I listened to the dwarf in rapt attention. The man was only a little taller than four feet ten and had always been called the dwarf. He was also crippled, with one leg longer than the other. Even at the beginning, I knew that the dwarf was a homosexual but didn’t care. Article 121 of the Criminal Code, which I codified myself, forbade homosexual acts between men, but that law was just a means to punish those who had fallen out of favor with me. A gay man loyal to me would not be prosecuted under the law while even heterosexuals thought to be my enemies would sometimes be incarcerated for sodomy. In a perverse way, I was pleased when I discovered one of my subordinates had a minor vice – pederasty, consorting with prostitutes, preying on teenage girls– because that way I could arrest him at any moment. Once a man was found guilty of sodomy or abuse of minors, it became easier to convict him for greater crimes. So the boy-faced dwarf – eventually to be called the “bloody” dwarf for his implementation of the purges – could be deprived of his liberty at any time and knew it. For the moment, he was in my good favors. He was one of my favorite apparatchiks.
“Your worst enemy is Trotsky,” the dwarf stated, saying something I believed myself. “He’s organizing Trotskyites around the world with the intention of replacing you. We must locate the traitor and liquidate him.” 
I was amazed at how the dwarf could get inside my head. For years, Trotsky was the former Bolshevik whom I feared the most. Even forcing him into exile had not diminished Troysky’s threat. I regretted not having executed him while the man was still in Moscow. As a result of my lack of vigilance, my own assassination at his orders was eminently possible. So the thought that a Trotskyite might try to murder me racked my mind as the dwarf tried to convince me it was necessary to kill Trotsky before he killed me first.
“How do you propose we get rid of him?” I asked in a pensive voice. “He’s two thousands kilometers away, hidden somewhere in Norway.”
The dwarf became agitated and spoke with the voice of an excited teenage boy, perhaps a bit drunk so early in the afternoon as was his habit. 
“The NKVD has spies everywhere,” he assured me. “Under my control, the purpose of the organization is to protect you above all else. You know I’ll forever be faithful to you. How hard can it be to infiltrate Trotsky’s home and shoot him in the head? How hard can it be to bomb his headquarters? I don’t care if he’s in Norway or Turkey or the Canary Islands. He can be at the furthest limits of the world. The NKVD can successfully bring him to justice.”
“Doing so would cause an international scandal,” I probed the dwarf. “We would lose many Communist allies throughout the world.”
“Not if we do it right,” the dwarf grinned mischievously. “First we need to have a trial. Yes, a sensational trial. We’ll invite the Western media to attend and give Trotsky a chance to defend himself. Since he won’t return to Moscow, we’ll try his co-conspirators instead. We’ll have Kamenev and Zinoviev confess to plotting your assassination at Trotsky’s direction. That will give cover to those in the Western world who venerate you after what you did in Spain, all the leftist intellectuals who desperately want to defend you.”
“So we first try his confederates?” 
 “Yes. After Trotsky’s co-conspirators are convicted in a legitimate trial, the Soviet government would have the right to bring the traitorous dog to justice by demanding his extradition from Norway or through a targeted assassination.”         
I stood up from my desk to think. I paced the hall silently for about ten minutes. Finally I walked toward the dwarf and spoke.
“For you to persuade me, Yeshov, you must answer two questions. First, how can you assure me Kamenev and Zinoviev will confess to plotting my assassination at Trotsky’s direction? Second, even if we secure a conviction that can be respected by the world, what do we do to kill Trotsky without leaving any NKVD fingerprints?  He’s not going to return to Moscow to face the firing squad. Given that Trotsky won’t be coming to Moscow for the trial, many will call any killing an extrajudicial execution.”
“First,” said the dwarf, “leave the confessions to me. You know the Trotskyites are guilty, don’t you? Don’t doubt it for a moment. Sooner or later they’ll try to assassinate you. In fact, I think we should make it a clean sweep. Let’s get rid of every traitorous Trotskyite in the Soviet Union. There are means to make people confess the truth. I have men in the NKVD who specialize just in that type of operation. Don’t forget there’s a law that says children may be punished for their parents’ crimes. That creates a powerful incentive to confess. You organize the trial and leave the details to me.”
“I need to think about it. I need to know it’s a failsafe plan.”
“It shall be a resounding success and shall forever protect you from the danger of assassination. In fact, by purging all your enemies we shall keep you in power until you die at ninety. After the execution of all the Trotskyites, no one will even dare to say you should be replaced by nonviolent means.”
“Do you mean they won’t try to replace me by democratic means?”
“Exactly.”

***

The dwarf is right. As the leader of the Soviet Union, I face the threat of death everywhere and at any time. The dwarf is also right in saying that my biggest threat doesn’t come from a disgruntled peasant, but instead from those in my inner circle. Only those in my inner circle have the means and the opportunity to kill me as well as the ambition to replace me. That includes many Old Bolsheviks who fought in the revolution with me, many members of the NKVD who secretly hate me. I must eliminate all of the men who shared power with me after Lenin died: Kamenev, Zinoviev, Bukharin, Tomsky, Rykov and of course that perfidious Trotsky.
The dwarf is especially right when he tells me my biggest threat is Leon Trotsky two thousand kilometers away. Even after having been banned from the Soviet Union for almost a decade, even after receiving multiple death threats, even after his whole family has been killed, Trotsky is as relentless as ever in his thirst for power, spouting anti-Stalinist propaganda in books, letters and articles wherever he happens to be. The dwarf assures me he is now not only an ally of the Americans but an agent of the Gestapo as well. So I have decided to act on the advice of the dwarf: the Trotskyites must be tried by a competent tribunal, especially Trotsky’s two main co-conspirators, Zenoviev and Kamenev. 
Soon I developed a list of others who should be tried by the Soviet Union’s tribunals, all at the insistence of the dwarf. We decided to call the first trial the Case of the Trotskyite-Zinovievite Terrorist Center, also known as the trial of the Sixteen. Aside from Zinoviev and Kamenev, we decided that fourteen others had to be brought to justice, although Trotsky, the mastermind of the terrorist plot against me, was not a defendant in that trial. The other fourteen accused were former Bolshevik Party leaders and high-ranking members of the Soviet Union’s secret police, including former members of the NKVD. We considered all of them Trotskyites who had to be quashed lest they commence an insurrection against me. 
The dwarf explained to me that the defendants had conspired with spies from other countries to assassinate me and other members of my cabinet, with the ultimate goal of tearing the Soviet Union apart and restoring capitalism. That is exactly what I believed in my deepest heart, even before listening to the dwarf. When I asked him if he was sure, he pointed out that his men had discovered recent correspondence between Trotsky and the two principal defendants, Zinoviev and Kamenev. So I gave the dwarf the green light: Commence with the prosecutions and make sure you obtain convictions. If you don’t, it’s your head that will roll and you will be replaced. Oh, yes! The boy-faced dwarf thought he was indispensable to me but I taught him early on that nobody is indispensable in the Soviet Union other than the Great Leader himself. I would have to repeat that to him many times over the years but I don’t think he ever understood it.
Before the trial, confessions had to be obtained, particularly those of Zinoviev and Kamenev. They were imprisoned for months, subject to daily interrogations. Although I’m not sure if they were ever subjected to actual torture – the dwarf felt it was best for me not to know the details of his work – I’m sure they were subjected to months of sleep deprivation and that the dwarf had warned Kamenev that his own son was deemed a collaborator in the Trotskyite assassination plot. So at one point – about a month before the trial – the dwarf invited me to participate in one of his “sessions” with Kamenev. The dwarf told me that I was about to see Kamenev sign his own death warrant even though the dwarf had not needed to use extreme methods to obtain it. I was surprised that the dwarf’s breath smelled of brandy during the interrogation and his words were initially slurred as he spoke. I had heard of the dwarf’s penchant for drinking before questioning detainees but had figured it only happened when he needed to give himself courage to begin a torture session.  
Kamenev was barely recognizable. He had aged ten years in a few months and his once robust frame was now skeletal. The dwarf opened the door so I could enter the interrogation room and Kamenev quickly followed. I remember the room was lit only by a tiny light bulb, such that it seemed that everything was happening in the shadows.  There were three chairs and a small table where the dwarf had placed two boxes of documents which he used throughout the interrogation. I could tell Kamenev was nervous and didn’t quite know how to address me. 
Finally he mustered the courage to say a few words on his own behalf.
“Great Leader,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I’ve always been loyal to you. We fought hand-in-hand during the October Revolution. I thought we reconciled during the Seventeenth Party Congress in 1934 when you rehabilitated me and Zinoviev. You must remember I received a standing ovation for my speech glorifying you. I thought we were friends since then. Please spare me from an unwarranted execution.”
“It’s your own deeds which will either save you or condemn you,” I replied.
“I’ve brought a confession for you to sign,” intervened the dwarf.  “It’s based on everything we’ve discovered during the interrogations of the last few months as well as correspondence which makes your guilt irrefutable.”
The dwarf handed Kamenev the confession, typewritten on two pages.
“I want you to copy it in longhand before you sign it,” said the dwarf.
Kamenev quickly read the two pages through his horn-rimmed glasses. Then he read it again and thought long and hard without saying anything.
“None of this is true,” Kamenev replied as he threw the affidavit on the table in front of him. “Most importantly I never entered a plot to execute Stalin with Trotsky or anybody else. And this business about my being a homosexual is a private matter.”
“Let me show you this letter from Trotsky to you,” the dwarf said. “I hadn’t shown it to you before, as I wanted you to read it in front of our Great Leader. I want him to get a sense of your perfidy.”
Once the dwarf was at work, he effectively hid any sign that he was intoxicated. He only succeeded at his job because he was a functioning alcoholic.
Kamenev took the document in his hands. The dwarf instructed him to read it.
“Dear Lev,” read Kamenev, “I hope this letter finds you in good health and out of trouble with your so-called leader. You’re right. Our homeland would be much better off if we had a troika of jackasses instead of Stalin running the country. Hopefully the people of the Soviet Union will soon realize it’s time to replace him. I’m doing all I can from abroad to tell the world the truth about Stalin’s megalomania. Try to burn this letter after you receive it so that it might not fall into the wrong hands.”
“That’s it, isn’t it?” asked the dwarf. “Are you now ready to sign your confession?”
“At this point, I’m not even sure we need a confession,” I interjected. “The letter clearly proves a plot to replace me through force of arms. To the perceptive listener, few words suffice.” 
“It wasn’t a plot to kill anybody,” Kamenev defended himself in an even voice. “It was just the expression of a political view. We never took any actions in support of any alleged conspiracy.”
“I have other letters like it,” replied the dwarf with an air of victory, excitedly waving a document in the air.
“In fact, this box is full of them. Let me read another one for your edification.”
“That won’t be necessary” Kamenev said. “You’ve made your point.”
“No,” answered the dwarf. “Let me read it. ‘Dear Lev,’ Trotsky’s letter starts, ‘how good it is to receive news from you. I’m glad there’s still an opposition in Moscow, even if your message is muzzled by the Stalinist thugs. But tyrants always fall, my friend. Don’t doubt it for a minute. I am marshalling the Trotskyite loyalists throughout the world, with the goal of forcing free and fair elections in the Soviet Union. Of course we face a treacherous enemy, willing to use the whole state apparatus to remain in power indefinitely.”
“That letter means nothing,” said Kamenev. “He’s talking about free and fair elections, not assassination.”
“I can keep reading. We’ve intercepted your mail for months. Do you now want me to provide the letters proving you’re a degenerate?”
“My private life has nothing to do with anything. And those letters from Trotsky don’t implicate me. A man living abroad sent me letters disparaging our leader.  How can I be blamed for the opinions of others?”
“Are you going to sign the confession or not?” the dwarf exploded in anger as he rose to his feet, looking every bit like a child having a tantrum. Even in his high-heel boots, he looked very small and with his crew cut seemed younger than his forty years. “The alternative is execution for both you and your son,” he added.
“Hold on. Hold on,” I interrupted. “I think we can arrive at a meeting of the minds based on our long-standing acquaintance.”
I turned to Kamenev.
“I remember when we worked together in defiance of Trotsky so long ago. And you must understand that Trotsky is the central focus of your upcoming trial. I assure you that it you sign the confession implicating the traitorous Trotsky, your life will be spared as well as that of your son. If you fail to sign it, then it’s another matter. In the end, the question is simple. Do you want to sacrifice your life and that of your son to prove your allegiance to Trotsky or are you prepared to tell the truth even if it leads to his inculpation?”
Kamenev looked at me with defeated eyes, knowing this was his last chance to avoid being killed. But I had correctly guessed that he would gladly implicate Trotsky if it meant his own life and that of his son would be saved from the firing squad.
“Well, if you say I won’t be given a major sentence,” Kamenev replied, “I’ll write the confession in longhand now and sign it in front of you. I trust that you’re a man of your word.” 
“And don’t forget to include the part that says you’ve engaged in deviant acts,” the dwarf added. “That’s also one of the accusations.”
Zinoviev agreed to a similar deal and signed a confession implicating Trotsky in a plot to assassinate me. That was all I wanted. That was the purpose of the whole trial. I firmly believed Trotsky would murder me if given the chance and his writings and speeches were intentionally inciting others to do the deed. But after the two convictions of Kamenev and Zinoviev, I changed my mind about them. I made it clear their executions were required. That is one of the perquisites of being Supreme Leader of the Soviet Union. One can decide matters of life and death through a snap of the fingers. There was simply too much evidence that Kamenev and Zinoviev had plotted to kill me. If they were spared, they would continue their plot against me and it would send a dangerous message to all the Trotskyites around me.
I laughed when the dwarf told me that Zinoviev, once a proud Bolshevik warrior, had been pulled wailing and screaming to the place where he was shot.

***

I soon asked the dwarf when the NKVD would assassinate Trotsky. After all, convictions of most of the defendants in our grand trial had been secured. Even the media in many capitalist countries were saying that there was no reason to question the legitimacy of the verdicts given the confessions in open court. But the dwarf told me it wasn’t the right time. Another trial was needed to execute the remaining co-conspirators, which included Nikolai Bukharin, Aleksei Rykov, and virtually every other member of the Bolshevik Old Guard. The dwarf told me that unless all the powerful Trotskyites were brought to justice, murdering Trotsky would not accomplish its intended purpose. Upon his death, another traitorous Trotskyite would rise to take his place. More importantly, the dwarf said this time we should make a point of trying Trotsky in absentia for treason and attempted assassination. 
“Many European countries allow such trials,” added the dwarf. “In absentia means you try a person who does not appear in court. That would give more heft to any punishment inflicted upon him by the Soviet authorities.” 
“I see,” I responded as I considered the dwarf’s advice. I had the vague intuition that he was slow-walking the Trotsky matter in order to have time to solidify his role as my advisor. 
“And there’s another thing,” said the dwarf. “I think it’s high time to beef up our purge of traitors and anti-Stalinists among the members of the Communist Party and among the ordinary people. Unless we take the threat seriously, we could easily have a counter-revolution on our hands. The NKVD has already brought thousands of people to justice for ‘crimes against the state.’ But I need your approval now. I’m thinking we’ll have to ‘remove’ hundreds of thousands of people, maybe half a million by the time the purge is over. Believe me, I don’t like it either, but we need it to retain power. We must purge and purge and purge.” 
“Be careful, Yeshov,” I said in reply. “Can you read my mind or are you my Rasputin? The suggestion you’re making is that I launch a war against my own people. I, too, feel there is no alternative, but if you give me defective counsel, be prepared to suffer. And what do you mean when you say ‘we’ need to retain power? Who is ‘we’? Never forget the great power you seem to have is not yours but mine. The people may consider you the second most powerful person in the Soviet Union, but never forget the vast chasm that exists between the most powerful man and the second most powerful man in this country.”
“No, dear leader,” the dwarf replied with panic suddenly painted on his face. I knew he didn’t want to get on my wrong side lest he pay the price. 
“I didn’t mean anything by what I said, just that those who support you are the ones who should retain all power while those who oppose you must be crushed, even if we’re talking about a million people. I promise you I shall do everything I can to find and kill your enemies. You can count on my absolute loyalty. You must realize I am your own forever.”
“I know that, Yeshov. I trust in you completely.”
But I was lying to him. I don’t trust anyone – a man is loyal only to himself, not to Stalin, not to his family, not to the Communist Party – and I certainly didn’t trust the dwarf after the way he handled the Yagoda trial. 
“I have brought some albums for you to review,” he said. 
“I like you, Yeshov,” I said to put him at ease. “I like the fact you show no compassion to those who are a threat to my regime. I especially like that you’re able to anticipate my thoughts. I, too, believe it is time to double down on the purge of the traitors among the Communist Party and the common people. What are these albums you have brought for me?” 
The dwarf regained his composure. Even my scant words of criticism had led him to the brink of despair. He did not forget his predecessor at the NKVD had been executed for his failure to satisfy my demands in a trial orchestrated by Yeshov himself. As my whole country knows, especially those in positions of authority, I demand loyalty from everyone but I’m ultimately loyal to no one. And that’s just fine, for I alone represent the people. I like having my subordinates on pins and needles, because that way they do everything they can to please me and serve the needs of the revolution. 
  “These albums,” said the dwarf as he opened a box, “contain the names and photographs of fifty thousand people who were arrested by the NKVD last month throughout the Soviet Union. The vast majority are peasants and laborers who desire a change in government because of what happened during the Great Famine. There is open talk of your assassination among them, and I can show you some correspondence to prove it. There is also a number who are government officials of one sort or another – full-fledged members of the Communist Party – who are secret Trotskyites based upon the preponderance of the evidence. I think all of them should be executed, shot in the back of the head. We are launching a major attack on the enemy, comrade Stalin. Better that fifty innocent people should suffer than one spy get away. That one spy could be the one who puts a bullet in your heart.”
“I don’t need to take a look at the albums,” I replied brusquely. “I’m glad to leave everything in your hands. I was under the impression that everyone executed by the NKVD had first been tried by a troika of my officials in lieu of a full-fledged trial. If they’ve already been tried by a three-man jury, why would you need any further approval from me?”
“Just trying to make sure everything is done according to your wishes, my dear leader. So you agree with my plan? I can order the annihilation of all the Trotskyites, traitors and spies, even if we’re talking about hundreds of thousands of people? Your critics will call it a massive bloodbath. You should know that it’s absolutely required.”
“From now on, don’t even bother me with this. I don’t need to know how many are killed nor the reasons for their executions. I delegate all authority to you. Do you know what that means? You alone will have the power to decide whether a peasant – or a governor for that matter – shall live or die.”
“Thank you,” said the dwarf, suddenly standing up from his chair, beaming with pride. “I shall extirpate the cancer that is growing within our country. Please be assured that I shall use my authority to hunt down every traitor, including the Machiavellian Trotsky. I haven’t forgotten about him.”
“There’s just one more thing,” I said to him. “I hadn’t mentioned it before but I think your position of power may be getting to your head. Your mannerisms get worse every day, as if you no longer cared if people learned what type of man you are. Of course, in Russia the only vice is to question the Great Leader. Still, I think you should be more discreet. I remember when I was a student at the Russian Orthodox Theological Seminary and one of the students was given to effeminate mannerisms. We beat the crap out of him and he never acted like a queer again.”
The dwarf looked like a cornered rat. I could tell he was at a loss for words, for I think he believed his homosexuality was a secret. But nothing is a secret to the General Secretary of the Soviet Union.
Finally the dwarf looked at me fixedly in the eyes and lied to me.
“Those are vile rumors with no basis in fact. I may be a little flamboyant now and then, but that proves nothing. As you know, I was a married man and then my wife committed suicide.” 
“As did mine,” I responded. “Maybe it is the curse of men like you and me to drive their women to perdition.”
I felt somewhat discomfited after having made such an abrupt confession to the dwarf so I quickly changed the subject. At all events, I hoped that Yeshov had learned he had to change his conduct. I didn’t bring the issue up again until I had some compromising photographs taken at a party at his dacha about a year later.

***

I first learned of the dwarf’s ruthlessness and ambition for power soon after I decided to replace Genrikh Yagoda with the dwarf as head of the NKVD. My first assignment to the dwarf was for him to orchestrate Yagoda’s trial. I wanted the dwarf to prove that Yagoda had plotted to assassinate me in league with foreign powers, the Germans as well as the Japanese. I implied – without putting it in so many words – that if the dwarf didn’t find the proof, then he had to create it. 
I made it clear that if he wasn’t able to secure Yagoda’s conviction and execution, the dwarf would not continue as director of the NKVD. That was when I realized that the dwarf would do anything in his efforts to advance. The dwarf enjoyed the dacha with the swimming pool which was one of the perquisites of his new position and was not about to lose it to defend a man he had always hated anyway.
To prove his bona fides, the dwarf invited me to one of his sessions with Yagoda. I detected a strong smell of vodka coming from the dwarf’s mouth, but that made him better at his job, not worse. I would soon learn that the dwarf knew how to break a man and being drunk only made him do it more intensely. His genius was that he not only forced defendants to confess their traitorous conspiracies, but somehow also compelled them to believe they had actually happened.
At first, the dwarf calmly strapped Yagoda to a wooden board, put a wet rag in his mouth and poured water through the rag to give him the sense of being drowned. After the dwarf stopped, he gave Yagoda a chance to admit his murderous plot and denounce his co-conspirators but he resisted. This happened several times and Yagoda would not budge. He had been head of the NKVD and knew a confession meant a certain execution. So the dwarf resorted to more extreme methods, burning Yagoda with a cigarette, lashing at him with a whip, beating him with a billy club, all of which took several hours. Still Yagoda refused to admit his crimes or provide the names of his co-conspirators.
“I guess you can’t make him confess his crimes,” I said. “You’ve been torturing the man for five hours and still he won’t budge. Perhaps another man could do a better job of it.”
“I didn’t bring you here for you to witness a confession, sir. That is still a long way off. But I wanted to show you how I tame the horse. We’ve been going through these sessions every day for a month. How long can the man hold out? Not long. At some point, every man gives up in the face of relentless punishment.”
“Well, I don’t need to witness any more of your sessions. If you think such abuse will lead to a signed confession, then by all means go forward with it. It’s ironic, isn’t it? You learned these methods from Yagoda himself when he worked at the NKVD and now you are using those selfsame methods against him.”
“I’m willing to do anything for the security of Comrade Stalin,” the dwarf said with a beaming smile.
But obsequiousness never fools me.
I suspected that if the dwarf so easily betrayed Yagoda, a man with whom he’d worked for months, he would easily betray me as well. If he felt his own position was in danger, he would do anything to save it, even if it meant a palace coup. The dwarf himself had warned me to beware of those with power in my inner orbit.  He was certainly in that number. His lack of any moral scruples certainly made for a powerful leader of the NKVD. But it also meant I had to keep him on a very tight leash. Over the ensuing months, a cult of personality began to grow about him and that made him a dangerous man indeed.  

***

The second great trial took place just a few days after Trotsky and his wife Natalia Sedova arrived in Mexico City. The trial succeeded as planned and all the seventeen traitors including Yagoda were convicted and executed based upon their own confessions. This led me to immediately contact the dwarf, for I was anxious about the Trotsky matter and felt that time was of the essence.
“Now that you have your sentence against Trotsky – in absentia as you say – I need to know what you’re planning to do to eliminate Trotsky in Mexico City. Executing Trotsky’s underlings and collaborators gives me scant solace. I want you to focus on Trotsky himself. He’s the one who’s determined to assassinate me.  Listen to me, Yeshov. You must give me his head on a platter. Do you understand me? Otherwise I’ll have yours.”
The dwarf froze, not expecting such a direct threat from me. But I wanted to convey to him that the prompt assassination of Trotsky was of the utmost importance. It was better for me to give the dwarf a warning than to try him as a traitor for dragging his feet.
“We’ve already assassinated Trotsky’s son Sergei,” the dwarf objected. “And most of his family in Russia has been executed too. We have NKVD agents in Paris just waiting for the opportunity to arise so that Lev, Trotsky’s other son, might be killed as well. Don’t worry about the ultimate fate of the traitor. Our presence will be felt in Mexico City.”
“The news reports that Trotsky and his wife are already living in Mexico. I hope your NKVD agents are also there. I want you to put the assassination of Trotsky at the top of your list. I’d rather hang Trotsky than a thousand rebellious Communist officials.”
“I’ve already appointed a special operative with the NKVD to be a point man on the Trotsky matter. He is Nahum Eitingon, a man of the utmost confidence. We’ve come up with the idea of parallel tracks, Operation Mother and Operation Horse. But you must realize it takes time to put all of our plans in place. Operation Mother, for example, has already been commenced, but some patience is required. We’ve already used an NKVD spy named Ramon Mercader to seduce a young Trotskyite woman named Sylvia Ageloff who frequently visits Trotsky’s house in Mexico.  But it can’t be hurried. One false move and everything gets discovered. So we just have to wait. We have to wait for Mercader to secure Trotsky’s confidence to such an extent that he is allowed to enter the house without being searched. If the would-be assassin can’t take his weapon with him, he can’t kill Trotsky.”
“Why is it called Operation Mother?”
“Because Ramon’s mother, Caridad Mercader, is a staunch Stalinist and was an agent of the NKVD long before her son joined the group. She’s the one who pushed Mercader to engage in this projected mission.”
“And what is Operation Horse?”
“I already have a man to do the job. His name is Josip Grigulevich, also known as Felipe. He was living in Spain during the war and enlisted multiple Communists as NKVD collaborators, including a Communist Mexican painter named David Alfaro Siqueiros and several members of the Mexican Communist Party.  We shall soon send Grigulevich to the Mexican capital. You should know that some of our men are already there. We even have photographs of the house where Trotsky is seeking refuge. A Trotskyite painter named Diego Rivera and his wife have allowed Trotsky to stay in their home – known by all as the Blue House – and the Mexican police guard the home day and night. Some American Trotskyites are already living at the house, working as security guards. But our plan is to send Siqueiros to raid the Blue House along with twenty other men, to kill Trotsky with a machine gun.” 
“Siqueiros?”  I inquired. “Is that the best assassin you could find? What does a painter know about targeted murder?”
“I knew you’d ask me that. Here’s the dossier my men have prepared about him. Siqueiros was a captain in the Mexican Civil War. He was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Spanish Civil War.  He’s been a member of the Mexican Communist Party since his early twenties and – what’s more – he’s a staunch Stalinist. He detests Trotsky as much as you do for he blames him for the loss of Spain.”
“Well, all right, as long as you move on this. I’m satisfied with the progress you’ve made so far, but please don’t sleep on your laurels.”
“We still have the matter about the Tukhachevsky Affair,” the dwarf reminded me.” I’ve decided to conduct a secret trial of General Mikhail Tukhachevsky and eight other generals who have been plotting to overthrow and kill you. He’s been a general ever since the October Uprising nearly two decades ago and has deep connections within the Army. I think we need a huge purge of the military, but as usual the ultimate decision is yours. I consider Tukhachevsky a powerful foe. In my opinion, the general is almost as much of a threat as Trotsky himself. I think you should get rid of all the higher echelons of the Soviet military and replace them with younger men strictly loyal to you. Heads must roll – and I mean that literally. All traitors, especially among the generals, must be put in front of a firing squad.” 
“You keep pushing me, don’t you, Yeshov? To purge without cease. Our country will no longer be a homeland but a grave. General Tukhachevsky is one of our most distinguished officers, and I myself made him Marshal of the Soviet Union just two years ago. Why must he be executed now after so many years of loyal service?”
“I think I’ve explained this to you before,” the dwarf responded. “It is those with power whom you must fear the most. Sure, an angry peasant might try to put a bullet in your head on the streets of Moscow, but only a general can raise an army against you and topple your regime.”
“Proceed with the prosecutions,” I advised him. “Just make sure they all confess. You were right when you said it is better to shoot a man in the face than give him a chance to shoot you first.”

***

In those first few days after the second trial of the Trotskyites, we had popular opinion on our side. After all, there was nothing implausible about a palace coup and even the United States allows the death penalty for treason.  But the Americans beat us to the punch. Before we could even prepare for our special operation – a targeted assassination – Trotsky had invited an American Commission led by John Dewey to go over the Moscow Trials to determine whether or not the allegations against Trotsky were supported by the evidence. Much was made of the fact that the only substantial proof of any wrongdoing came in the form of confessions, which the Trotskyites said were inherently unreliable. They made the claim that the Soviet Union is a country where the intelligence services routinely use torture and intimidation to force people to confess. Of course, they failed to acknowledge that even a man who had suffered extreme methods of interrogation wouldn’t admit to a crime punished by death unless he was guilty.
The Dewey Commission concluded that Trotsky was innocent of all charges and that the confessions of his co-conspirators were obtained through extrajudicial means. The dwarf advised me that it was best not to go forward with the targeted assassination until things cooled down a bit. We needed to counter the findings of the Dewey Commission with our own evidence. After all, we had a long list of letters written by Trotsky referring to the overthrow of the Stalinist government. We could rely on our fellow travelers in worldwide media to diffuse the message that the verdicts were justified given Trotsky’s own writings. And only then, said the dwarf, could we launch Operation Horse and Operation Mother. The world was suddenly aflutter with news that the Moscow Trials were a fraud. It was not a good time for an assassination. Meanwhile, the dwarf was continuing with his relentless purges of enemies real or imagined in the Soviet Union. 
One morning I received an unexpected visitor from my past. It was Father Piotr from the Russian Orthodox Theological Seminary, a man who had been not only my instructor but also a cherished friend during my adolescence. At that time, I still had friends. Now I only have subordinates. Father Piotr knew that he was risking his life by coming to my office at the Kremlin, as the dwarf had decreed that all priests were threats to my regime and should be shot without delay. But Father Piotr addressed me by my adolescent diminutive, Soso, and hugged me when he saw me. I had the impression that despite everything he thought that with me he would be safe. Or else he didn’t care, so pressing was his business with me.
“How many years has it been?” I asked him.
“At least thirty,” he responded.
“How are things going in Georgia? Is Father Lasha still alive?”
“Father Lasha was executed, as so many others have been. Not only priests have been killed, but also innocent peasant men and women who have nothing to do with politics. When I witnessed such misdeeds, I couldn’t believe they had been ordered by you. Thousands have been executed in the Republic of Georgia alone. Who knows how many others have been murdered in the rest of the Soviet Union. You were once such a devout boy. Tell me, Soso, is there now no limit to your depravity?”
I sat up, towering over the diminutive priest as he was sitting on his chair. 
“Greater men have been executed for having made less injurious accusations. You have to understand that there are thousands – nay, millions – who would like to see me killed. I am a man feared by all but loved by none. I live in the most profound solitude even as I am constantly surrounded by all manner of yes-men. I know they are all too willing to kill for me but deeply unwilling to die for me. I can trust no one. Can you understand me?”
“The people would love you if you treated them with generosity and compassion,” the priest answered. “Saint Casimir of Lithuania had political power but he always used it to benefit his people. Vladimir the Great never oppressed the citizens of Russia but remained in power until his natural death. It is true that throughout history some Russian leaders have been tyrannical, but it is just as true that many have been saints.”
“The problem, Father Piotr, is that the head of my security services, a man now known as the ‘dwarf,’ tells me that unless we use extreme measures I’ll have a violent insurrection against me on my hands. Moreover, the Germans might launch a war against the Soviet Union and we can’t allow any spies among us. Without a strong hand, the imperialists will throttle us.”
“I’ve heard about him, but you should know in Georgia we refer to him as the ‘bloody dwarf.’ Others call him a ‘moral and physical pigmy.’ Why don’t you come to our province and see what’s happening for yourself? When all you know is the statistics, it’s easy to lose sight of the humanity of those who are killed.”
“I’ll try to see if I can fit a visit to Georgia on my schedule. I’ll have the dwarf show me his operations.”
“You should know this,” the priest said before leaving. “Your sinister henchman is telling you that you need millions of assassinations to remain in power. But what he really wants is to remain in power himself by making you fear all other men. I can assure you that the Great Purge is making revolution against you far more likely than if you simply let everyone live in peace. The key to being a good ruler is to surround yourself with virtuous men. God has given you the gift of great authority. With such authority come great responsibilities. Accept this moment as an invitation to God’s grace.”
“I’m not sure I need God’s grace. I’m more powerful than the Patriarch of Moscow and the Pope combined. But I shall take your words about the dwarf under advisement. It is true that he’s a man hungry for power and that I’ve given him a lot of power, which he can misuse to threaten my regime. Already the Dzhambul Dzhabaev has written poems about him, celebrating the dwarf as a hero, and the dwarf receives accolades from every newspaper in the land. When he speaks before the plenum of the Communist Party, he is met with thunderous applause, much louder than when I speak. And most importantly, he is feared by all. Such a man is definitely a threat to my regime.”
“Well, I hope you’ll think of what I said. Listen, I have a note from your mother. Here it is. I haven’t read it.”
“Let me see. Let’s read it. ‘My dear Soso, please treat Father Piotr with gentleness and respect. What a pity you didn’t stay in the seminary and follow Father Piotr into the priesthood.’”
Father Piotr moved me to action against the dwarf, not because he had called my conduct depraved but because he pointed out I was inviting a revolution through the purges orchestrated by him and because the old priest questioned the dwarf’s fidelity.
I was beginning to see the dwarf as a threat.

***

The week after Father Piotr’s visit, I told the dwarf that I wanted him to travel to Georgia with me and show me how his purge of “enemies of the state” was working. He told me that he would be delighted to do so, given that the Georgian authorities were exceeding all NKVD quotas of assassinated traitors.
“You’ll be amazed by their efficiency,” said the dwarf. “In light of the work done by our troikas, Georgia is one of the safest places for you to go.”
I didn’t tell the dwarf that my intention in visiting Georgia was not to determine whether his quotas had been met, but to see if he was being overzealous.
As soon as we arrived at the NKVD headquarters in Georgia, the dwarf proudly advised me that a multiple execution was about to take place. Five men in their fifties were lined up against the wall ready to be shot. Before the men were blindfolded, one of them recognized me and pleaded for his life.
“I have never plotted against you, dear leader. I have been faithful to you to the end, so proud that a fellow Georgian had achieved such power. I have been accused of sedition merely because more than twenty years ago I was a Trotskyite for a very short time. Back then, you and Trotsky weren’t even enemies. I’m being killed for a political opinion briefly held, without an iota of evidence that I ever plotted your assassination or worked to undermine the Soviet government. I hope that as a fellow Georgian, you shall have mercy on me and remedy this travesty of justice.”
I turned to the dwarf.
“Is what this man says the truth?”
The dwarf paused for a while, as I’m sure he had not anticipated this turn of events. Then he spoke in a voice I had never heard before. Gone was any trace of doubt or weakness. He was suddenly completely sober. 
“Men in their fifties are often caught in our nets. In their early twenties, many were aligned with Trotsky, Kamenev and Zinoviev. But that does not mean they’re an idle threat today. Young men have always seen you in power and can’t even contemplate the possibility of another regime, but these old Trotskyites certainly can.”
“And he’s been tried by the three-person troika?”
“Yes, the triumvirate has done its job.”
“Well, proceed,” I said. I was not yet in a position to second-guess the decisions of the head of the NKVD.
Upon hearing my words, the man collapsed onto the ground and began to weep. The dwarf breathed a sigh of relief. I’m sure he knew that if I doubted his execution of the purge, his job would be in danger, indeed, so would his life. Thereupon the dwarf asked me if I wanted to witness an interrogation. By then, he must have realized that my purpose was not to decide whether he was zealous enough, but whether he was murdering innocent people right and left in an effort to prove himself. As the good priest had said, such conduct would only lead to more and more enemies against my regime.
We entered a small room where a woman was being questioned by the troika of on-the-spot judges, the NKVD chief, the First Party Secretary and the procurator.  She was probably in her late seventies or early eighties, and it appeared she was being tried not for her own actions but for those of her twenty-year-old grandson. Apparently he had been found in a train station with a gun and the troika wanted her to confess that the purpose of the gun was to kill a local Georgian Communist official. The old woman, who reminded me of my own Babushka, would admit to nothing of the sort. I knew that under ordinary circumstances, evidence or not, the old woman would have been promptly found guilty and condemned to death. But the dwarf must have suddenly realized that things were different with me in the room.
“Do we engage in more extreme methods of interrogation?” the dwarf asked me. “It is clear that otherwise she will not confess.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t see how an eighty-year-old peasant woman could be a threat to my regime. And given that you have proof her grandson had a gun, the NKVD should be able to prosecute him to fruition even without the testimony of the old woman. It is generally known that the daughter does not answer for the mother nor the grandmother for her grandson.”
“That’s the first time I have heard such a message from you,” said the dwarf.
“Well, a lot of things are going to change.”        

***

At some point, I advised the dwarf I had learned of a soiree at his dacha attended only by men in swimming shorts, carousing by the pool. I immediately told him he was making a laughingstock of my regime.
“They’re not just rumors anymore,” I told the dwarf as I smoked my pipe. “Somebody has obtained photographs of the party. Didn’t I tell you to be discreet? You know that I tended to look the other way. But now the pictures are all over the magazines.” 
I myself had ordered Lavrentyi Beria to obtain the photographs of the degenerate party which took place at the dwarf’s dasha. I had long known of such soirees and said nothing, preparing to bring them up only if the need arose.
“I promise you I’ll be much more careful in the future,” the dwarf protested. “It’s not that I’ll hide my private life. It’s that I shall no longer have a private life. I’ll lead the life of a monk. I’ll make you proud.”
“I’ve sent Beria to the news media to prevent them from disseminating the pictures, but the damage has already been done. Men dancing with each other, others dressed in drag. I am very disappointed, Yeshov. You’re an irredeemable queer. Homosexuality is not a defect of the working class but of the bourgeoisie. I don’t think you can change your conduct or cure your great disease.”
“You’ve sent Beria, my second in command? Why would you do that? I could have taken care of the matter myself.”
“I don’t think you understand, my friend. In light of overwhelming evidence, I shall have to replace you and Beria is the man. He’s a fellow Georgian and I’ve known him for a while.”
Suddenly the dwarf’s voice was tremulous and he began to beg. 
“Please give me another chance,” he pleaded. “I know sexual deviation is anathema to our grand Communist project. But it is just a vice for me to conquer. You know I’m the most loyal of your cadres. You can be assured that I would gladly give up my life to save yours. I shall never engage in homosexual conduct again. I am not what I am.”
I think that the dwarf realized at that moment the enormity of my decision. Of course I’d always known he was a queer but I had decided to replace him for other reasons. His homosexuality made for a convenient excuse. Frankly, I never cared about homosexuals one way or the other, but I knew that among the common people same-sex relations were deemed to be an abomination.        
“It’s not just the sexual issue,” I said to the dwarf. “Beria has let me know that you routinely engage in excesses in your great purge, many times while being drunk. The use of torture is allowed in extreme cases, but it should never be the norm. I ordered that you use three-member troikas to determine the guilt or innocence of those suspected of treason. But I’ve found out the troikas are only a rubber stamp and that you order the governor of each province to provide a quota of men and women to be executed every month.  I always thought the quotas were merely guidelines, never imagining that you insisted that the regional chiefs turn over a fixed number for execution or be punished for not doing so. I always demanded proof of guilt and you chose to ignore that. Now the world is saying we have mass extrajudicial killings in the Soviet Union. How can I keep you as head of the NKVD with such a record?”
“You’re rewriting history, with all due respect. Of course you knew about the quotas. The heads of every province were working furiously to meet them. How could you not know? And torture was commonplace throughout the purge. I even used strong-arm methods while interrogating various prisoners in your own presence. More than once, you accused me of excessive leniency rather than harshness.”
“History, Yashov, is dictated by the one who has the last word. I regret to have to tell you that is not you. For a long time, you thought your power was commensurate to mine. But like Icarus you flew too close to the sun and now your wings are charred. History will show the Great Purge was your idea and not mine. The blood of four-hundred-thousand people is now on your hands.” 
“So you’re demoting me?” asked the dwarf, perhaps still hoping the worst could be avoided. “Don’t forget those we killed were either terrorists or spies. The Law of December 1, 1934 allows for abbreviated procedures for those accused of terrorism. And it’s not immoral to execute someone who means to kill you.”
“Don’t think it’s a matter of moral or religious scruples. The purge of enemies will continue, but it shall be done with more restraint. Beria has a reputation for dealing harshly with the people’s foes, but he won’t risk a revolution by overdoing it. Nor will Beria torture anyone while he is drunk. You should realize that every time you killed an innocent man, you turned the man’s entire family into implacable enemies of the Stalinist regime.” 
“Is there anything I can say?” asked the dwarf. “Now you’re punishing me for following your directions to the letter. You mean to demote me because I took part in the implementation of a program meant above all else to protect you. Please note that I did so with the collaboration of thousands of government officials throughout each of the sixty-four republics and provinces of the Soviet Union.”
“Don’t insist, Yeshov. You were the man in command and now it is you who must suffer the consequences. You’re being transferred to the offices of the Department of Water Transportation, effective immediately.  Also, Beria will be moving into your dacha. Would two weeks give you enough time to find an apartment?”
“I don’t understand why I’m being punished for doing my job and doing it well. Everything I did was done at your behest. Don’t tell me you don’t remember when I told you that a certain number of innocents would have to be sacrificed but that it could not be avoided. An extra thousand people dead does not matter when you’re confronting a multinational plot led by Leon Trotsky and aided by the Germans as they prepare for war.” 
“Stalin gives and Stalin takes away. What you never figured out is that nobody is indispensable in the Soviet Union.”
Finally the dwarf collapsed on his chair and began to weep.
“I did everything because I love you, all right, that’s the truth, because I wanted to please you. I did it because I wanted you to need me. Don’t tell me you are without feeling for me too. The way sometimes our eyes locked together, the lingering of a handshake, the occasional kiss on the cheek when we parted.  Don’t tell me that at a minimum we don’t share a deep platonic friendship. I was sure that I was somehow special in your eyes, the only man that you could trust, in some secret way your soul mate. We saw each other every day for such a long time, spending hours together.”
“What rubbish!” I responded. “You’re making things worse for yourself by doubling down on your pederasty. Please at least have the dignity not to grovel. Don’t make the case against you worse by referring to incidents best forgotten. As Gorky said, ‘destroy homosexuality and fascism will disappear.’”
“Well, I suppose that means goodbye,” the dwarf said, regaining his composure and drying his eyes with a handkerchief. “You should know that Operation Horse and Operation Mother are well on their way. Operation Horse will take place first. Siqueiros the artist-combatant has prepared an army of twenty men to raid Trotsky’s estate and assassinate the old man. And if that fails, then Operation Mother will go into effect. Our NKVD man, Ramon Mercader, has already developed a relationship with Trotsky and is frequently invited into the home. The idea is that Mercader will kill Trotsky with an ice pick in the old man’s study.”
“Great!” I said . “That means you’ll be leaving with a feather in your cap. Please excuse me for having to leave, but I have an important meeting with the new head of the NKVD this afternoon.” 

***

In 1940, within the space of six months, I eliminated two of my greatest enemies.  Nikolai Yeshov – the dwarf – was executed on February 4, 1940 after receiving a death sentence for treason and attempted assassination. His brother and nephews were also killed for their collaboration. Trotsky – the traitor – was killed on August 21, 1940, after Ramon Mercader murdered him with an ice pick in accordance with the decrees and sentences of the tribunals of the Soviet Union. It had taken so many years of planning – an international manhunt no less – but the old counterrevolutionary was finally dead thanks to the work of Beria, the new head of the NKVD.
The dwarf died like a coward. Prior to his execution, he screamed out that he was boundlessly in love with me and started bawling like a little girl. Truth be told, Beria had not had to do too much to break him, as the dwarf was a broken man even before being arrested. The NKVD had been tracking him and soon realized that the dwarf was a completely defeated man. He stopped going to his “job” with the Department of Water Transportation within a month, as he arrived at three or four in the afternoon and was never given any work to do. He also reverted to his ancient vices – alcoholism and sodomy – with renewed vigor. The NKVD obtained many new photographs showing his penchant for young men and proving he often visited brothels. And he spent the whole day drinking, beginning around noon and continuing into the night.  At any event, the pictures weren’t even necessary as the dwarf almost immediately confessed to far worse crimes, including a plot to assassinate me as a secret agent for German powers. He was simply unable to withstand torture for any length of time. In fact, I think he folded during the very first session with Beria. I suppose that as an experienced practitioner, he knew that all resistance to torture was futile and saw no reason to suffer more than was necessary.  That did not prevent him from vociferously crying out at trial that his confession had been obtained by means of torture. 
The Great Purge has another name in Soviet Russia. It’s referred to as the Yezhovschina, the time of Yeshov, since it was the dwarf who orchestrated it without letting me know its full extent. I decided to remove the dwarf from memory. Every photograph in which he appears beside me was airbrushed to erase his figure. The face of the Great Terror was withdrawn from history.  But that does not mean my fears have abated. I still fear the omnipresent possibility of an anti-Stalinist assassin. At some point, after the war, I ordered a purge of all the doctors, since I was afraid they would use their medicines to poison me.
I should have listened to my mother and become a priest. What does it benefit a man to rule over the entire Soviet Union if he is constantly afraid of the assassin who might be around the corner?

Sandro Piedrahita's short stories have been accepted for publication by The Acentos Review, The Ganga Review, Carmina Magazine, The Write Launch, Synchronized Chaos, Limit Experience Journal, Sundial Magazine, Hive Avenue Literary Journal, Faultline Journal, Label Me Latina/o, and Foreshadow Magazine.