Chapter 313: Two Tigers on One Mountain
A few days later, Mexico City.
As the capital of Mexico, Mexico City had once been a symbol of prosperity and confidence. Now, with the United States sounding the horn of war, that prosperity had almost vanished overnight.
Along the northern frontier, Monterrey and Chihuahua were already under severe pressure, both facing the possibility of falling to the advancing American Army.
The effects quickly reached the capital.
Real estate advertisements covered walls and storefront windows. Wealthy families hurried to sell property before prices collapsed completely, while tickets for ships and aircraft were driven to absurd levels.
Panic had become its own economy.
And wherever there was chaos, there were always people eager to profit from it.
Spies, intelligence officers, smugglers, political agents, and opportunists from half the world poured into Mexico City.
Among them was a Soviet agent who had arrived by ship.
In the suburban district of Coyoacán, Trotsky's villa was unusually lively.
Mercader walked toward the entrance carrying a bottle of wine, greeting the guards with a familiar smile.
Few people would have imagined that this seemingly enthusiastic supporter was, in reality, an operative backed by the Soviet Union.
Mercader had already contributed to Trotsky's relocation from Paris. That service had earned him considerable goodwill among Trotsky's followers.
Even so, Trotsky's personal security remained strict.
Mercader had never been permitted a private meeting with him.
Today, however, he finally had his opportunity.
The moment he entered the villa with the wine in hand, several familiar faces turned toward him.
One member of Trotsky's inner circle immediately took the bottle and complained with a smile,
"Comrade Mercader, arriving late is a terrible habit, especially when Comrade Trotsky himself is here."
At the center of the sitting room, Trotsky was speaking animatedly with several European leftists.
The documentary released by Germany had unexpectedly given him a tremendous political opportunity.
The bombing of Helsinki, combined with the broader controversy surrounding Soviet conduct in Finland, had shaken the convictions of many foreign leftists who had previously supported Stalin without question.
Some had begun to openly wonder whether Trotsky would have been a better leader for the Soviet Union.
Trotsky naturally had no intention of wasting such an opening.
In recent weeks, his residence had welcomed a growing stream of socialist intellectuals, activists, dissidents, and political refugees from Europe and beyond.
For a man who had once stood near the summit of Soviet power, the atmosphere was intoxicatingly familiar.
For brief moments, it almost felt as though he had returned to the Kremlin.
"Comrades!"
Trotsky raised his voice.
"The present disorder of the world is certainly dangerous, but danger also creates opportunity!"
The conversations around the room gradually ceased.
"Every war deepens contradictions. Every crisis exposes weaknesses. Every collapse of the old order creates space in which new ideas can grow."
His gaze swept across the room.
"Chaos is not merely destruction. It is fertile soil."
Applause thundered through the villa.
Two members of Trotsky's circle seized the opportunity to pull the deliberately reserved Mercader forward.
"Comrade Trotsky, this is Comrade Mercader, the man I mentioned before."
"He helped us during the transfer from Paris. He was also one of the people who secured passage to Mexico before the German war machine began moving."
Trotsky adjusted his glasses and studied Mercader for a moment.
Then he stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"We need comrades willing to act, not merely speak."
Trotsky smiled.
"Comrade Mercader, men such as you are valuable to any movement."
Mercader lowered his head modestly.
Trotsky continued,
"Would you like to say something to everyone?"
Mercader's thoughts raced.
He had rehearsed many possibilities.
In the end, he chose simplicity.
"Comrade Trotsky, I only hope that I may have the opportunity to visit more often and learn from you."
His tone was sincere and restrained.
"The more I participate in political work, the more I realize how little I understand. I still have far too much to learn."
He looked toward Trotsky.
"And if possible, I would like to learn from someone such as you."
Flattery, when delivered too crudely, could raise suspicion.
Delivered properly, it became respect.
Trotsky was no exception to human nature.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Of course."
He patted Mercader's shoulder once more.
"You are welcome here, Comrade Mercader. Come whenever you wish. Study, discuss, and grow."
"Thank you, Comrade Trotsky."
The gathering eventually ended in an atmosphere of enthusiasm and optimism.
Guests gradually departed.
When the villa finally quieted, Trotsky sat back with a glass of wine and turned toward his secretary.
"How is the situation in Mexico?"
The secretary hesitated before answering.
"Poor, Comrade Trotsky."
He placed several documents onto the table.
"The Mexican Army continues to retreat. We believe Mexico may soon become unsuitable for our activities."
"The Mexican Communist Party has already joined the national defense effort and is participating directly in the war."
Trotsky slowly nodded.
"Then perhaps it is time for another relocation."
The thought did not particularly surprise him.
Exile had taught him that permanence was a luxury.
"Which countries might accept us?"
He paused.
"What about East Asia?"
The secretary fell silent for several moments.
"East Asia..."
His expression became complicated.
"It is difficult."
Trotsky immediately understood that the answer concealed more problems than it revealed.
The secretary continued,
"Argentina and Australia have both indicated that visa applications would likely be approved."
"Canada?"
Trotsky asked.
"We have not formally applied yet, but there should not be any major difficulty."
That answer satisfied him.
Trotsky waved a hand.
"Very well. Begin making preparations."
"Notify me the moment we receive a definite response."
"Yes, Comrade Trotsky."
The secretary departed.
Silence returned to the room.
Trotsky stood by the window, slowly drinking his wine while looking out across Mexico City.
There was a peculiar irony in his present circumstances.
Years ago, Jörg von Roman had indirectly destroyed his path toward becoming leader of the Soviet Union.
Now, Roman's actions had given Trotsky another political life.
The weakening of Stalin's international prestige had created precisely the opening Trotsky needed.
He looked into the distance and murmured,
"What a troublesome opponent."
Elsewhere in central Mexico City, Mercader entered a hotel.
Only after confirming several times that no one was following him did he step into the elevator.
He ascended to one of the upper floors and stopped before an unmarked room.
A coded knock.
The door opened.
A middle-aged man wearing a felt hat stood inside.
His eyes immediately moved past Mercader toward the corridor.
"You weren't followed?"
"No."
"Take off your coat."
Mercader obeyed.
The man searched him carefully, checking his pockets, sleeves, collar, shoes, and even the lining of the coat.
Only after completing the inspection did he allow Mercader fully inside.
The door closed.
The Soviet operative immediately asked,
"Does the target trust you?"
Mercader nodded.
"Yes."
"He personally gave me permission to visit the villa during normal hours."
The middle-aged man's expression brightened.
"Excellent."
He stepped forward and gripped Mercader's shoulder.
"Excellent work, Comrade Mercader."
"Moscow will not forget your contribution."
His voice dropped.
"Once the assassination is completed, if the Mexican authorities capture you, the Soviet Union will support you."
"You will not be abandoned."
"You will be treated as a hero."
Mercader did not look particularly reassured.
Instead, he asked,
"When are we acting?"
The Soviet agent frowned slightly.
Mercader continued before he could respond.
"I don't think we should wait too long."
"Trotsky is almost never alone except when sleeping. Opportunities are already limited."
He glanced toward the curtained window.
"And the military situation in Mexico is deteriorating quickly."
"If we delay, he may leave the country."
"Once he transfers somewhere else, we will have to rebuild the entire operation from the beginning."
Mercader's voice became sharper.
"And I cannot guarantee that no one will eventually become suspicious of me."
The Soviet officer raised a calming hand.
"Relax, Comrade Mercader."
"Neither you nor I have the authority to decide the timing."
He leaned closer.
"The order must come from Moscow."
"I will report immediately that you have successfully gained access."
"But I can promise you one thing."
His expression hardened.
"The day will come sooner than you think."
Several days later, an urgent telegram arrived on Beria's desk in Moscow.
He read every line carefully.
Then he read it again.
His eyes narrowed.
"Is this information reliable?"
The secretary standing before him nodded.
"Highly reliable, Comrade Beria."
"Our operative has successfully entered Trotsky's circle and has been granted permission to visit his residence."
"They are now requesting the exact timing of the operation and further instructions."
Beria's expression immediately brightened.
"Very good."
He needed a success.
His appointment to lead the Soviet security apparatus had given him power, but power without achievement was unstable.
If he wanted Stalin's trust, he needed to prove that he could accomplish what his predecessor had failed to do.
Trotsky would provide that proof.
Beria stood.
"Begin immediately."
The secretary straightened.
"Comrade Beria?"
"Contact the Mexican operation."
Beria's tone became cold.
"From this moment onward, they are to begin final preparations for the assassination."
He paused.
"There must be no failure."
"Trotsky is extremely cautious. If the first attempt fails, we may never receive a second opportunity."
The secretary raised his hand in salute.
"Yes, Comrade Beria!"
Beria looked back at the telegram.
Two men stood at opposite ends of an invisible struggle.
One was rebuilding his political influence from exile.
The other was trying to secure his place beside Stalin by destroying him.
Two tigers could not share one mountain.
Sooner or later, one of them would have to die.
....
https://discord.gg/KvMN2CFsMR
[If you don't want to wait for the next update, read 50 chapters ahead on P@treon.]
[[email protected]/FanficLord03].