Angel of Darkness

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘Why, tonight. The sooner it’s done the better, don’t you think?’

  INCIDENT IN MOSCOW

  The car slithered to and fro on the hard-packed snow. ‘How soon does the first thaw set in?’ Anna asked, innocently, as if she hadn’t previously experienced a Russian winter.

  ‘It is only the third of March,’ the driver said. ‘There will be no thaw until the middle of April, at the very earliest. You are nervous, comrade?’

  ‘Would you not be? I have never met the Premier.’

  ‘Neither have I.’ He stopped before ornamental gates, where there waited two fur-clad, green-uniformed men, stamping up and down. He rolled down his window and held out his pass. ‘A guest for Premier Stalin. I understand that we are expected.’

  The MGB agent peered into the back of the car and shone his torch on Anna’s face, which was exposed, as she was wearing her hair up beneath her sable hat. She smiled at him. ‘Your name, comrade?’

  ‘Anna Terpolova,’ Anna said, as instructed. Presumably this was Beria’s idea of a joke; but it suited her well enough, as it meant that if by any chance she went down, her ‘brother’ would go with her.

  He checked his list, then nodded. ‘Do you know Comrade Terpolov?’

  ‘I am his sister,’ Anna said, proudly.

  ‘Ah.’ He signalled his colleague and the gates were opened.

  The car rolled through and passed along a short tree-lined drive before reaching the house, which was certainly modest. Here three more MGB men were waiting, one wearing the insignia of an officer. He opened Anna’s door for her. ‘Comrade Terpolova!’

  Anna got out. ‘Comrade Captain. The car is to wait.’

  ‘Of course.’ He gestured at the short flight of steps and she went up, aware that he was following. ‘You understand,’ he said, ‘that you must be searched.’

  ‘I have never experienced that. Is it very unpleasant?’

  He gave a brief knock, then opened the door for her. ‘It is . . . an experience. Your guest, Valentina.’

  Anna stepped into a softly lit, comfortably furnished sitting room, of which the best thing was that it was deliciously warm. And found herself facing just about the biggest woman she had ever seen. Valentina was at least her own height, and had to be about four times her weight. Her face, surrounded by straggly brown hair, might have been handsome once, but had become shrouded by jowls and puffy cheeks. Equally, any pretence she might once have had to a figure had disappeared into a mountain of flesh – and Anna had a feeling that this was muscle rather than fat. Her voice was, nevertheless, surprisingly soft. ‘Comrade Terpolova,’ she said. ‘Welcome.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Anna said. ‘It is a privilege.’

  ‘Of course. His Excellency is awaiting you. But first, please undress.’

  Anna glanced at the captain.

  ‘I am required to be present,’ he explained. ‘At least until it is established that you are not carrying a weapon.’

  ‘A weapon?’ Anna’s voice was redolent of alarm.

  ‘I understand,’ he said sympathetically. ‘But it is a requirement.’

  ‘What he means,’ Valentina said, ‘is that it is his perquisite. And not all of our guests are as handsome as you. However, it is never a good thing to keep His Excellency waiting.’

  As the captain continued to stand beside her, Anna handed him her hat and allowed her hair to tumble down.

  ‘What beautiful hair!’ Valentina observed.

  ‘You say the sweetest things.’ Anna handed the captain her coat as well.

  ‘And such a lovely coat,’ he remarked, stroking the fur.

  ‘It was a gift.’ Anna undressed, leaving her boots until last, so that when she bent over to unlace them the effect would be devastating.

  ‘Exquisite,’ Valentina said. ‘His Excellency will be pleased. Thank you, Comrade Captain.’

  ‘Ah . . . yes.’ The captain laid the hat and coat on a chair, while never taking his eyes from Anna’s body. Then he saluted, and left the room.

  ‘Lecher,’ Valentina commented. ‘But all men are lechers.’ She indicated an inner door, and went towards it.

  ‘Shouldn’t I put something on?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Why? He will want to look at you.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘Most of the time that is all he can do.’

  ‘Will you stay? When . . . I mean . . .’

  ‘You are so innocent, my child. Do not be afraid. He will not harm you. I shall wait for you out here. If I fall asleep, wake me up when you are ready to leave.’

  Anna reckoned she would make a decision about that afterwards. Valentina escorted her to the door, then knocked and opened it. ‘Comrade Anna Terpolova, Your Excellency.’

  She glanced at Anna and nodded. Anna took a deep breath and stepped through. Valentina closed the door behind her.

  She was in a rather small bedroom, furnished with what looked like a single bed, a couple of armchairs, and a bureau. Stalin stood in front of the bed, wearing a dressing gown over pyjamas. At first glance, he did not look very different to how she remembered him, from the last time she had seen him, in June 1941. There was the same shaggy hair, the same enormous moustache. But both hair and moustache were now quite white. His cheeks, once a trifle florid, were also colourless; and his hands, although still suggesting great strength, trembled. His eyes, once so apparently somnolent, but constantly changing the direction of his gaze as he took in every movement of whoever was facing him, were now dull and devoid of any interest.

  Until he saw her. His first gaze was indeed somnolent. Then his eyes suddenly came alive, and his face became suffused with blood. ‘You,’ he said, ‘you . . .’

  ‘Anna,’ she reminded him. ‘Twelve years, Josef.’

  His arm came up, extended, the hand pointing. ‘You . . .’ he said again, and took a step towards her. But as he did so, and she prepared to deliver the fatal blow and then catch him before he could hit the floor, he made a peculiar, quite ghastly, choking sound. His hips seemed to give way and he fell to his knees. But these gave way as well, and the entire house reverberated to the crash.

  *

  For just about the first time in her life, Anna could not move. His collapse had been so sudden and so unexpected that she was temporarily incapable of thought. But then she realized that, as Stalin was certainly dead, that could be her salvation.

  The door behind her burst open, and she recovered, giving a shriek of horror. Valentina virtually pushed her over as she passed her. ‘What happened??? My God, what has happened?’

  The crash could well have been heard by the guards. ‘I don’t know!’ Anna wailed, clearly on the verge of a hysterical fit. ‘I don’t know! He came towards me, and then . . . he just fell.’

  Valentina peered at the inert figure. Then she said, ‘Don’t move,’ and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Anna had to trust her judgement that letting her live and play the innocent was, for Valentina, the best way out of this totally unexpected development. Now she heard her calling, ‘Captain Kharrov! Captain Kharrov! Something terrible has happened. Hurry!’

  The captain was there in a few seconds, and when the bedroom door was opened, Anna saw two of his men in the outer doorway. Unarmed as she was, she realized that her choice had been the right one. So she gasped, again, ‘He came towards me, and just collapsed.’ She allowed her voice to rise an octave. ‘He just collapsed!’

  Kharrov dropped to his knees beside Stalin, rested two fingers on his neck.

  ‘He must have had a seizure,’ Valentina said, her voice shaking. ‘We must get a doctor. Quickly.’

  ‘The Premier is dead,’ Kharrov pronounced

  ‘What!’ Valentina shrieked. ‘Dead? How can that be?’

  ‘Dead!’ screamed Anna.

  ‘Dead,’ Kharrov repeated, and carefully turned the body over. There was no movement on the front of the dressing gown. The last vestige of colour had faded from Stalin’s face, and his eyes stared sightlessly at the ceilin
g.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Anna fell to her knees, while her brain continued to race. Her assignment was completed . . . but she had not completed it! She had no idea how Beria would react. She, and therefore he, were absolutely innocent of any crime. But as he was waiting to hear from her that the job was done before going into action, he stood a very good chance of being caught with his pants down, perhaps literally.

  Valentina rested her hand on Anna’s head. ‘It was not your fault.’

  ‘What happened?’ Kharrov asked.

  ‘I opened the door and showed Comrade Terpolova in, and . . .’ she looked at Anna.

  ‘Valentina closed the door. The Premier looked at me . . . I think he liked me because he smiled, and came towards me . . .’

  ‘Did he speak?’ Kharrov asked.

  ‘He said something, but I’m not sure what. But he was smiling. And then . . . he just collapsed.’

  ‘He had a seizure,’ Kharrov said. ‘The sight of a beautiful woman . . .’

  Anna decided to resume wailing. ‘They will say I was responsible. I must go. I must . . .’

  ‘You are going nowhere, comrade,’ Kharrov said.

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘No one is going to blame you for what has happened, but you are the only witness as to exactly what and how it did happen. Put some clothes on, and sit in that chair and wait.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘What are we to do?’ Valentina asked.

  ‘We are going to call Commissar Beria,’ Kharrov said. ‘He will know what to do.’

  *

  Beria arrived within half an hour. He stamped into the room and looked around the frightened faces. ‘What is happening? I was told there has been an accident. The Premier . . .’

  ‘The Premier is dead, Comrade Commissar,’ Kharrov said.

  Beria stared at him, then stepped past him, and stood in the bedroom doorway. ‘Who did this?’ He turned back. ‘That woman? Who is she? Why is she not under arrest?’

  Anna caught her breath. If she had prepared herself for a betrayal at some stage, she had not anticipated it so immediately and so publicly . . . or when she was so helpless.

  ‘No, no, Comrade Commissar,’ Kharrov protested. ‘This is Comrade Terpolova, the sister of Comrade Terpolov, of our department. She came here tonight as the Premier’s guest, and was present when he collapsed. She was devastated. Can you not see that she is suffering from shock?’

  Beria looked at Anna again, then at Valentina.

  ‘That is what happened, Comrade Commissar,’ Valentina said. ‘I showed Comrade Terpolova into the Premier’s bedroom, and he was about to embrace her when he simply collapsed.’

  ‘He must have died instantly,’ Kharrov said.

  Beria looked at Anna again, his face still sternly impassive. ‘Who knows about this?’

  ‘Only us, Comrade Commissar,’ Kharrov said. ‘And the guards outside.’

  ‘No one must know of it until the Politburo has been summoned. I will do that immediately. Until they are assembled, no one must leave here.’

  ‘What about the woman, sir?’

  Again Anna held her breath.

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘The Politburo will wish to see the body,’ Kharrov pointed out. ‘If they find her here . . . well . . .’

  ‘Do you not think the Politburo are aware of the Premier’s habits? But you are right. She should not be here. At the same time, we cannot turn her loose to spread what has happened all over Moscow.’ He turned back to Anna. ‘You will go to the Lubianka.’

  ‘The Lubianka?’ Anna cried. ‘What? Me? I have done nothing. They know that. I was just standing there . . .’

  ‘Stop being hysterical,’ Beria snapped. ‘You will remain in the Lubianka until you are required as a witness to what happened. But . . .’ He pinched his lip as a thought apparently occurred to him. ‘We do not wish this spread all over the Lubianka, either. Kharrov!’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘You will take Comrade Terpolova in my car. When you get to the Lubianka, you will take her up to my private apartment and place her there. You will speak to no one, and she will speak to no one. You will lock her in, and return here. And you, young lady, will behave yourself and remain where you are put until I either come for you or send for you.’ He stared at her. ‘Is that understood?’

  Anna allowed herself a little shiver. ‘Yes, Comrade Commissar.’

  *

  ‘You will be comfortable here, comrade,’ Captain Kharrov assured Anna. ‘It is the Commissar’s private apartment when he is in Moscow.’

  He obviously had no idea that she had spent the entire day there; but in any event, it was her business to continue to present a picture of innocent anxiety, at least until she could again be alone with Beria. So she said, ‘What is going to happen to us, to me, Comrade Captain?’

  ‘Put your trust in the Commissar,’ he recommended, and closed the door. She heard the key click in the lock.

  So, it appeared, she had to do just that. She had not regained possession of her watch, but there was a clock on the mantelpiece that showed nine forty-five. They had passed quite a few people on their way through the prison, but none of them had revealed any curiosity as to her reason for being there; wearing her sable coat and hat, and not being restrained in any way, she was clearly not a prisoner. The staff in the outer office on the second floor had all gone home.

  But, as the captain had said, she was now entirely dependent on Beria’s use for her. She could see that he needed her alive to testify as to the exact events of Stalin’s death, and thus prove beyond a shadow of a doubt his own innocence of any conspiracy. The question was, did he still have employment for her? Because if not, her situation was grim . . . And there was damn all she could do about it. Events had moved far too quickly for there to be any chance of the CIA or MI6 mounting a rescue operation in time. All that was left to her was to go out in a blaze of glory. But even that would be impossible without a weapon.

  It had not occurred to her earlier that this might be necessary. Now she hunted through the apartment, looking in every drawer and every cupboard, but the only thing remotely resembling a weapon was one of the knives in the kitchen. This had a six-inch blade and a point; but it was not terribly well balanced and would, in any event, be futile against a man armed with a gun unless she could take him entirely by surprise.

  But she took it from its rack anyway, went to the bedroom, which was about fifteen feet square, and used the lipstick provided with her other toiletries – she had no idea what had happened to her purse – to draw a six-inch circle on the wall. Then she stood against the opposite wall and commenced throwing. She had only ever used a knife in combat on half a dozen occasions in her life, but because of her constant practice she was still very proficient. Unfortunately, as she had feared, the knife’s lack of balance made it almost useless. But she persevered for an hour – it kept her mind occupied – making a sorry mess of the wall, but eventually landing five out of six throws in the circle.

  By then it was nearly eleven, and she was exhausted. She returned to the living room, poured herself a vodka, and sat down to wait, tucking the knife into the left-hand sleeve of her dress. However useless it might be, it at least enabled her to feel that she was not going to be led helplessly to a firing squad.

  She finished her drink and actually dozed off – to be awakened by the sound of the door opening.

  *

  Beria came in, carefully locking the door behind himself. She observed that he was wearing a pistol holster on his belt. ‘Anna? I thought you would be in bed, asleep.’

  ‘I thought I should stay up, Your Excellency, until I had some idea what is happening. May I ask, what is happening? Or going to happen?’

  He took the glass from the table beside her chair, went to the bar, and refilled it, pouring one for himself. Then he sat opposite her. ‘First, you tell me. What did happen between you and the Premier? How did you do it? The doctors could find not a ma
rk on his body, save those made when he struck the floor.’

  ‘As I told you, sir, I did not do it. I never touched him. I did not have to.’

  ‘You are not telling me that you can kill by remote control?’

  ‘Would that I could. But as I warned you might happen, Marshal Stalin recognized me on sight. I don’t know whether he thought I was a ghost come from hell, or whether he just thought I had returned to complete the assignment I had been given in 1941. But he sort of gaped at me, took a step towards me, and just collapsed.’

  ‘What a remarkable thing! And he must have died instantly. Now we must wait for the results of the post-mortem. That will be carried out this morning.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I have already done it. At least, I have set the wheels in motion.’

  ‘But . . . the Politburo . . .?’

  ‘I had them summoned immediately, took them to the dacha and showed them the body. The doctors were already there. As I supposed would be the case, they were all profoundly shocked, and there is to be a meeting later on today to determine a successor. Then they went off, presumably to make plots and deals amongst themselves. So I returned here and instructed my people to surround the Kremlin, place the entire Politburo under arrest, and confine the army to barracks. That is happening now. By dawn the city, and then the country, will be in my hands, and I will be premier.’

  ‘Will the Politburo confirm that?’

  His smile was sinister. ‘They are hardly likely to do otherwise with my people guarding every door.’

  ‘Then I congratulate you, sir.’ She tensed her muscles, as she realized that the crisis, her crisis, might be about to recede. But his pistol was still holstered, and she had the knife. ‘And . . .?’

  ‘Ah, yes. You. You did not complete your assignment.’ This time his smile was friendly as he watched her expression. ‘But then, you did not have to. And things have worked out better than I could have hoped. I had nothing to do with the premier’s death, and now I am saving the nation from anarchy and perhaps even civil war. I think you have brought me luck, and may continue to do so. So we will continue with our original plan. You will remain here until I am firmly in control. That should be by this evening. Then you will remain in the background, serving as my personal assistant. There are a great number of things you may be able to do for me.’ He squeezed her arm. ‘Now, you have had an exhausting night. Go to bed and get some sleep.’