A brief discussion about planning

"I can get you into Russia through friends of mine who live on the russo-polish border," Braunschweig said," from there you can travel to Moscow yourself; just make sure to avoid the main routes, they'll check you there."

"Alright."

"I'll give you the adress of a friend of mine, he lives in Moscow, right near the Kremlin. He knows many people in high positions, people who could get you a few minutes with Stalin himself..." He spoke in a broody manner almost as if he was already mapping out the exact routes, dates, and the constellation of friends who'd be involved. "The whol thing would take you days, maybe even a week or more. Can you leave work for so long?"

"I have excuses they can't deny me of." Alistair responded with a smile. He could, of course, say that his wife in the United States was pregnant, he could come down with a nasty illness or claim a death in the family. 

"Good." He said. He looked up at Alistair. "You don't speak any Russian do you?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I can greet people, that's where my Russian ends." 

"You'll need a translator, I've heard rumors that the Russian leader can speak German himself, but he wouldn't, not with a stranger..."

"No, I will definitely need a translator. I cannot learn Russian in a few weeks time." 

"Days, my friend. The sooner you get to Stalin the better." Braunschweig threw in. He let his hands fall to his lap in a helpless gesture. "You'll need to leave next week, I can organize everything by then."

"Thank you." Alistair said with a smile. "You'll really help me."

"If it doesn't work, if you can't get into Russia without being noticed you'll be shot dead. If Stalin doesn't like you you'll face a similiar fate." The German-Russian said slowly. "But if your willing to risk it, I'll be happy to help."

"How could I not go?" Alistair asked quietly. "I need to, I have the power; or rather the knowlage about the upcoming war; if I can change things then...it would really change the course of history..." Alistair's words trailed into thoughts. He felt his heart jump in his chest. Stalin! He was going to meet Joseph Stalin! For some reason, although he'd focused on German history in his studies Stalin had always been one of his 'favourites'. There was something about the georgian revolutionary that captured him, perhaps even more than Hitler ever had. Maybe it was Stalin's ruthlessness against his own people, or his unbreakable will. Or maybe it was just the name. 

"I will get back to you once I have everything figured out, then I'll write down some names and adresses and I'll send you on your way with that. It's the best I can do, Alistair." 

"Thank you, Bernd." Alistair stood up, sensing that the old man had used these words to try and gracefully kick him out. He shook the veterans hand, thanked him once more and jotted down a phone number where Braunschweig could reach him. He crossed the room, the man had invited him into the home, he'd sat on the old chair, he'd watched the grandfather's clock tick and, amongst the German porcellan seen some that must come from Russia herself. 

He exited the house, making sure to pull the door firmly shut. He heard it lock behind him. With a slight smile playing on his lips he left the Gasse and turned into the bigger streets of Berlin.

On his way back to the Reichstag he stopped to grab something from the bakery. He'd had the luck to pick up a few Münzen recently. He was so lost in thought he took the baker's hand instead of the bag full of Brötchen that he'd bought. The baker had laughed and Alistair had apologized. The number he'd given Braunschweig was at his office, he'd gotten one just earlier, they'd said he needed his own room. But it would be too risky to discuss over the nazi line, he'd simply reply that he'd come over. Yes, that was the right way to do it. 

Maybe I'll have time to see Anneliese today...He thought. But then he remembered that this was real, and his relationship with the pretty german girl was, in fact, a case of adultry. He sighed. I'll have to tell Monica. I don't know how, and I doubt she'll believe me, but I have to tell her. Again.