Inside Kremlin Molotov walked without hurry, counting the turns by habit, one hand in his coat pocket, feeling the smooth edge of a folded note.
He was summoned at nine.
It was nine when he reached the door.
The guard opened the door.
Stalin stood by the map table with his back to the room, pipe in the corner of his mouth.
Voroshilov sat around.
Two senior NKVD men stood near the wall.
On the table the map of Eastern Europe lay open.
Stalin did not turn when they entered. "Sit," he said.
They sat.
Molotov placed three neat folders on the green felt.
He looked at no one.
He had learned long ago that the shortest path in this room was a straight line.
"Speak," Stalin said.
He drew in smoke, held it, let it seep out through his nose as if testing the air for poison.
