The train shook its way through the German night. Metal on metal. Rhythm like a clock counting down the thirty days Koba had left.
The compartment smelled of coal and old fear. Pavel, Murat, and Ivan sat across from him, watching rather than speaking. The safe house in Geneva felt like a lifetime ago. The certainty was gone. Now it was all grit and impossibility.
Pavel spoke first. His voice was flat. Practical. "Koba. I'll follow you anywhere. But this… St. Peter and Paul—it's a fortress. Four men against that garrison is suicide."
Koba looked up from the folded map of Berlin on the table. He had the quiet of a man who'd been thinking too long. The calm settled the others and made them listen.
"You're thinking like a soldier," he said. "Stolypin expects a soldier. Lenin expects a soldier. That's the trap."
He tapped the map once, precise. "We won't storm a fortress. We'll walk into the trap on purpose. Then we'll use it."
They leaned forward. Confusion first, then curiosity. Koba started to outline the plan. He spoke in steps. Clear. Cold.
"First, the bait." He pointed to Unter den Linden. "Stolypin wants the ledger. He wants me to trade. Murat, you leak a rumor through your Berlin contacts: Koba is in the city and ready to swap the Krupp ledger for a comrade. Make them think I'm desperate. Make them watch the embassy."
Ivan grunted. "So we sneak through the back?"
"No." Koba smiled without warmth. "While they stare at the front door, we will be somewhere else entirely. We're not rescuing Kato. We're taking a different prize. A hostage of equal or greater value. A prisoner exchange, not a rescue."
Pavel's face went hard. "Who in this city is worth that much?"
Koba let the question hang. He looked at each of them like he was measuring their faces.
"Remember the man who arranged the dynamite job? The Duma deputy who started this whole chain?" Koba asked.
Pavel thought a beat. "Malinovsky."
"Roman Malinovsky," Koba said. "A Bolshevik hero on paper. A leader of the Metalworkers' Union. Lenin calls him important."
He dropped the rest quietly, the way a blade drops into flesh.
"He's also Stolypin's highest-placed agent. The Okhrana's crown jewel."
Sound left the compartment. Murat's hand flew to his mouth. Ivan swore under his breath.
"He's in Berlin for a conference," Koba said. "Stolypin thinks he's safe. Kidnapping Malinovsky would destroy Stolypin politically. He'd pay anything to get him back. He'd bend to any demand to keep him quiet. We demand one female Georgian prisoner handed over at a neutral border."
The plan landed like a blow. It was not crude. It was surgical. They were not blowing doors. They were threatening reputations and careers. Koba wasn't just trading bodies. He was trading leverage.
Pavel watched the man he'd followed out of the Caucasus. He remembered the old Jake—the self who would have called this monstrous. That Jake was a memory. Koba's math had no place for guilt. He called it leverage. Ruthlessness had become strategy.
The train whistle shrieked as lights from Berlin's outskirts rose up. The city looked tense even from the tracks. Troops. Wire. The air felt like a held breath. Perfect for what they planned.
Koba folded the map. "We move on this plan."
Orders came short, final.
"Pavel, Ivan—surveillance on Malinovsky the moment we arrive. Learn his routines. His guards. His weakness. The window will be tiny."
Murat's task was different. Harder. Riskier.
"You cannot contact any Bolshevik comrades in Berlin," Koba said. "They cannot know. They cannot be trusted."
Murat frowned. "Then who do I contact?"
Koba produced a small sealed note. "The man from Warsaw. German intelligence."
Murat blinked. "Herr Schmidt? You mean the Germans?"
"Yes." Koba's eyes were ice. "Stolypin made this personal. We make it international."
He handed Murat the note. Murat broke the seal and read. The message was short and explosive. Koba had pushed everything onto the table.
It said: "Prime Minister Stolypin is blackmailing a Bolshevik over a state secret involving Krupp armaments. This has become a German national security issue. I require a meeting. We have a common enemy."
For a moment the train's clatter was the only sound. Then the compartment tightened around the plan, and the night outside seemed to lean closer.