Stalin stared at him coldly. “Because Churchill hates us almost as much as he hates the Nazis, perhaps even more. Now that Germany is defeated, he feels he can move to stop us from becoming too powerful, and he has convinced this Truman thing to go along. Do you doubt me?”

“No,” they answered in unison.

“It is utter arrogance. We will not let them rob us of our rightful vengeance. It will be stopped.”

Stalin rose and looked out the window onto the sunny but empty courtyard. “I will contact Marshals Zhukov and Koniev to discuss the final drive on Berlin. We have waited years for this moment and we will not be denied. We will be the ones to take Berlin and destroy the Hitlerite nest, not the Americans. We will not let them liberate a thing. The Americans will be stopped before Berlin, whatever the consequences and regardless of the lies they give as their intentions.”

Stalin glanced at the clock on the wall. It was midafternoon. “In a few hours, we will commence the greatest bombardment the world has ever seen. Then more then two and a half million men will assault Berlin and drive toward the Elbe. I will inform both Zhukov and Koniev that they are to expedite the pincers movement behind Berlin and seal off the rear approaches to Berlin.”

Molotov, normally impassive, paled. “But, Comrade Stalin, what if the Americans are already in Berlin or within the pincers?”

Stalin smiled tightly. “Then so be it. The Americans will squeal very loudly and learn a lesson.”

“What is the comrade tank commander staring at this fine night, this most wonderful of evenings, which signals the end of the Nazi empire?”

Commander Sergei Suslov climbed down from the dark turret of the T34 tank and stretched his tired muscles like a cat.

“Comrade driver,” he said with a tired grin to his slightly insane crewman Ivan Latsis, “I was staring at Germany across the lovely Oder River and wondering how much longer they can possibly hold out against our armies.”