I Became Stalin?!

Chapter 161

“An order is absolute. Do you understand?”

“Yes! Yes! Comrade Director. I will complete the task you ordered as soon as possible…”

“Ha, these days, these bastards…”

Beria spat out careless remarks that would have shocked Stalin, as he scolded his subordinates.

The last time the US intelligence was involved, the conclusion was that the US did not actually confirm any information and the agents were safe, but it was certain that the Secretary-General was angry for a while.

He had to bring more achievements. For more power.

‘Damn Zhukov…’

The generals captured Warsaw, besieged Königsberg, and gradually pressured the Nazi fascists.

As a result, the honors he could earn from the intelligence side decreased, and he could be pushed back in the future power struggle. 

He had played a leading role in purging many military officials, but what if a military official eventually ascended to the supreme position?

He had thought about it many times, but his spine chilled. 

The more anxious he was, the more he repeated his usual obsessive screams to his subordinates.

“In our time, we didn’t need to be ordered like this. We handled everything quickly and efficiently. Why are there no decent ones among these days’ bastards?”

“I’m, I’m sorry!”

Beria felt a sadistic pleasure and an obsessive anxiety at the same time, seeing the young staff who jumped out as if they had been struck by lightning at his words.

The subordinates who jumped like herbivorous animals scared by every word satisfied his sadistic desire and more. 

He had one of the largest organizations in the Soviet Union in his hand, and his power was one of the best in this powerful and huge country.

But at the same time, there was a very powerful authority above him.

‘Secretary-General Stalin…’

The Secretary-General wielded a divine power in the Soviet Union at present. Beria, one of the most involved in the execution of orders as his subordinate, was driven by his endless power and coveted power.

The more he indulged in his power, the more his brain, which should have been excited, cooled down and faced reality. 

The power that could manipulate even the powerful authorities like himself as if they were mere low-level employees made his brain’s desire center work furiously.

“Is this all the report?”

“Ah… yes! That, that’s right!”

“Write it again.”

He didn’t read the report properly because he was dizzy with desire, but his subordinate was not in a position to resist his order.

He savored the taste of power once again and picked up one of the report bundles he had been waiting for.

<Regular report on John Edgar Hoover, director of the US FBI>

A slightly different sweetness attacked him again.

‘Pathetic fools…’

He lost his appetite as he watched his subordinates carrying reports and various materials in front of him. 

They were pathetic. 

When he could do whatever he wanted with those who could decide their life and death here, the taste of power was sweet but not very intense.

But the more powerful the authorities he controlled and played with, the more the sweetness came with a thunderous intensity.

FBI director, Soviet army federal commander, they had to be at least that level to be good pieces to play with in the long game.

“John Edgar Hoover, born in 1895. Served as FBI director since 1924.”

When he read it out loud, his power was more intuitive to his eyes.

The United States was a different country from the Soviet Union. 

Comrade Stalin drove out Trotsky in the 1920s and rose to the position of absolute authority, but in the meantime, the United States had changed presidents several times.

Even in that turmoil, this Edgar Hoover had kept his position as the head of the intelligence agency like himself. In a way, he was one step behind him, who was appointed after Yezhov’s Great Purge.

But how would he feel to have his weakness caught by someone who was one step behind him? 

The powerful authority who was allowed to rule for 19 years by the US presidents who could not do anything, was now a chess piece that danced in my hand!

“Huhuhuhuhu…”

I couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

Comrade Secretary-General was quite mysterious in a way. He ordered an investigation after hearing that there was a commotion in the US, and also commanded me to find the weakness of the FBI director.

But as he did so, he somehow knew exactly what his weakness was, and where to collect the information.

‘Who would have thought he was gay…?’

Comrade Secretary-General instructed me to dig into that direction, since there was intelligence that the FBI director was a homosexual. 

And sure enough, the NKVD agents confirmed that he was in a same-sex relationship with his deputy director, and also enjoyed inappropriate relations with young boys.

Such acts were unacceptable in the Soviet Union, which regarded homosexuality as a ‘symbol of capitalist corruption’, or in the US, which considered it as ‘something that would incur God’s wrath’.

Beria looked at the copies of the evidence he had obtained, clicking his tongue. The boys specially deployed by the NKVD had secured proof of Hoover’s various ‘perverted acts’. 

When Hoover received these copies, he tried to punish the moths who dared to catch his weakness by using his usual power, but…

“Puhahahahahaha!”

There was no way the Soviet intelligence agency would be deterred by his flimsy order that he issued in surprise.

I was quite flustered by Hoover’s investigation order. 

He was nothing but a lowly thug who used to deal with politicians, movie stars, or back alley gangsters with threats and blackmail.

He was no match for me, who had fought gun battles and spy wars with Char’s secret police, handled the political henchmen of the opposition party, and carried out physical purges of factional units.

Beria laughed smugly over and over again.

There was also a juicy extra income for me.

Hoover had used his power to create the largest porn collection in the world. 

He seemed to have gathered the materials that were seized or exposed during the investigation to satisfy his private desires, but I was able to get all of them from him.

Sweat broke out on his bare forehead as a fiery desire surged through him. His walls were not as thick as Hoover's, but his thoughts were generally unacceptable. Slowly, he imagined, his hand slipping down to fondle his crotch.

It might not be of much use to him, but it might be of some use to the Clerk's comrade, and somehow he felt sorry for him.

‘Even with such absolute power… he was impotent…’

Stalin, the secretary-general, had been impotent for quite a long time, as far as he knew. It was due to aging and physical causes, so he wasn’t sure if his porn collection would help, but it was better than nothing.

What was the advantage of the intelligence department over the military? Wasn’t it that they could find out and provide the most intimate things that the powerful wanted?

He had a hard time figuring out what the secretary-general wanted, because of the drastic changes after the war. 

The secretary-general he had known for decades had changed somehow.

I needed to take some decisive action.

Knock, knock, knock. Someone knocked on the door.

“Come in!”

His loyal subordinate, Sergei Kruglov, opened the door slightly and peeked inside.

“Comrade Director, your son is here to see you. Do you have any other business?”

“Not at all, let him in.”

As if he had been waiting, his son, Sergo, opened the door and walked in slowly.

A different kind of satisfaction crept up on his lips. How did his son turn out to be so handsome?

He had a tall stature, a sturdy build, and deep eyes that resembled his mother.

“Hey, son.”

“Yes?”

“Who did you inherit your good looks from? Hahahaha!”

Seeing his father laugh happily, the son smiled bitterly. Beria felt even better as he watched him.

He wouldn’t have been happy as a father if he was a cold-blooded person like his father, who had no blood or tears. Sergo rummaged through his uniform’s chest pocket and dropped a few sheets of paper on Beria’s desk.

“I don’t want to do this kind of thing anymore, father.”

“…It’s all for your sake. Let’s take a look, shall we?”

He spat out the clichéd parental words dryly and picked up the pile of papers as if he had been waiting.

Did his son know how excited and sweaty he was? Beria felt a strange sense of satisfaction in his chest.

Sergo glanced at him briefly and seemed uninterested. Sergo was not a schemer or a spy like him. 

He had a handsome appearance and a talent for engineering, like his mother. But Beria did not want his son to live quietly as an engineer and end there.

“Hmm… very good. Good.”

“…Can I go now that you’re done?”

Heh, heh, heh, it was funny somehow. His son was good.

He was so good that he did whatever his father told him, wanted to leave the place where he could run away right away, and asked his father until the end.

Maybe that’s why Svetlana fell for him.

“Okay, go ahead. Oh!”

“…?”

“Don’t you need some money?”

“…No, I’m fine.”

He tried to give him some money as a reward for the information, the price of breaking his faith, and the date with Svetlana, but Sergo refused until the end.

Forcing him to do something and rewarding him was a very effective way to break his faith, according to his experience. His son refused to take the ‘money’ his father gave him because he thought it would dirty his mind.

But it went through his mother anyway. It didn’t matter either way. His son, who tried to keep his pitiful pride while confessing his ‘girlfriend’s’ secret diary to the director of the intelligence agency, was cute. He was just a baby yesterday…

“Son, don’t be like that.”

“Then don’t make me do it.”

“You were born in the Soviet Union. I was born in the Tsar’s empire. Many Soviets were born in the Tsar’s empire.”

He repeated the same words over and over, and Sergo grabbed the doorknob and shook his head impatiently.

But Beria spoke as if he enjoyed repeating it, without checking whether he was listening or not.

“The Tsar’s empire can return to this land anytime! Who knows who will take the throne now that Yakov and Vasily are dead. There was no precedent for a bastard to inherit the throne in the empire, but this is not the empire, is it?”

“…”

Sergo trembled at his blatant words.

His father always spoke of his desire like that. He wanted to be the supreme leader of the Soviet Union, and he wanted to use his son and… Svetlana as a means.

“I’m clearing the way for you and me. No one can stop us.”

Neither Budenny, nor Zhukov, nor the Americans across the sea.

Heh, heh, heh, he laughed wickedly, carried away by his excitement, and his son left the room behind him.