Major General Svetlov looked at the folders in front of him, of which there were two. Personal files of the new cadets. They had just been brought to the location yesterday under the close supervision of Kotov. Yuri Borisovich knew the major for what seemed like a million years, but was constantly surprised by his ability to always find himself amid some odious events or adventurous operations of his home department. How many of his graduates Svetlov had handed over to him was unimaginable, but the General knew for sure that they all returned from their missions intact and relatively unharmed. Kotov’s reputation as a lucky man and wonderful intelligence expert was firmly entrenched.

      But these two definitely caused to the head of the 101^st School some bewilderment, if not outright doubt. He couldn’t think of a more seemingly incompatible pair!

      One is a darling of fate, the son of successful parents, who was born, as they say, with a silver spoon in his mouth. A professor's apartment, a prestigious university, female fans, the Lord did not deprive them of their appearance. Knows three languages, is erudite, bold and prudent at the same time.

      The other came from a simple working-class family. His father was buried somewhere around Rzhev, so the son came to conquer Moscow and entered, not just anywhere, but the Mechanical Institute. He took the nuclear physics course by the same Kurchatov, without even knowing he got lectured by the creator of the first Soviet atomic bomb. Athletic, strong. It goes without saying that this university scarcely took any other kind.

      And these two, his instructors will have to mold into field agents in a short time. Moreover, according to a special program, since their task is supposed to be more than a little difficult. As a professional, Svetlov understood the almost complete hopelessness of this venture. But he also knew what was at stake. And who is behind the order to carry out this crazy operation?

      The General opened the secret checklist of cadet Sarmatov, ran his eyes over the graph: great-grandfather, paternal grandfather, maternal line, father… Father… Academician, Professor Sarmatov, opposite the surname of a couple of special marks well-known to the general. However, Sarmatov-senior did not differentiate in the methods he chose to achieve his goal, which was getting to the top of his career. Copies of his denunciations were immediately and carefully filed with the meticulousness of the security personnel. The frequency of this aspect of Sarmatov the Elder’s activities changed during the 1937-38 period. During that time, his efforts increased the population of Siberia by 30–40 professors and academics. By a strange coincidence, all of them were involved in the exotic science of anthropology.

      Later, the future academician tempered his passion, as they hinted to him that this way the scientific world would be left without the best of its scientists. At the same time, others produced a similar work of elegant literature, but now exposing him, Pyotr Alekseevich Sarmatov, as an English spy and morally corrupt. It was the end of ’39, just when Beria had taken the post of the People’s Commissar of Internal Affairs and replaced Yezhov. He sharply reduced repression and emphasized developing relations between the internal organs of scientific intellectuals. This saved an unworthy sexist from a long sentence because of those accusations of transgressions against the Soviet state. The General wondered if the son was aware of his father’s artifice, or blissfully ignorant. Judging by the way they are constantly at odds with each other, people close to his family might have been talking about him.

      The intercom jingled, the voice of the attendant reported:

      “Comrade Major General, Lieutenant General Sudoplatov has just arrived.”

      Svetlov got up, pulled on his jacket, and pressed the feedback button on the intercom panel.

      “Show him in. And invite Major Kotov, too. He should be at the shooting range now.”

      “Yes,” the intercom clicked and fell silent. The general went to the window, pulled the curtains open. He loved to work like this, in the twilight, when nothing affects his train of thought, not even the joyous light of a warm June afternoon. He strained his ears, but he never heard the trampling of boots on the corridor carpet. The famous saboteur, whose exploits during the Great Patriotic War became the talk of the town among intelligence specialists, and his operations, dissected and laid out by analysts of Western special services on the shelves, formed the basic preparation of sabotage units in many countries, at the same United States, for example, came, as always, quietly. Svetlov grinned with the edges of his lips and turned to the door.

      “Good afternoon, Pavel Anatolyevich. What are the fates this time?”

      Sudoplatov saluted according to the charter, although he was a senior in rank. Nevertheless,