The Romanov succession

by Brian Garfield

  The bullet caromed off something in front of him and slid away with a sobbing sound; the Daimler roared away ahead.

  He straightened to see through the windscreen. There was a silver slash across the painted metal two feet beyond the glass. The Daimler was fishtailing with acceleration but it might be trying to gain a little distance before slewing across the road and blocking him: so Alex simply stopped the car.

  Irina began to sit up but he said, “Stay down.” He shifted the revolver to his right hand and put it out the window.

  But the Daimler sped right on away, its single red taillight reappearing on a farther incline and then being absorbed into the night.

  She sat up and adjusted her coat. “Wasn’t that rather pointless?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If they meant us real harm they certainly behaved halfheartedly. To say the least.”

  “They may be waiting for us. Up the road.”

  But it was the road he had to take. After ten minutes he put the Austin in gear.

  Now he went fast because if they’d set up an ambush he didn’t want to give them time for a clear shot. He got the Austin up to fifty and held it there in fourth; he couldn’t go much faster because the narrow road had sudden turns between the stone walls of the Scottish farms. Irina held the revolver and he used both hands on the wheel. He went into the turns fast and came out of them slow because they might have chosen a blind spot to wedge the Daimler across the road.

  “Did you see their faces at all?”

  “No. But it was only one man-the driver.”

  “Strange,” she said. “I wasn’t frightened then. Now look at me, I can’t stop shaking.”

  The Daimler was gone. He had to stop at the gate and be recognized by sentries and then he drove straight to the hangar and trotted to the phone inside: he got an outside line and rang through to Coastal Patrol. He had a piece of luck: MacAndrews was still in his office.

  “It’s a Daimler coupe, dark green, with a closed rumble seat. I couldn’t make out the plate number but it’s heading southeast-it can’t be more than ten miles from here.”

  “I’ll ring up the constabularies down that way. Afraid I can’t promise too much you know-it might have turned off anywhere.”

  “I’d like to ask that driver a few questions. But tell them to treat him with care-he’s got a gun. Probably a pistol since he used it one-handed from the car.”

  “We’ll stop him if we can. Sorry about this, General-rotten hospitality, isn’t it.”

  He cradled it and swiveled in the chair to find Irina in the door with one shoulder tipped against the jamb. She looked oddly young: her face was flushed, her slack pose a bit ungainly, like that of a young girl ready to sprawl. “Take me to bed, darling.”

  3

  The Bentley dropped Anatol at the curb and went in search of a parking space while Ivanov’s manservant carried Anatbl’s overnight bag into the house.

  The diminutive Baron was in a rage because shrapnel from a five-hundred-pounder had chipped a corner off his house. It had razed the house two doors away but that wasn’t what angered him. “You simply can’t get that sort of cornice work done any more for any price. It can never be restored. It’s time to put a stop to this Hitlerian nonsense.”

  “Yes well I suppose we are all doing our bit about that.”

  But Ivanov went on with his invective until he recognized how silly it was; finally he dragged a palm across the bald peak of his skull and went in search of a cigar. When he returned he had restored his composure. “I know it is petty. But one resents such a thing as if it were a personal affront. War should be a matter for soldiers and battlefields.”

  Anatol selected a chair. “What have you to tell me?”

  “Nothing good. I have not been able to persuade Zurich to support us.”

  Anatol kept his face straight but his words were bitten off. “They are fools.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps they are only apolitical men doing their duty. It is their responsibility to safeguard the Romanov fortunes regardless of what happens, regardless of who wins wars. If they were to back the Devenko plan it would require that the Romanov capital be depleted by vast sums. They have measured the risks and found them too dangerous. They are prudent men.”

  “Then we have no alternative but to support Alex Danilov.”

  “Yes-because he’s acceptable to the Allies. We have no other source of funds but the Allies now.”

  “I detest being beholden to them.”

  “If we succeed in Moscow we can repudiate them at our leisure,” Ivanov murmured.

  “Perhaps. But what’s to prevent them from withdrawing their support at any moment?”

  “One can only be optimistic about that.” Ivanov stared bitterly at a great jagged crack in the plaster ceiling. “The American Colonel has been in London for ten days. He finally obtained an interview with Churchill. Now I understand he is on his way to Scotland to be with General Danilov. Does that sound like the behavior of a man who is about to withdraw support?”

  “Buckner is a nervous man. He jumps at shadows.”

  “Then all we can do is try to keep him calm.”

  “I don’t like it,” Anatol said.

  4

  Brigadier Cosgrove showed up in a dreary overcast with Colonel Glenn Buckner in tow. Buckner looked the same and it disconcerted Alex; somehow you expected people to look different in new surroundings but the American looked exactly the same as he’d looked in Washington the first time they’d met: he even wore the same bulky blue flannel suit. Alex was surprised to realize it had been only about eleven weeks since that first meeting.

  Buckner was ebullient. “I hear you’ve been working miracles up here.”

  Cosgrove had with him an enormous case which must have weighed eighty pounds but he’d refused to allow anyone else to carry it off the plane. Now with his one arm he heaved it up onto Alex’s desk and undid the fasteners one at a time and flipped the lid back. The case was filled with stacks of identical manila envelopes. “Your men’s papers-the forgeries. We had the devil’s own time getting it done this quickly. You’d better have a close look-they seem all right to the chaps in my office but of course they’re not going to have to use them. You’ll know what to look for.”

  “We’ll go over them tonight.” Alex peeled one of them open and shuffled through the cards and badges and oddments of paper. “I’m deeply grateful-it was fast work.”

  “Nonsense old boy. Had to be done-you did a good job convincing me of that.”

  Buckner said, “You’re looking damned fit for a man who got shot at again.”

  “Shot at. Not shot up.”

  “You were wounded the first time. I feel like I ought to grovel-I was supposed to have tight security on you.”

  “No real harm done,” Alex said.

  “Any clues this time?”

  “No. We found the car they’d used. Abandoned, no useful fingerprints. It had been stolen in Glasgow a day earlier.” Alex went around behind the desk. “I suppose I’d better ask why we’re being honored by this distinguished delegation.”

  Buckner looked around the room as if it had fascinating decor. “You’re getting close to jump-off point. My boss asked me to be on the scene.”

  “You won’t be going in with us. There won’t be much for you to see.”

  Buckner shrugged. “You know how it is.”

  Cosgrove hadn’t taken a seat. He scratched the stump of his arm through his shirt-he seemed to have a perpetual itch there. “I’ll push off then. I only wanted to be sure those papers reached you. Didn’t want to trust them to anyone else’s care.”

  Buckner stood up. “Thanks for the lift, Brigadier.”

  “No trouble at all.”

  When the brigadier had gone Buckner went to the door and shut it and went back to his seat. “Now then.”

  “What are you really here for, Glenn?”

  “To throw a potential monkey wrench in your plans.”
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br />   A chill ran through him; he made his voice hard. “Would you like to explain that?”

  “That’s what it’s going to take. Explaining. Have you got a few minutes?”

  “I’ve got to, haven’t I.”

  Buckner shifted-slumped down in the chair. “Have you been watching the dispatches from Russia?”

  “I’ve seen the papers.”

  “The press tends to put things in the best light. Just the same you must have got the drift. Moscow’s been in a panic. The streets alive with looters-Stalin’s had to impose Draconian regulations to restore order.”

  Alex watched the American’s face. The gloomy voice droned on:

  “This wasn’t in the press. A few weeks ago Stalin asked Churchill and Roosevelt to send troops.”

  Alex knew that-from Vlasov. He said nothing.

  Buckner looked up. “Can you imagine what it must have cost him to make that request? Asking us to send our armies to fight on Russian soil? He wants thirty Allied combat divisions.” He stabbed the arm of the wooden chair with his forefinger: “That’s how unreliable he thinks his own army is.”

  “He brought it on himself.”

  “Sure. Okay. A few weeks ago he ordered the marshaling yards cleared at the Kazan Station-it’s the only Moscow depot still in operation. He cleared the yards so he could load dozens of trains with the records and personnel of the Soviet Union’s ministries and agencies. Most of them have been evacuated to the Kuybyshev-most of the commissars and functionaries and government departments. Stalin’s moved his headquarters totally into the command bunkers under the Kremlin. In Moscow right now the only top people left with Stalin are Beria, Malenkov, Zhukov, Molotov, Vlasov, Dekanozov and General Novikov-he’s their air force chief.

  “In the meantime all these evacuations out to the east have interrupted the flow of those Siberian divisions into the battle sector. Moscow’s been hanging by its fingernails. A week ago Stalin had a conference underground in the Kremlin to analyze the situation. It’s pretty bleak. The Germans are on the God damned doorstep. They’ve made holes in the Mozhaisk Line-the panzer columns are within twenty-five miles of Moscow and there are spots where they’ve actually got German tanks inside the outskirts of the city.

  “Once Moscow falls the ball game’s over, Alex. It’s like London or Paris-the center of everything. Railroads, telephone, telegraph, highways. Take Moscow and you’ve got European Russia.”

  Alex took his time responding. “You’re afraid the Germans are going to beat us to it.”

  “They may. Then again they may not. That could be just as bad for you.”

  “I don’t follow that.”

  “Didn’t think you would. It goes like this. It’s snowing in Moscow now. It’s snowing in Leningrad. It’s even snowing down in the Ukraine. That’s the Russian element-winter.”

  “It’ll stall the Germans,” Alex said. “We’ve counted on that.”

  “Well the Germans have given Stalin a lot of help let me tell you. Hitler’s turned out to be a God damned stupid fool after all.”

  “You’re talking about the atrocities now.”

  “I sure am. He’s defeating himself where Stalin couldn’t have done it in a hundred years. They’ve been slaughtering civilians. Butchering Jews. Maiming little kids, raping Russian women. They’re teaching the Russians how to hate Nazis. They didn’t hate them before. They threw flowers at the Wehrmacht. But then the second echelon came in-the SS exterminators-and the word’s got out across the country. Hitler’s lost the support he had in Russia. He’s given the Red Army what they never had before. They’ve found the guts to fight.

  “That pitiful God damned horse cavalry of Budyenny’s been stopping panther tanks in their tracks. It’s hard to believe but there it is.”

  “I’m not getting your point,” Alex said.

  “The point is, old son, if Stalin can hold the Germans all by himself then the Allies don’t need you.”

  Alex contrived a hard smile. “You can’t have it both ways.”

  “Can’t I?”

  “You’re saying you can’t use us if Stalin loses and you don’t need us if he wins. The same conditions obtained when we started all this. Nothing’s changed.”

  “You’re wrong. The whole-”

  “Stalin isn’t whipping them,” Alex said, riding right over him. “He’s only doing a bit better than he was before. He’s had time to get over the surprise-he’s had time to bring in a million troops from Siberia and the SS has given him some help with his morale. Naturally the German advance has slowed down-their supply lines are long and it’s the dead of winter up there. So the Germans will sit in their trenches until spring and then they’ll finish the job-unless Russia’s got the kind of leadership the country will follow.”

  Buckner was shaking his head. “You don’t get this yet. The United States is gearing up for war. We’re too late and too slow because we’ve still got too many fools in Congress but we’re going to be in it-maybe six months from now, maybe a year. You’ve got to see it from the President’s point of view. What we need is whatever gives us the best odds that Hitler won’t nail down a quick victory. After the next twelve to eighteen months we’ll be able to handle it.”

  “And?”

  “We’re bound to support whatever forces offer the best chances of keeping Hitler off balance. Any interest we take in Russian internal politics is purely a secondary matter. The war takes precedence. And if Stalin proves he can hold the Germans to their present lines then we’d be fools to rock the boat by trying to overthrow the people who are containing Hitler for us.

  “As of right now we’re still supporting you. It could change. If I get orders from Washington between now and the time you people go in, I’m going to have to scrub your operation.”

  Buckner attempted a smile that was evidently intended to be reassuring. “Look, we’re in a position of luxury. We’re not in the war. We can play with it from a distance-we can still take the chance with you. It would be different if we were in the war, say, or if Stalin managed to wipe out Guderian’s army in the next ten days. Or if Hitler took Moscow. It isn’t all that likely to happen, is it, but if it does you’ve got to be ready to stand down. Understand?”

  It had taken a great effort of will for the Americans to get off the mark in the first place: it was always easier to deal with the devil you knew; even if Roosevelt didn’t like Stalin at least he though he knew how to treat with him. The Whites were an unknown quantity to Washington and the President was prepared to deal with them only so long as he had time to feel out their intentions. If the lines around Moscow remained static it might not risk too much to have a sudden replacement of the Moscow regime-but if something else should change the picture then Washington no longer would have the latitude to risk upsetting everything.

  But Alex had no intention of scrubbing the program. Nobody was going to stop it now-not Roosevelt and not Hitler and certainly not a nervous War Department colonel.

  What he said was, “We’ll just have to hope nothing changes the status quo in the next couple of weeks, won’t we.”

  “I suppose we do at that.” Buckner could be trusted not to be trusted: it was a form of understanding.

  “You filled Churchill in. You owe us the same courtesy.” Buckner let it hang in the air and when it elicited no response he said, “Somebody took a shot at you in Boston. Somebody took another shot at you just a few days ago. Suppose the next one doesn’t miss? What happens to this operation?”

  “The operation goes ahead on schedule. With me or without.”

  “Then you’ve briefed your subordinates?”

  “No.”

  “Now I call that double-talk, Alex.”

  “It’s like a blackmail scheme,” Alex told him. “The plan’s written down-every detail. In a safe place. If something happens to me it’s delivered into the hands of the White Russian coalition. They can select my successor and proceed with the minimum delay.”

  Buckner said, �
��For Christ’s sake.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Is that any way to run a military operation? Jesus Christ.”

  “Come on Glenn. Spit it out.”

  “You’ve given us the overall plan. Grudgingly but you’ve told us. Your dispatch a month ago pretty much covered as much as you wanted to let us see. You’re going to draw the Soviet High Command out of the Kremlin and hit them from the air and take over communications and headquarters on the ground. Now I want the God damned details and I’m not stepping out of this room until I’ve got them.”

  “Then you’d better make yourself comfortable.”

  “Is that a flat refusal?”

  “Not at all. But you’ll spend the better part of the next week in this room before you find out anything from me. I’ll spell out the whole design for you when I’m ready to. It’ll be well in advance of our D-day. But it won’t be today and it won’t be tomorrow.”

  Buckner blinked. “You know sometimes I think I’d have got more cooperation out of that bastard Vassily Devenko.”

  “You might have.”

  “I could pull your airplanes out right now, Alex.”

  “No. Not while this thing has a chance of working. Don’t make threats you can’t carry out-it doesn’t help either of us.”

  Buckner stood up abruptly. “You got a place to billet me where I’ll be out of the way?”

  “We’ll find something.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t want to miss a thing.”

  He sent Sergei off with Buckner and went back into the office. Sensations of trouble rubbed against him. Buckner acted the fool but some of it was sham; he was cleverer than he seemed. He was Roosevelt’s running dog and if he received instructions to interfere actively he’d be an antagonist to reckon with-it would be unwise to be disarmed by his blustering buffoonery. He had to be handled with extreme caution. He had to be told the plan; he had to be told soon enough to reassure him and late enough to prevent him doing anything about it.

  String him along, he thought- Just keep stringing him along. And hope Buckner didn’t tumble to it too soon.