The Margin of Evil! (20 page)

If the middle-
aged Commissar had had any feelings left, he might have felt betrayed by Lenin's complicity in all of this, but he did not in-fact he understood. Was it not a fact that during the 'July Days' Lenin had owed his political survival to him, when through his Kevshor contacts, they had spirited the great man away to the safety of Finland? Was it not a fact that because of him, the same network had passed on communiqués from Finland to the 'Central Committee? Was it not he, despite frequent interruptions from Kerensky's thugs and bully-boys, who had kept the printing presses going throughout the shaky summer of 1917? So, if this was gratitude, then Vladimir Ilyvich could also expect something, a little present, in return. But then Fanya Kaplan
[16]
, God bless her, beat him to it!

Kaplan had been a God-send.
The subsequent aftermath of the assassination attempt had been somewhat chaotic. The Sverdlov investigation had been temporarily derailed by subsequent events and the confusion had bought 'The Georgian' time. 'The Terror' was in full swing and the Bolshevik rump state was gripped in panic; also, the outcome of the 'Civil War' now seemed to be hanging in the balance.

One minute,
'White Armies' were marching on Moscow; then the next they seemed to march south into the Ukraine to join up with nationalists there. Nevertheless this was the least of the Georgian's problems. Yes he knew that the 'White' snake had too many heads, but that beast could be dealt with at a later date.

But the interesting thing was the rapid decline in Lenin health.
As he spied on Vladimir Iilyvich, the 'Great Man' appeared to be sinking right before his eyes. Some days he would chair meetings holding his head in his hands; in others he would fall asleep, or appear confused as to what he should be doing. Other times he appeared perfectly normal, but it was becoming apparently, all too clear, that the real seat of power was slowly shifting in the direction of Leon Trotsky. This he knew was a situation well worth exploiting; he knew that there were others in the party who could never stomach the idea of Leon Trotsky taking over the reins of power. The wily Georgian knew that here was a situation that could, if properly stage managed, work out in his favour.

After
watching in on another of Gerhardt and Trotsky meetings, he had been intrigued to find out that it was now considered a matter of the utmost urgency to remove the bullet from the base of Vladimir Iilyvich's neck. The problem was that no surgeons could be found to do so, or knew how to, or would even conduct the operation on Lenin. They were left with no alternative, but to get two eminent German doctors to come to Moscow. But this presented all kinds of problems. Were they to come to Russia via Finland or Poland? And even if they took the Polish route could they get through the White lines to the west.

The young Georgian suddenly realised that he had been getting rather complacent; it was time for more of a
'Hands On' approach. He had wrongly placed too much trust in Vladimir Iilyvich.  It was obvious Trotsky was pulling the strings, and had successfully poisoned the great mans mind against him. Both would pay dearly for this, but he would have to move fast. He would have to get a hold of that dossier, and then, in that order, deal with the other two. There was no alternative; he would have to bring his plans forward. The germ of an idea was already beginning to take shape in his mind. He would deal with the sickly Lenin first and then with the arrogant Jew at a later date; both in that order.

He put th
e crucifix, the icon and the rosary beads away. After all when all was said and done, he was here to do 'Gods' work in Russia, that was understood.  If he had to sell his grandmother, then so-be-it, and if he had to walk over ALL of the 'Ivory-Tower Bolshevik Philosophers', then it would be done as a matter of expedience. Make no mistake 'God's' work in Russia would be done! The other thing was he knew that his spiritual master liked to test him. Aaaah yes; he liked to play his little games with all things earthly.

An extraordinary meeting of
'The Kevshor Council' had been called. He knew exactly what to do. No one was going to stitch him up like this, too much time had been invested in getting here. No one was going to get one over on Joseph Djugashvilli, latterly known as Stalin, no one was going to get the better of him.

He lit up his pipe and then walked over to the coat stand.
He put on his coat and left the building.

Chapter Twelve

Sergo Ordzhonikidze replaced the receiver.
He thought long and hard for a moment, and then put on his coat. The journey was routine, the driver picked him up and they then drove across town. The drive passed without incident.

The car pulled up outside a block of flats.
The passenger spoke to the driver and entered the building. Sergo Ordzhonikidze climbed the stairs up to the third floor. He knocked on the door and waited. A moment later a bolt on the inside was undone and he walked into the flat. He took off his coat and walked in to a large dining room. He took his place and waited.

One by one they entered and took their seats.
In front of him was 'The Little Worm' Yagoda. Every time the dwarfs steely gaze fixed on him it made his stomach turn. He never understood what 'The Boss' saw in him. Steadily the seats filled, all that remained now was for 'The Boss' to arrive.

Finally the door flew open and he entered, eschewing the usual understated sense of modesty.
But Sergo Ordzhonikidze could feel the charge of electricity pass through the room. Here was a man of destiny with a thousand and one things on his mind. He watched him fling his coat off and waited for him to address this extraordinary meeting. He started with the preliminaries.

Right from the beginning of their acquaintance, this sense of understated modesty had been one of the things that had endeared Sergo Ordzhonikidze to Joseph Stalin.

They had known each other since their Baku days; they had always got on well. There they had been young idealists whose raison d'être had been to spread mischief, revolution and line their own pockets; this they had excelled at. In the Caucasus their activities had involved the publishing of anti Tsarist propaganda; the robbing of banks and the running of guns to anyone who wanted them.

One thing that had struck him about
'The Boss' was his never ending reserves of cunning and resourcefulness. He was as Tolstoy might have said a cross between a hedgehog and a fox. Grigoriy Ordzhonikidze, better known to his friends as Sergo, mused with his thoughts.  He slowly became aware of a knocking on the table and it was getting louder by the moment. He looked up and looked across to where the noise was coming from. Stalin was fixing him with a firm stare; he knew it was time to concentrate.

'
Comrades, we now have to bring our plans forward, if we don't we risk exposure. Somehow our organisation has been infiltrated. I won't go into the details, but the situation is serious, so I will give each of you a brown envelope, inside it will be your instructions of what I want you to do! Once you have read it and committed it to memory. You will throw your instructions into the grate over there'

Ordzhonikidze and the others watched as
'The Boss' gave out the envelopes. Stalin then sat down, whilst those present read their orders. Once all of the letters had been placed in the grate, Stalin signalled to those present that the meeting was over. They were all, except Mikoyan and himself, free to go.

The three of them waited
and then Stalin signalled to them to sit down.

'
What I said was the situation is serious, what I didn't say was how we are going to deal with it.'  He paused and gazed into the faces of the two men who in turn were intently watching him.'

'
How serious is it?' Ordzhonikidze said.

'
It's bad ... but not that bad. If we move fast, I think we can deal with it. In fact I know with your support we can deal with it. Now, I am going to go into greater detail than I did with the others ... but in case things go wrong, I want you two to know exactly what is happening.'  Stalin paused and then carried on. 'Through my various contacts I have found out that two German surgeons are coming here to Moscow to operate on Lenin. You two must ensure that they never arrive. We have to be very careful because it appears they are coming here to operate on Vladimir Iilyvych with the full blessing of Scheidemann's new Weimar republic.'

Anticipating what
'The Boss' was going to say, 'I take it then ... you will have a good use for, and need of, my medical expertise?'

'
Yes I will Sergo. This is what I want you to do. Long ago you once told me a story that whilst you were at Med school, you had encountered two medical students that spent their days gambling, drinking and whoring. You also said that these two's medical abilities were so bad, they could botch up the simplest of operations. When they were in theatre, people used to come from miles around to watch these incompetents bleed a patient to death. And was it not you that told me that if they had taken their act to London they could have a made a fortune in the English Music Hall. Do you remember?'

'
Yes I do I have dined out many times on the tales of those two! A lecturer once said that Mazhulin and Krupin, collectively, had the IQ's of a field of dead plants. He also said, ha, ha ... that it was, being very unkind to fields of 'Dead Plants'. Anyway, the pair were beyond the cererbral pale, they were completely useless!'

'
Then my dear Sergo, you will be pleased to know that these 'Dead Plants' are still here in Moscow. And they are still up to their old tricks! Do you remember that you told me that, and this is if my memory serves me well; did you not say, those two managed to fail their first year entrance exams five years in a row!!'

'
That is true; they only managed to survive there because their parents gave large donations to the university medical research faculty.'

'
Well I want you to oversee them; when the pair conduct the neck operation on Vladimir Iilyvich. They will both pose as the German surgeons!'

'
Anastas, you will intercept the Germans en-route. Word has it they are coming here from Warsaw by train. This is how you will do it ... First things first, we will now cover our tracks and then we have to go on a little journey ...'

Stalin lent over the grate and
set fire to the papers. They watched them burn. Once the fire had extinguished itself, Mikoyan went to the kitchen and returned with saucepan full of water. He walked over to the fireplace and emptied the water into the grate. All three watched the burnt papers dissolve. Satisfied that the job had been done properly, they turned and faced each other. Their eyes fixed onto the mouth of 'The Boss', they all nodded in agreement and then left the flat. The strange thing was had anyone been listening to the conversation out on the landing, they would have heard nothing; the reason being, Kevshor meetings were always held in silence, all of those present were expert at lip reading.

Outside on the street, the three of them waited for the car to arrive.
They knew exactly what was to be done.

The car sped round the corner
and they got inside. The driver was given instructions and off they went in a southerly direction.

Several hours later th
ey arrived at their destination and then entered a bourgeois block of flats. Once inside they took the elevator to the top floor. Stalin knocked on the front door. The door was opened by a nurse and the three of them entered the flat.

'
The Boss' dismissed the nurse, and then started rummaging around the flat.  He knew exactly what he was looking for.

Ordzhonikidze and Mikoyan stopped for a moment, so that Sergo could open his doctor
's case to get out the syringe. Then they headed for the bedroom. There the occupant was in a quasi delirious state. Mikoyan darted around the bed and firmly held the arm of its occupant. Whilst on the other side, Ordzhonikidze jabbed the needle into the arm. A moment later the two reported back to Stalin who was still busy ferreting around for something in the living room.

Sergo Ordzhonikidze went back into the bedroom to check on the incumbent whilst the other two turned the place upside down.
From the inside of the bedroom Sergo could hear a faint whistle, by the time he had rejoined them, two more people had turned up at the flat. Stalin, in the mean time, had found what he had been looking for. It was a file, not dissimilar to the Okhrana files of old; he was sitting down leafing, back and forth, through the contents.  Whilst the rest of them straightened up the flat.

Stalin told the man and the woman that no one was to visit the flat.
A substitute body for Sverdlov would be brought in. Under no circumstances was anyone allowed to see the body.

Satisfied that their instructions had been fully understood, the three of them left the flat, taking the comatose body with them.
If everything went to plan, Stalin would be making an announcement, soon, on the death of Yakov Mikhaylovich Sverdlov sometime around the middle of March.