There was everything Georgian about the man. He was short and swarthy, tireless and with a glimmering wit in his eyes and even the moustache, which curled up at each end like a cat's mouth screamed of his origin. Sitting there next to Molotov, pipe in the left corner of his mouth, his watchful gaze sweeping over the visitors, Stalin did not resemble the soviet leader but much more a teacher father. He greeted all those who entered by name which surprised Alistair. How did the Georgian dictator know his name, exactly which of the three men who'd entered he was? Maybe it was his aura or attire that had given him away, it must have been. Malinkow, Bowmore and the Russian official who'd joined them all did not receive a seat. Stalin expected the meeting to be short. There wasn't much to say, was there? Molotov started to speak, in Russian, and Malinkow immediately started to translate for his companion.
"It's a pleasure to have you. We were notified that you know things about the upcoming war, please share them with us." Malinkow finished a few moments after Molotov, he was a skilled translator, as he'd had to be several times in the force.
"I'd like to help. For reasons I cannot explain I have much knowledge about the upcoming world war. I also know – have estimates – how high the damage will be. Both human casualties and buildings, infrastructure etc... I want to prevent this, at least as far as I can. You're the biggest superpower in Europa with the, I assume, strongest military behind Germany itself," An amused spark shone in Stalin's eyes as the American called his army second best, "and, with proper preparation and the knowledge of when and where German attacks may occur, I am sure you'd be able to stop Hitler and his army before mid-1945."
He paused, but since neither Stalin nor Molotov spoke, he continued, a bit more nervously than before. It was very usual for Stalin not to speak until the end, or until everyone else had spoken, but in this particular moment Alistair Bowmore forgot that. He just saw a man, smoking a pipe with an expressionless face but burning eyes.
"I can list several things that will happen; exact dates, and with that I can prove that I know what I'm talking about."
Malinkow hastily translated. Once he was done the room fell silent. Stalin kept smoking, slowly puffing on the pipe, Molotov stared at the two men and the soviet official. "So, tell us. Make a list and, preferably, write it down. We'll have more important things to remember than your prophecies about a war that won't reach us."
Bowmore could sense the mockery in Molotov's voice. Stalin neither supported nor put his crony into place. He simply got up, turned to a small cabinet behind his chair and got out a bottle of Armenian brandy which he poured into his teacup. Then he stuck the pipe back between his teeth and watched the American man explain himself.
"On the 20th of March Ribbentrop will pronounce an ultimatum to Lithuania." He started, Malinkow jotted down the events in Russian. "On the 23rd of August the CCCP and Germany will agree to divide Europe between themselves in the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact." Again, Malinkow struggled to translate and write simultaneously. He succeeded both tasks surprisingly well. "On May 11th the battles of Khalkhin Gol will start. And the second World War will start on the 1st of September 1939 with the German invasion of Poland." Malinkow handed the paper to Molotov who pocketed it.
"Thank you, you can go now." He said with a curt nod. "We'll call you in again if we feel that we can profit from your help. Don't expect to be contacted before these things come true…if they do." He had a slight smile in his voice.
"Comrade Malinkow," Stalin started, speaking for the first time in the whole meeting. "You are an excellent translator." He turned to Molotov. "Promote this man to one of our interpreter." He looked back at Malinkow who felt as if the Georgians gaze burned a hole in his soul. "Your also quite the successful spy I heard…how's Dachau?"
Malinkow was too stunned to answer. Stalin had praised and spoke to him directly! "It's horrible, Comrade Stalin, as everything in Germany is." He finally answered breathlessly. His answer could have come out of a selected collection of answers used in Stalin's era. Each word carefully chosen to not accidentaly insult or infuriate the leader. Stalin smiled. He put the pipe back between his lips. "A good evening to all of you comrades. Maybe we'll see each other again." His eyes didn't mock the little group, unlike Molotovs had, but they showed his unbelieving and amusement. He'd already decided what to do with the mad American if his prophecies didn't come true, and what he had in mind would make the crazy tyke beg to go into any one of the German concentration camps.