Ribbentrop returned the smile, thin and formal. "Tell Comrade Molotov I'm honored. And tell Stalin..."
The diplomat interrupted. "He prefers to deliver his own words."
Ribbentrop nodded. "As do we all."
They drove through the city.
Moscow looked gray and silent factories, towers, faces watching from corners.
The streets carried no joy, only caution.
From the backseat, Ribbentrop watched a group of schoolchildren cross the road, led by a soldier with a red armband.
He turned to his aide. "Do you know what I admire about this place?"
"No, sir."
"The efficiency of fear."
In the Kremlin, Stalin read the telegram from Berlin twice before folding it.
"Ribbentrop in Moscow," he said. "So the clown finally comes to the circus."
Molotov gave a dry smile. "You invited him."
"I invite everyone," Stalin said. "Some leave alive."
He leaned back, exhaling smoke. "Do you think he knows what he's signing?"
Molotov hesitated. "Yes."
