CHAPTER 337: NOW, NOTHING STANDS BETWEEN US AND POLAND.

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."

Stalin chuckled softly. "Then he’s as foolish as his leader."

"Will you tell him the rest?"

"No," Stalin said. "Let him toast his illusions. When the ink dries and Poland is gone. We will have our time."

Molotov nodded slowly. "And France?"

"France is busy pretending to be clever," Stalin said. "Let them play their games. When the storm breaks, they’ll be under the same rain."

(Something suspicious is going on. USSR has something else planned for future.)

Paris, same morning.

The Le Matin headline took half the front page.

GERMAN-SOVIET PACT EXPECTED TODAY

Foreign Ministry Declines Comment

Étienne Moreau read it at his desk.

He didn’t look surprised.

He only smiled faintly.

Artois entered without knocking. "You’ve seen it?"

"Of course," Moreau said. "The wolf and the vulture finally agreed on the carcass."

"Poland," Artois said.

"And the world believes it’s a non-aggression pact," Moreau said. "They always believe the easy lie first."

Artois leaned against the wall. "Do we respond publicly?"

"No. Let London scream first."

"They’ll demand your position."

"They always do." Moreau folded the newspaper. "We’ll give them silence. It frightens them more."

Artois nodded slowly. "The Soviets think they’ve fooled us."

"They’ve fooled themselves," Moreau said. "Stalin believes this buys him time. He’s right. Just not as much as he thinks."

Artois frowned. "So what now?"

"Now," Moreau said, "we wait for the thunder."

Moscow, night.

The hotel assigned to Ribbentrop was warm, almost comfortable.

Soviet guards stood outside every door, polite and watchful.

At dinner, Molotov joined him.

They drank vodka, ate black bread and caviar.

The conversation was formal, stiff.

"To peace," Molotov said, raising his glass.

"To Europe," Ribbentrop replied.

Molotov smiled. "Same thing, perhaps."

They both drank.

Ribbentrop set his glass down. "Comrade Molotov, I must say, this meeting will surprise the world."

"That is the intention," Molotov said. "Surprise keeps men quiet."

"Until they understand."

"By then," Molotov said, "it’s too late."

They both smiled polite, false.

Ribbentrop leaned forward. "You understand, of course, this pact must be public. The world must see it as peace."

Molotov nodded. "The world will see what it wishes."

"And the rest?" Ribbentrop asked softly.

Molotov’s eyes didn’t move. "The rest is between us."

That night, the drafts were finalized.

Two documents, nearly identical except one contained a single additional page, handwritten in cipher.

Secret Supplementary Protocol

Division of Spheres of Influence in Eastern Europe

Boundary to follow the Narew, Vistula, and San Rivers

Germany recognizes Soviet interest in Finland, Estonia, Latvia, and Bessarabia

Both parties agree to maintain confidentiality.

Ribbentrop signed without hesitation.

So did Molotov.

Stalin stood behind them, silent, watching.

When the pens were down, he extended his hand.

"To friendship," Stalin said.

Ribbentrop shook it. "To the future."

"Indeed," Stalin said. "Yours first."

Berlin, 6 a.m.

The teletype machines clattered in the Foreign Office.

GERMANY AND SOVIET UNION SIGN NON-AGGRESSION PACT

Goebbels read the headline draft with satisfaction. "Perfect. Keep it simple. The people like peace."

In another office, Krüger stared at the decoded summary.

He read the line twice.

"Additional agreement, contents undisclosed."

He frowned.

"Undisclosed to whom?" he murmured.

In Paris, Moreau read the same news hours later.

The headline stretched across the top of every paper.

He set the copy down and turned to Artois.

"So they’ve done it."

"Yes," Artois said. "The world believes the lie."

Moreau nodded. "Good. Let them celebrate."

Artois sat opposite him. "You’re not surprised."

"No. History’s clock just struck the same hour as before."

He looked toward the window. "But this time, we’re awake."

Artois leaned forward. "You mean to intervene?"

"Not yet," Moreau said. "Let them march into Poland first. Let them choke on their confidence."

He lit a cigarette. "The pact is their triumph and their trap. Two predators sharing the same kill never end well."

Artois said quietly, "And France?"

Moreau exhaled smoke. "France waits. But not idly."

He reached for the telephone. "Get me Madrid."

"Spain?" Artois asked.

"Yes. Tell them to begin moving the engineers north. Quietly."

"What do I tell them?"

"Tell them," Moreau said, "the storm we predicted has begun."

Moscow, same night.

Molotov and Stalin sat in silence.

"The Germans believe this will last," Molotov said.

Stalin smiled faintly. "All things last, until they don’t."

He poured another glass. "Let them have their Poland. We’ll take the rest later."

He looked out the window, the Kremlin lights reflected in the glass.

"Europe’s map is redrawn tonight, Molotov. With invisible ink."

Berlin.

Hitler stood by the radio, listening as the announcement played.

When it ended, he turned to Keitel.

"Do you hear that?" he said. "That’s the sound of history obeying."

Keitel nodded, but his face was pale. "And the West?"

"Confused," Hitler said. "That’s enough."

He smiled. "Now, nothing stands between us and Poland."

In Paris, Moreau folded the telegram from Bucharest.

King Carol confirms readiness. Convoys standing by.

He smiled slightly. "Perfect timing."

Artois entered. "Berlin celebrates."

"Of course they do."

"They think it’s peace."

"It’s division," Moreau said. "They just don’t see the line yet."

He leaned back in his chair. "When they march east, the world will call it war. But for me..."

He looked at the map. "It’s rehearsal."

Artois said nothing.

Outside, rain began to fall.

Moreau whispered, "Let them play their parts. I’ve read this script before."