On the dark and black night of November 1, 1961, gray shadows began to gather at the walls of the Kremlin to do their dirty work. The shadows are silently watched across the twisting stones, touching the rubbed stars, proudly glowing in the sky in Moscow. One, two one, three on one, gradually, there was a platoon. Mr. Commander of the Staff, maybe me? - Yes, Lieutenant. Start? - Yes, love start. Quiet kidnapping metal, twisting doors, rust, a few twisting sounds, as if working with diamond observations. It sounds like someone was digging the ground. In the air, rare snowflakes were drawn. The captain of the team winced. Gentlemen, you are brushing. Can you hurry? Ivan Shridonovich, my dear, time and #33; Chief of Staff, one more minute. One minute. Soon the first group appeared. The gray shadows carried a large box out of the museum. Gentlemen, faster & #33; Here is & #33; Let's go faster & #33; Time & #33; Mr. Team Leader, where are the letters? Quickly down & #33; Gray shadows lowered the coffin into the grave. A few more hectic minutes and everything calmed down. - Gentlemen and #33; Drozdovtsy ! Whispered the captain of the team I will arrive between the snowflakes. The Hurrah & #33; Hurrah & #33; Hurrah & #33; Hurrah & #33; A black line of shadows responded in the same whisper. And they dispersed, melting in the dark like ghosts. The communists, the loyal Stalinists, knew nothing. In the morning they arrived, but Stalin was not in the museum. There are no "S.T.A.L.I.N" letters in the museum either. Behind the mausoleum, the grave is fresh. Who did this? #33: The communists, the loyal Stalinists, asked each other in a whisper. Exactly, enemies and #33; Enemies sneaking into the heart of the capital and #33; They didn't dig the CEO. Just in case. From the mausoleum locked barely notices someone's laughter.