Armageddon_ A Novel of Berlin - Leon Uris [206]
There was a final banquet at which Olga surprised her husband by presenting him with the Order of Lenin at the command of Comrade Stalin.
The agony ended with him rushing back to Lotte to calm the distraught girl an hour after his wife flew back to Leningrad.
“I do want your baby,” Lotte said again. “One day you must leave. All soldiers leave.”
Igor knew she was right. The shuffling of officers and party officials was a constant game aimed to prevent the formation of power cliques. In fact, it simply added to a ponderous and wasteful administration. Igor had remained clear of the recalls because he was an engineer with particular skills outside the political and military ring. Yet one day he, too, would leave.
He tucked Lotte in, patted her cheek, and told her to try to sleep. He had never lost that same feeling for this wonderful little imp as the first night he saw her.
As he was driven to Trepovitch’s house, Igor thought about the money he was putting away, a tidy sum he would leave for Lotte. Igor was in a position to do many favors in Berlin and, like most of the Russian staff, took advantage of it, always making certain not to go too far.
He hated himself for the notion, but he knew the money would be safer in a bank in the Western Sector. Daring to put the money in a Western bank was “speculation,” a crime that brought twenty-five years imprisonment, and sometimes death.
After he had returned from the Copenhagen Conference he had impressed Marshal Popov that the Americans and British had a number of engineering capabilities worth studying.
As long as there were areas of cooperation, Igor felt it was common sense to establish Russian missions any place they might benefit. He put people in with the Americans and British in heavy construction, road building, sanitation engineering, and the like. This brought him into contact with Western officers; he became known as the most agreeable of the Russians.
He looked for the proper American or Englishman through whom he could transfer his funds for Lotte, but each time he nearly made the decision he faltered.
The one officer he did trust was Sean O’Sullivan, but friendship with an American was a crime as serious as money speculation and Igor meticulously avoided Sean after his return to Berlin. Any meetings were by chance and the only amenities were exchanges of polite nods. Sean fully understood.
As an Air Force officer, Igor’s own particular pet project was the four-power Air Safety Center. The West was at least a decade ahead of the Soviet Union in matters of traffic control and safety. He was able to have the Americans establish a school to train Russian personnel, and he attended. He was considered the top man in his own command in this field.
Nikolai Trepovitch paddled around in bedroom slippers and a shaggy old robe after a warm greeting to Igor. Igor was concerned for his comrade. In the old days Trepovitch had been a fun-loving, robust fellow. He was now on a strict diet that permitted only mild drinking and no smoking.
“I don’t see how you can stand to sit there for hour after hour in those meetings at the Kommandatura,” Igor said.
“It’s terrible. If only I could return to a combat command. Life was good then. Between Colonel Hazzard and that Englishman, they’ve killed the inside of my stomach, but that’s no reason you shouldn’t have a drink.”
Igor poured a stiff one.
“Tovarich, there is a highly delicate matter you have to attend to in the next forty-eight hours.”
“Yes?”
“Some of the geniuses from Moscow are flying in. You must be prepared to give an opinion on whether or not the Americans and British can supply Berlin by air.”
“It would strain them, but they should be able to get in enough for their own garrisons.”
“No, no, Igor. I mean, supply their sectors of Berlin.”
“Berlin? All the Western Sectors? Food, coal, medicine ...”
Trepovitch nodded.
Igor set his drink down, stunned.
“It is a hard game we must play. They cannot be permitted to remain.”
Igor