Old Friend

The door swung open with gusto which immediatly told Alistair that the man who'd flung it open was not Braunschweig. The old German was not the reckless kind to do something like that. So either it would be someone who had nothing to fear or someone who trusted greatly in life and fate. 

Alistair recognized him immediately and by the curl of his lips he could tell that he recognized him too. "Come in, Alistair." He said, spreading his arm out wide. "And let me close the door before someone on the streets sees us." He said it playfully but there was a very serious meaning to it. 

Braunschweig stood a few meters behind, again in front of the door that lead to the rest of his home. "Welcome, Alistair." He didn't smile and his welcome wasn't exceptionally friendly, but it was an invite none-the-less. Alistair took off his coat and hung it on the hanger, than he followed the 'old friend' and Braunschweig into the living room. 

He took a seat on the sofa, next to the handsome German and across from the old man who was making all of this possible. Alistair Bowmore was confused, how was he here? And why him? Was this some sort of pratical joke? Times like these made him think he might actually be dreaming and hallucinating the whole thing. As if the other visitor could sense his confusion he began to explain. 

"I can tell you're a bit shocked, Alistair." He said. "I'd better explain some things to you, if that's all right, Bernd?" He said with a glance at their senior, who nodded. "Where to begin..." He whispered, sorting his thoughts. "My name is not actually 'Hart'. I'm an SS-Officer at Dachau, as you know me, but that's only my cover-up. My name is actually Malinkow." He smiled as he said it, as if he was pleased that the American had recognized him. 

"You're Russian?" Alistair asked in surprise. He'd heard no accent at all. 

"Yes." He smiled delightfully, "I'm a spy from the Soviet Union. I'm in constant contact with high-ranking officials and good friends with most of them too. I can get you into Russia; I know all the secrets routes; I needed to get out unnoticed by the Germans."

"What." Alistair's brain was blown. A spy? Funny that it had been exactly this man who'd shown him the KZ. 

"I have friends we can stay the night at in Belarus, CCCP, and afterwards, travel to the capital with."

"Why would you tell me that you're a spy..?" Alistair asked. 

"Let's say it this way, my friend, I trust people the Soviet way." He smiled, flashing his straight white teeth. "I'll tell you everything if you're working with me, but the second I fear betrayal I'll put you six feet under." Alistair wasn't so sure about the first part being 'soviet' he doubted most any spy said things so quickly, but then again, perhaps Bernd and Malinkow knew each other so long that they trusted each other unendlessly. He couldn't tell if the second part was a bluff or a joke or if the handsome Russian meant it seriously. 

"Alright." Alistair said. He was still struggling to regain his composure. "When do we leave? And how do we get into the Soviet Union?"

"We meet here first thing in the morning. 6 o'clock sharp. Then we take the train near the Eastern Border, where we'll go through the woods by foot until we meet up with some friends of mine." Malinkow said. "Pack fresh socks and coffee, but don't take too much more than that." 

"Sounds like a plan." Alistair said. "And you've got it all figured out who can help me get an audience with Comrade Stalin..?"

"Of course! I might join you all myself, in case it's alright. Or I'll leave the translating over to an official translator, we'll see how it turns out." He smiled and reached out to gently touch Alistair's shoulder. "And by the way, call me Vitia."

"Alright."

"Alistair is a hard name to make a nickname out of, but I'll try." The Soviet laughed and drew his hand back. "But first of all, tell me more about your plan to convince Comrade Stalin to 'stock up' weapons and tanks."

"I'm going to tell him what exactly will happen when, and when the first things start to follow my exact pattern I think he'll listen."

"And how do you know all these things?" Malinkow asked with a twinkle in his eyes. 

"I'm afraid you'll believe me even less if I tell you why." Alistair answered with a smile. The Russian laughed and nodded as if to agree that he had a fair-point. 

"I just hope you know what you're doing, or you might end up in Siberia." He grew serious. "And so might I."

"Then why would you help me?" Alistair asked curiously. He'd been wondering this the whole time; why had the two been so keen on assisting him? 

"Well, I trust Bernd with my life, and he said he needed me. We've known each other forever; we've made the trip between Moskow and Berlin together several times. And he, well, his children are mostly men, boys, and they have boys of their own, and the last thing a father or grandfather wants is for all of his children to die in war." He spoke with a sad undertone, almost as if he too, understood what it was like, "I have family who live in Germany as well, and I do not want a war, for their sake as much as for mine. And," and the laughter in his voice returned, "I also simply love gambling with life. Up till now I've won very many things. High stakes lead to great victories." 

"Or terrible defeat."

"I'm a spy, do you really think I have a chance?" Vitia Malinkow asked with raised eyebrows. Alistair didn't answer to which the Soviet grew softer. Once again he reached out to touch the American, this time on the hand, "I'm a Russian, I was born to be pessimistic." But his smile made him seem the exact opposite. He stood up abruptly and asked Bernd if he could get the fancy wine to make a toast to 'the American Dream' which, in his opinion, Alistair was following. Always trying to make good everywhere, those americans, he said with laughter dancing in his eyes.