Chapter 40: Viper
Perhaps realizing just how difficult Jörg was to handle, Comrade Chicherin's eyes shifted subtly. He was clearly preparing to end the talks for the night, hoping to lock in the advantage Germany's internal disunity had just exposed.
Exchanging a few barren tracts of land for German industrial support was already an extremely profitable deal for Soviet Russia. But if the negotiations continued, and the conversation drifted back to the Berlin riots, then this young German would undoubtedly seize the opportunity to press for even more.
In truth, the easiest solution would have been for Stalin's side to choose apology over stubbornness, trading a little face for substantial benefits. But the timing of Germany's arrival was simply too precise. It had struck at the exact moment Soviet Russia was politically unstable, exploiting the fatal weakness of a state whose foreign policy was being strangled by its internal struggle.
At last, Chicherin spoke in a measured tone.
"It is getting late, Mr. Jörg. How about this: I will convey your request upward, and once this matter is settled, we can return to the other one. What do you think?"
Jörg did not give ground.
He knew perfectly well that this was the best moment to force Soviet Russia to bleed. And he had no intention of using the apology as mere bargaining material. No, he wanted the apology itself, and he wanted them to pay dearly for those German engineers as well.
After a short silence, he said, "I would rather settle everything at once, Mr. Chicherin. I am aware that night falls earlier in Soviet Russia, but diplomacy does not distinguish between day and night."
Then he leaned slightly forward, and his tone sharpened.
"As for the second request, it is even simpler. On behalf of the Weimar Republic and the German Reichswehr, I formally demand that Soviet Russia apologize for the Berlin riots. We possess ample evidence that your ambassador and your agents participated in, and helped organize, that operation with the intention of overthrowing Germany's lawful government."
His voice did not rise, but every word landed with force.
"That was blatant interference, Mr. Chicherin. In matters of national security, Germany does not yield a single step. Only after this issue is resolved can our discussions continue."
For the first time that evening, Chicherin's expression stiffened.
When he had tested the young envoy earlier, he had only thought him troublesome. Now he realized he had brought a venomous snake to his own table, one that would not let go until the poison was deep in the blood.
Still, he tried to muddle through.
"I understand your feelings, Mr. Jörg. Personally, I would be very willing to offer apologies to Field Marshal Hindenburg and President Ebert. But some matters are not decided by me alone."
He turned slightly and glanced toward Sidorov, who was standing by the door.
"How about this. Comrade Sidorov can escort you around the country over the next few days. It may also help you choose a suitable site for your academies."
It was an obvious attempt to change the subject, to cool the room, to push the real confrontation into tomorrow.
Jörg did not allow it.
"I understand your position, Mr. Chicherin," he said calmly. "If you cannot give me an answer, then Mr. Lenin surely can. Please arrange a meeting between me and Mr. Lenin."
That landed like a hammer.
"I will wait for your reply at the consulate for three days."
With that, Jörg stood, buttoned his coat, and walked straight out of the conference room.
He did not look back.
Behind him, the remaining Soviet personnel stared at one another in silence.
Only after the door had shut did the secretary step forward and ask in a low voice, "Comrade Chicherin... do we really intend to let that German meet Comrade Lenin?"
Chicherin did not answer at once.
His gaze remained fixed on the door through which Jörg had disappeared.
He could not say whether it was intuition or something worse, but the young German seemed to know more about the turmoil inside Soviet Russia than he should have. Every sentence had struck exactly where the pressure was greatest. It was as if he had already mapped the fractures in their government and was calmly inserting a blade into each one.
For a moment, a disturbing thought crossed Chicherin's mind.
Could German intelligence already have penetrated Soviet Russia so deeply?
No.
That was impossible.
Germany itself was watched by Britain and France. The Germans were still trying to establish military academies abroad because they could not openly build them at home. There was no reason to believe they had the spare capacity to lace Soviet Russia with spies.
And yet...
After a long moment, all those suspicions collapsed into a tired sigh.
He did not know how much Jörg truly knew. But one thing was beyond doubt: if that young man was really sitting at a negotiating table for the first time in his life, then Germany had produced a diplomatic genius with the instincts of a viper.
At last he turned to the secretary.
"Send a telegram to Moscow. We will consult Comrade Lenin on this matter first and ensure the talks remain within safe boundaries."
He paused, then added in a colder tone, "If Comrade Lenin does not agree to the meeting, we will cite his health. In short, one word: delay. Delay for as long as possible."
"And keep people watching them. Closely."
The secretary nodded at once.
He had seen enough from the doorway already. It was the first time in his life he had watched a man barely in his twenties press a veteran diplomat into retreat.
Germany might have declined, but the heritage of an old great power was not only steel and industry. It was also men like this.
On the other side, Morr had finally realized what a disastrous mistake he had made.
His hostility toward Jörg faded under the weight of embarrassment and guilt. Lia, meanwhile, was nearly glowing with excitement. Combined with everything Jörg had explained on the voyage, today's performance had elevated him in her eyes from brilliant to almost unreal.
Her respect had become something dangerously close to admiration.
Jörg himself, however, showed no visible satisfaction. He simply lit a cigarette, leaned against the car window, and quietly considered how to continue extracting the greatest possible benefit.
Pressure, after all, was only useful if it produced profit.
Breaking off economic negotiations entirely was impossible. That would help no one. So he would have to use more unusual methods. Lenin was still alive. Stalin's faction, whatever power it had gathered, did not yet possess complete control.
If Jörg were to approach Trotsky instead, directly making contact with Stalin's political rival, then the current leadership would undoubtedly panic.
Trotsky, whatever else he was, would crave one thing above all: legitimacy, recognition from foreign governments, proof that he was not merely an internal contender but a figure worthy of being treated as a statesman.
Of course, that did not mean Jörg supported him.
Quite the opposite.
He intended to use that bait to force Stalin's side into accepting terms, and in doing so, hand Stalin an excellent political gift as well.
He exhaled a thin stream of smoke.
The car rolled slowly into the central district and stopped outside the German consulate.
Calling it a consulate was generous. From the outside, it looked more like a guesthouse, an unremarkable three-story building with none of the grandeur expected of a true embassy. Since official diplomatic relations still had not been fully normalized, there was no formal ambassador here, only liaison personnel and coordinators sent by the Foreign Ministry.
It was already late.
Jörg did not head upstairs immediately.
Instead, he called Ethan over while the lieutenant was directing the guards and establishing their security perimeter.
"Ethan."
The lieutenant stepped closer at once.
"Yes, sir?"
Jörg lowered his voice.
"There is something I want done. It carries some risk, but if you handle it well, it may be time for your position to rise. Are you willing?"
Ethan answered without hesitation.
"Please give the order, sir. I do not care about promotion. I only ask to remain at your side. That is enough."
There was no flattery in his tone, only plain sincerity.
Ethan knew his own limits. He did not dream of becoming some great officer in his own right. Serving beside a man like Jörg, learning, surviving, remaining useful, that in itself was already the best road he could hope for.
.....
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