started talking:

“You see, gentlemen, I might have created a mess, but I do clean up after myself. Just now, one of ‘Shest’s contacts in Leningrad has called him about a boat explosion off the coast of Leningrad. The boat in question is of American manufacture, a 1933 26 foot triple cockpit Chris Craft to be precise. You may recall that this boat featured in Lt. Lyadov’s last report. Yes, I’ve read them, and yes, I was the one who broke into Rozïtis’ office, just in case you were wondering. More important is that I know all of this despite having been off the grid since this morning. Because I orchestrated it.

I built the explosive device that took out that boat with materials Sergei sourced from his job, and had some naval infantry divers place it on the bottom of the hull last night. On board of that boat were eight Americans. The skipper, and the seven OSS commandos who took part in the operation in Metallostroy. I figured out their extraction plan. Today, a large lend-lease convoy was scheduled to arrive. Alongside the traditional escort there is a USN Destroyer, they were going to use their boat to get on board the destroyer while the attention of our own military personnel was on the unloading and protection of critical war materials. Except that they exploded before they got anywhere close to USS Bainbridge.

You didn’t honestly believe that I liked being strong-armed into allowing American operatives to operate on Russian soil, did you? Oh, and the aeroplane crash that you were called about about ten minutes ago. That was General Markkur’s aeroplane, and yes, I was responsible for that too, even though the initial investigation will find a mechanical failure in the starboard engine’s fuel pump to be the cause of the accident. And you know the beauty of it all? The Americans won’t do anything about it, because this whole operation never officially happened. I don’t even think that Markkur told his superiors what he was actually doing with those commando’s, and admitting to the operation now would put unnecessary strain on US-Soviet relations at a point in the war were both sides need the flow of Lend-Lease aid to continue. If a few expendable commando’s have to pay the price for that, so be it.

And regardless of what you may think of it, ‘Shest’, I think I have displayed some exemplary patience in this case. I waited, for weeks, for the opportune moment to do the most possible damage to General Markkur’s operation without compromising the resolution of the murders.

I’m curious, ‘Shest’. Was General Markkur actually on board his plane when it crashed?”

“We haven’t identified all of the victims yet, but none of them was wearing a General’s uniform or fits his general build. Markkur’s Duesenberg also wasn’t spotted at the Airport after it was seen leaving the US consulate. My working theory is that he decided to drive himself to Moscow, either because he wanted to enjoy his automobile, or because he was afraid some kind of ‘accident’ would happen to his plane.”

“I was afraid he would do something like that, but getting access to his car would have been quite tricky, especially at such short notice, as it was stored at the consulate itself. Well. Maybe it’s better that he’s not dead, better the devil you know, right. I’m sure he got the message loud and clear and he’s going to be catching all kinds of hell from his superiors. He overstepped a line, and he knows it. The OSS, and the NKVD for that matter, will be able to trace the explosion of the boat back to me, I made sure of it. For his plane, however, I went to great lengths to frame the Germans. So I don’t think he will ever know with any degree of certainty who did it: Me; Soviet agents, or the Germans. You can rest assured that General Markkur will not be inclined to organise paramilitary operations on Soviet soil anytime soon.“

I chipped in:

“When the message is painted in so much blood and guts, it does become hard to misunderstand. This war has really amplified your ruthlessness, and I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. There does remain a key question to be resolved. What are you going to do now? You can’t go back to the naval academy as if nothing happened. By your own admission, you involved your cadets in an unsanctioned paramilitary operation before they were fully trained. Even if that may not necessarily count as treason, it’s still reckless endangerment. They’ll never let you teach fresh recruits again, regardless of how many strings we might pull.”

‘Shest’ cut in:

“The NKVD will let you run their Commando and partisan training programme, that offer is still on the table. Considering the events that have transpired, I would say that you are much more suited to that role, than to training regular forces. I’ll add to that, that if you do not take my offer, I’ll actively make sure you are unable to do anything espionage-related with the NKVD of the GRU for a few years at least. You need to make a clear choice: Soldier, or spy, and I will personally make you stick to it.”

‘Odinatsat’ responded:

“Honestly, I’m tired of training and teaching, and I’m tired of espionage. This whole case has been very stressful, and it forced me to keep Sergei at arms length. I need a break to take care of myself and to spend time with Sergei. My leg is rapidly getting better, with some targeted training, I think I can be back to at least 80% in a few weeks. And then, I want to get back into the action. If they won’t let me fight at the front until I’ve made a full recovery, I’d like to have an advisory or leadership role close to it. I guess my choice is ‘soldier’. Of course, I would appreciate it a lot if you could get Sergei transferred to an air base near my posting.”

I responded:

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out. As for now, Major Goleniewsky will be demoted back to Captain and her leave will be prolonged indefinitely until she secures a position outside of Leningrad and outside any officer training establishments. That is what Colonel Turgenev and MajGen. Bordanovisy have informally put forward for NKVD approval anyway, except that they suggested a demotion to Junior Lieutenant. They really don’t like you, do they. If you make it known to Major Borisov that you’ll accept the demotion to Captain without making a fuss, that’s what will happen.

Anyhow. We’re getting closer to a series of operations in the Aegean, and if everything goes according to plan we’re planning on opening a new front in the Balkans next year. If you can get a posting in the Black sea area, or on Mythiléné, you should be able to, at least, get close to the action, if you play your cards right. You can always try to transfer back into the Army as a sharpshooter and/or platoon commander in which case you could be assigned to Norway or the main front. I’m afraid you will be mostly on your own to find your new place as this whole case has drawn a lot of eyes to you and your situation and we have to limit our own exposure more than ever. Due to this whole affair, no one is going to be fighting to get you in their unit, so you have some time to figure out where you want to go and convince them of your value. The same goes for Sergei. I hope he has enough pull to get transferred to the same area as you. “

‘Odinatsat’: “I recognise that, due to the dire circumstances, I acted more as a spy than as a teacher, so I would certainly agree with their assessment that I did not properly fulfil my duty to keep my cadets alive and well as a military instructor at the Naval Academy. I got lucky that none of my cadets died, and I was expecting nothing less than a demotion to Captain. There is no need to worry about me, I will find my way, as I always do.”

‘Shest’ then cut in:

“I have been hard at work developing an entirely new communication system for you to keep in touch with us through coded letters and an elaborate network of intermediaries who know not to ask questions. Just in case our previous avenues of communications have been compromised, as you certainly must have suspected, or you would have kept in touch.”

‘Odinatsat’: “Yes. Considering how much this murderer seemed to know, I thought it prudent to halt any contact I had with the Secret Committee. I hope this new system will allow us to avoid the kind of misunderstandings that landed us here.”

‘Shest’: “The ‘postmaster’ will explain it to you in detail once our conversation is over. “

‘Odinatsat’: “He’s here?”

‘Shest’: “Yes. Don’t worry, this location is just as secure as our main compound. Unless, of course, you helped Lyadov figure out where it is.”

‘Odinatsat’: “Don’t worry about him, he has no clue that we’re in the woods between 25 and 35 kilometres North-West of Volchov.”

‘Shest’: “Very good, I guess all that GRU training wasn’t for nothing”

‘Odinatsat’: “After all, I learned from the best.” - She winked at ’Shest’, her GRU handler in what must now seem like a previous life for both of them. - “I realise that I don’t really need to know, but what will happen to Lyadov? If he talks to the wrong person we could have some serious problems.”

‘Shest’: “It would be best for you not to worry too much about the Lieutenant. He’ll be fine, as long as he doesn’t do anything stupid. Maybe we should lighten the tone a bit now that we’ve worked on our issues. How was your trip?”

The standard 20-tonne 'NTV' boxcar was a staple of Soviet Russian and Soviet railroads from the late 19th century right up into the second half of the
20th century. Their design varied littlem though there were versions with a braking cab, and also 'conversions' for the transport of passengers with the
addition of a wood-burning stove, some benches, and sometimes a few windows.​

‘Odinatsat’: “The boxcar reminded me of my accidental train ride between Athens and Poland, except that the boxcar we were in wasn’t filled with captured British weapons, but with hay bales, which was quite a bit more comfortable, and I had company that didn’t actively want to kill me this time. I really liked the trick of having us change boxcars between side-by-side trains in Leningrad. It’s a manoeuvre that’s very hard to spot, and with the volume of traffic on those tracks, we could have gone in any of at least six different directions. The extraction was a little bit rough, but it was definitely fun. I’m glad, Lt. Lyadov was there to help me stick the landing, because I don’t entirely trust my leg would have absorbed the landing without help. It’s a nice little outpost you’ve got here. If there weren’t so many armed men, it might pass for a nice, quiet vacation home. In a way it is more charming than the bunkers of the main compound near Vologda. Maybe, after the war, we can all come back here and enjoy a few days of peace and quiet? Pretend to be regular people on holiday, go for long walks, go fishing or hunting, that sort of thing.”

I responded: “That sounds nice, I hope we can make it happen. As you are here, and we haven’t heard directly from you for quite some time, would you mind giving writing a full report on the state of the Naval Infantry training programme, and their expected capabilities once they will be deployed in a few months, before you return to Leningrad? ‘Piat’ and Dva’ have been asking about that for a while. You know how they are with their detailed planning and modelling of military operations. They’re always looking for new information on capabilities and possible weaknesses.”

‘Odinatsat’ : “I did express my concerns about amphibious landing tactics and equipment in an official report about my brief observation mission in Norway. But I’d be glad to write out a complete assessment for our colleagues.”

‘Shest’ looked at his watch, and promptly opened the door to remind the Captain of the guard to arrange Lt. Lyadov’s transport to Novgorod as they would have to leave soon to make the train South to Orsha and Homel where he would have to take another train to Smolensk, where he would take another to Brjansk, and then a sleeper train through Voronez to Rostov-na-Don, before changing a final time to get to Krasnodar. The trip will likely take two days, and that’s without counting delays due to the ongoing war.

A few minutes later, we heard the engine of the ZiS lorry start, and Lt. Lyadov was on his way back to civilisation. Soon to be Captain Goleniewsky was to be transported later in the afternoon to Volchov station, together with myself and ‘Shest’, where she will take a train on the new railway line to Sortavala, before making her way back to Leningrad via Vyborg (Viipuri), a detour to make anyone who would notice her step off the train in Leningrad think she came back from the Finland SSR. Meanwhile we will lay low in the Volchov safe-house before making our way back to Vologda. All under new assumed identities, of course.

I realise that ‘Odinatsat’ has acted irresponsibly. However, by literally blowing up all of the American operatives she had recklessly allowed to operate on our soil, she did somewhat redeem herself, and she clearly proved where her loyalties are. ‘Shest’ will , of course, follow up on the investigations to make sure that ‘Odinatsat’ was at the source of both attacks and that it wasn’t some kind of freak coïncidence. Myself and ‘Shest’ agree that she remains a useful asset to the Committee and to the Soviet Union.

As for the other participants in this debacle:

General Markkur remains untouchable (short of another freak accident).

Inspector Rozïtis will be sent back to Riga, promoted out of the way, where he can go back to solving everyday homicides. As an added incentive, his girlfriend will simultaneously be moved to a position in the Latvian Radio Centre Orchestra. This will have the double effect of anchoring the detective in Riga, and making it clear that the NKVD knows about his romantic interest, and that they are more than willing to mess with her career. If she can be moved to Riga so easily, she can just as easily be moved away from there, or fired entirely. That’s some serious leverage that should keep him out of our hair, he is a proven pragmatist after all.

Captain Bekhterev, Major Borisov, and Commissioner Kubatin won’t be so lucky. One by one, they will be replaced over the coming months in an effort to renew the Leningrad NKVD leadership. Borisov will have never existed. Bekhterev will be demoted and sent to peace-keeping, police, or Garrison units in cold far-flung places like Northern Scandinavia, and Kamchatka. If he causes any problems he will simply disappear. Kubatin will simply be demoted to Captain and relocated to the Vladivostok NKVD office as he did send on Lt. Lyadov’s concerns to Moscow, thereby placing the good of the Soviet Union over his own career, showing that he makes up for his lack of high-level management skills with some integrity. This is the normal NKVD response to the situation as described in an official report on the situation as discussed during a meeting of NKVD leadership, needless to say, some key passages have be ghost-written by ‘Shest’ and slipped in by the Comrade Secretary General himself.

Hopefully things will now calm down a bit for Captain Goleniewsky, and we can put this distraction behind us. I will, of course, deliver the regular 10-day report on the 26th, followed by a series of reports on the Great Patriotic War on the 30th of October.

The three of us are going to bring out the vodka to celebrate this reunion of sorts, even if the circumstances are far from ideal and the atmosphere not very lighthearted, we owe it to ourselves to make the most of such a rare moment.

I hope you'll raise your glasses with us and savour the moment, the war is far from over,

'Odin'