Mightier Than the Sword

Once they were convinced he was dead, they left the room, locking the door behind them. Beria immediately issued an order that all of Stalin’s personal guards—sixteen of them—were to be shot, so there could be no witnesses to what had happened. No one was informed of Stalin’s death until the official announcement was made several hours later, the one I translated, which claimed he’d died of a stroke while working at his desk in the Kremlin. In fact he was strangled by Khrushchev and left lying in a pool of his own urine for several hours before his body was removed from the dacha.

For the next fourteen days, Stalin’s body lay in state in the Hall of Columns, dressed in full military uniform, wearing his hero of the Soviet Union and Hero of Socialist Labor medals. Beria, Malenkov, and Khrushchev, heads bowed, stood in respectful silence beside the embalmed corpse of their former leader.

These three men were to become the troika who grabbed power in his place, although Stalin hadn’t considered any of them worthy to succeed him, and they knew it. Khrushchev, thought of as no more than a peasant, became secretary of the party. Malenkov, whom Stalin once described as an obese, spineless pen pusher, was appointed prime minister, while the ruthless Beria, whom Stalin regarded as a sordid sex addict, took control of the nation’s security services.

A few months later, in June 1953, Khrushchev had Beria arrested and later, not much later, executed for treason. Within a year, he had removed Malenkov and appointed himself prime minister as well as supreme leader. He only spared Malenkov’s life once he agreed to announce publicly that it was Beria who had murdered Stalin.

Emma fell asleep.

47

WHEN EMMA WOKE the following morning, she found Harry kneeling on the floor, trying to sort out various different bits of paper and arrange them in neat piles: BOAC writing paper, the backs of a dozen first-class menus, and even lavatory paper. She joined him, concentrating on the lavatory paper. Forty minutes later, they had a book.

“What time do we have to be in court?” asked Harry as they made their way downstairs to join Giles and Seb for breakfast.

“Ten, in theory,” said Emma, “but Mr. Trelford doesn’t think the jury will return much before midday.”

Breakfast was the first real meal Harry had eaten for the best part of a week, but despite that, he was surprised how little he could manage. They sat in silence as he regaled them with everything he’d experienced since they’d last seen him. They were introduced to the taxi driver, the old woman in the bookshop, the KGB colonel, the tribunal chairman, the chief prosecutor, the defense attorney, the jury, and, finally, Anatoly Babakov, whom he’d liked and admired. He told them how that truly remarkable man had spent every hour he could stay awake telling Harry his story.

“Won’t he be in considerable danger if the book is published?” suggested Giles.