And there was Section Officer Parkyn waiting to greet him, as always as bright as a button. ‘Well, hello,’ she remarked. ‘Am I glad to see you! There was a rumour that you had bought it, last year.’
‘Nearly, but not quite.’
‘And now you’re using one of these new secret machines. You really must have clout. May I offer you a bed for the night?’
‘I’d love to, Alice. But I’m off again in an hour. As soon as we’re re-fuelled.’
‘Ships that pass in the night,’ she said sadly. ‘But please don’t get shot down again: the Ministry would never forgive you if you managed to lose a Mosquito.’
*
They were in Cairo by dusk having seen a number aircraft, both Italian and German, none of which could get near them.
‘They’ll all be scratching their heads,’ Revill said as they walked across the burning tarmac. ‘Well, Mr Bartley, it’s been fun. I hope you enjoyed your flight, and I hope you’ll give the machine a good report to your firm. Maybe I’ll see you again some time.’
‘Wait a moment. Aren’t you taking me to Moscow?’
‘Good lord, no. You don’t think the bosses would let me fly a Mosquito over Russian air space? As for landing there . . . we’d never get off again. No, it’s back to Hatfield for me, tomorrow. Don’t worry. They’ll get you to Moscow in a couple of days.’
‘A couple of days? I have to be there on Friday morning.’
‘Well, in that case . . .’ Revill pulled his nose. ‘I reckon I should wish you luck.’
*
‘Don’t panic, Mr Bartley,’ said the Wing-Commander. ‘It’s all arranged. You take off tomorrow morning, and fly to Teheran.’
‘Why on earth am I going to Teheran?’
‘Well, we can’t over-fly Greece as it’s in German hands. And the Turks won’t allow us to use their air space. With a German army perched on the Aegean they are keeping to strict neutrality. Anyway, as I was saying, you’ll leave Teheran on Friday morning, and should make Stalingrad that evening, with Moscow the next day. How about that?’
‘Wing-Commander,’ Clive said earnestly, ‘I have got to be in Moscow on Friday morning.’
‘I’m afraid that is simply not possible, Mr Bartley. Look, I’ve booked you into Shepheard’s. Go and have a good meal and a good night’s sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. After all, is twenty-four hours really going to make that much difference?’
*
‘It’s a gorgeous day,’ Birgit commented as she served breakfast. ‘It’s hard to believe that only a couple of months ago it was freezing.’
‘Um,’ Anna commented. As it was only eight o’clock, presumably it was just dawn in London. Clive would not receive her letter for another few hours.
Did it matter? There was of course a tiny voice whispering away at the back of her brain, maybe something will happen to save me. But that thought had to be dismissed. Even if Clive tried to get to her immediately after reading the letter, he could not possibly reach Moscow before Tuesday, at the earliest. That was supposing there was anything he could do, or anything he wanted to do.
It was time to put all thoughts of Clive – of survival – from her mind. Simply go out in a blaze of glory.
‘I feel lazy today, Birgit,’ she said. ‘I think I will stay in bed.’
‘But are you not taking tea with Marshal Stalin, Countess?’
‘Good heavens! I had forgotten. Yes, of course. But that is not until this afternoon. I shall have my bath after lunch.’
Lying there allowed her to relax. She could not stop herself thinking, of course. She could go through the program as outlined by Heydrich, envisage herself delivering the blows that would destroy the Soviet dictator – who had always been so nice to her – and then leaving his office, telling his staff that he did not wish to be disturbed for the next hour – would they suppose that he had had sex with her? – walking along those interminable corridors and out of the great doors, resisting the temptation to break into a run, leaving the fortress and plunging into the crowded streets of the Kotoy Gorod, only a short distance away, reaching the bookshop, perhaps just as the alarm went in the Kremlin, being welcomed and concealed while all Moscow seethed about her, and then escaping . . . It could happen.
She heard a familiar voice and sat up. ‘No, no, Herr Meissenbach. The Countess is in bed.’
Meissenbach clearly ignored her, and a moment later the bedroom door opened. ‘You are in bed.’
Anna held the sheet to her throat with unusual modesty. ‘What do you want?’
‘I went to your office, and you weren’t there. It is ten o’clock!’
‘I do not feel very well.’
‘Oh! But is today not Friday? Do you not take tea with Marshal Stalin?’
‘Is that any concern of yours?’
He glared at her, unable to stop himself looking at the body thinly protected by the sheet. ‘So you are not going?’
‘Of course I am going. It is not until this afternoon. I shall be better then.’
He gave little sigh. ‘I am glad. I do not like to think of you unwell, Anna. I will wish you good fortune.’
He left the room, and Anna stared at Birgit. ‘I am sorry, Countess. He just pushed me aside.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Birgit.’ But what a strange thing to do, she thought, after having hardly spoken to her for two months. And suddenly to be concerned about her health? It was almost as strange as Groener’s quite unusual good humour on Tuesday, when he had brought her Heydrich’s letter. Her instincts told her that it was something that needed thinking about. But she was not in the mood to think about anything save what lay ahead. In any event, whatever the pair of them were about, it was no longer relevant. By this evening she would be out of their range, one way or the other.
*
She lunched, had a bath, and dressed for the afternoon. She wore a summer frock, in pale green with matching high heels. In her handbag she stowed a pair of flat-heeled pumps, as she suspected she would have to travel as fast and as sure-footedly as possible when she left the Kremlin. She left her hair loose, but wore a broad-brimmed summer hat. She felt naked without her watch and jewellery, but at least she knew they were in good hands.
‘Will you be in for dinner, Countess?’ Birgit asked.
‘Aren’t I always?’ She had a sudden urge to hug the girl, but resisted it; she had never shown her any great affection in the past.
She went downstairs, smiled at the various people she passed, and walked out into the bright June sunlight. It was only a short walk to the Kremlin, and she was there in fifteen minutes. The guards on the outer gate all knew her by sight, and saluted her with smiles.
She passed them, crossed the inner courtyard. There were quite a few people about, but none of them paid her much attention; if she had been admitted past the outer gate her presence had to be legitimate. On the door of the inner palace the guard presented arms. She smiled at him in turn, and stepped into the hall, waiting for a moment to allow her eyes to become accustomed to the gloom, then went towards the staircase, but checked as a door on her right opened. She turned and gazed at Chalyapov.
Alarm bells jangled in her brain, but she smiled at him as well. ‘Why, Ewfim, how good to see you, and looking so well.’
‘So are you, Anna, even if in your case it will be a temporary condition. You are under arrest.’
Anna heard movement behind her. Other doors had opened, and when she turned her head she discovered six men, all looking extremely apprehensive, but all considerably larger than herself. She had once destroyed three Gestapo agents sent to arrest her. But they had been carrying guns, and they had made the mistake of coming too close. These men were unarmed, and they were waiting for her to move.
‘It would be very unwise of you to attempt to resist,’ Chalyapov said. ‘We know all about you. About your skills. But I doubt even you could cope with my people. And I do know that my men would love to get their hands on your body.’
Anna’s nostrils flared as she inhaled. But for the moment she was helpless. And one of her greatest assets was patience. ‘Aren’t they going to do that anyway?’ she asked, her voice low and controlled.
‘Not if you behave yourself. Give me your handbag and place your arms behind your back.’
Anna obeyed. ‘May I ask why you are doing this? What am I being arrested for?’
‘You will find out.’
Anna felt the touch of steel, and listened to the click of the handcuffs. She was helpless, and at the mercy of these men – of Chalyapov, whose arm she had once dislocated. She had to protest. ‘I think you need to remember that I am a German citizen, and an employee of the German Embassy. I have diplomatic immunity.’
‘I do not think your Embassy is any longer interested in you, Anna.’
She stared at him, and resisted the sudden panic that was threatening to cloud her judgement. ‘I think Count von Schulenberg may disagree with you. I demand the right to telephone him.’
‘You have no rights, comrade.’ He came close to her. ‘I think this is how I like you best, Anna. I have been informed that you are not carrying weapons on this assignment. But you never know.’
Once again bells jangled in Anna’s brain, so violently that she hardly felt his hands sliding over her dress, squeezing her breasts, and then raising her skirt to look between her legs. If this was the worst that was going to happen to her she had nothing to worry about.
She was shrouded in stale cigarette breath, but he was stepping away. ‘I am going to see a lot more of you in the near future, Anna,’ he promised. ‘And hear a lot more from you, as well.’ He nodded at his men. ‘Take her away. Remember your instructions.’
‘Yes, Comrade Commissar,’ one of them said. ‘You will come with us, comrade.’
Anna looked at Chalyapov. ‘I assume you will be informing Marshal Stalin that I will not be joining him for tea. And why.’
Chalyapov merely smiled. ‘He already knows.’
*
Anna was marched into the yard where a car waited. The back door was opened and she was pushed into the interior, not violently, but without the use of her hands to steady herself she stumbled, landed on her knees, and would have fallen had her shoulders not been grasped.
‘We do not wish to mark that so beautiful face, do we, comrade?’
Anna got her breathing under control as she was pulled up, turned round, and made to sit, her hands crushed against the back of the seat. She was moving into an unknown situation, but one which could carry a death sentence. But the risk of death was supposed to come after she had killed Stalin; up till that moment she had committed no crime. She knew, of course, that the Russians believed in pre-emptive action, that one merely had to be suspected of something to be arrested and put away. But there was nothing for her even to be suspected of. What she had been about to do was known only to herself and Heydrich. And presumably to Heydrich’s superiors – certainly Himmler. There was no reason for any of them to betray her; it made no sense. Yet Chalyapov had seemed to know. As, apparently, did Stalin. Indeed, Chalyapov appeared to know a great deal about her secret background.
She had not been looking where they were going, but now they swung through a gateway set in the high wall of a fortress-like building, into a courtyard, to stop before an open door. Around her were more high walls, although these contained innumerable windows.
The car door was opened, and her arms were grasped to pull her out. She stumbled, and one shoe came off. One of the men picked it up, but left her to limp lopsidedly into the hall. There were several people waiting for her, men and women, but only one seemed to matter. This was a slender young woman, trim in a green uniform; with her short black hair and crisp features she would have been attractive but for the glacial coldness of her eyes and her expression. ‘You have her file?’ she inquired.
The man carrying Anna’s shoe was also carrying both her handbag and a briefcase. These he now offered. The woman’s nose wrinkled, but she took all three items. ‘Along there,’ she said.
Anna debated kicking off the other shoe to restore a little dignity to her movements, but decided against it; she did not feel this was a woman to be antagonised while her arms were bound behind her back. She limped along the hall. ‘To the left,’ her captor instructed.
Anna turned down the indicated corridor, and came to a door. The woman reached past her, and opened it. ‘Go in.’
Anna entered the room, and waited. Behind a desk sat another woman, who also wore a green uniform. But there any resemblance to the young woman ended. This woman was middle-aged, and extremely large. Her face was broad and chubby, and was remarkably good-humoured; at this moment it was wreathed in smiles. Anna felt a surge of relief.
‘The Countess von Widerstand, Comrade Colonel,’ the young woman said.
‘Countess!’ the colonel cried. ‘This is such a pleasure. Do you know how long it has been since I entertained a countess? Twenty years! I was young then, oh, so young. But you . . . you are as beautiful as they said. Welcome. Oh, welcome to Lubianka!’
Chapter Ten – Knights Without Armour
‘But where are my manners?’ the colonel said. ‘Sit down, Your Excellency, sit down. Are those handcuffs really necessary, Olga?’
‘I was told that you should read the file before making a judgement on that, comrade.’
‘Hmm. We are surrounded by paranoia. But sit down anyway, Your Excellency.’
Anna sank on to the chair. Olga took up a position behind her.
‘My name is Ludmilla,’ the colonel said. ‘And while you are here, I am your friend. Remember this.’
‘I will,’ Anna said.
Ludmilla smiled at her. ‘But you must only speak when you are asked a question. It is a rule, you understand.’
‘Yes, comrade. Oh!’
A sharp pain had entered her shoulder and raced down her arm. She twisted her head and gazed at Olga’s cold face, and at the small, wand-like cattle prod she carried; she had not noticed it before.
‘The rule,’ Ludmilla reminded her. ‘Now let us see.’ She opened the briefcase and took out a file, then spread this in front of her. ‘Your name is Anna. What a pretty name. May I call you Anna?’
This was definitely a question. ‘Yes, comrade.’ Anna’s voice was low; her arm and shoulder still ached.
‘And you are twenty-one years old. Oh, to be twenty-one again.’ She frowned. ‘This says you are highly dangerous and are to be kept under the strictest confinement.’ She raised her head. ‘You are twenty-one years old and you are highly dangerous? How can that be?’
A question. ‘I do not know, comrade. I do not know who compiled that file.’
‘It says here that in Prague last year you shot two men dead and crippled another with a single blow, all in ten seconds.’
‘My God!’ Anna snapped, involuntarily, as the penny dropped. Only one person in Russia, other than herself, knew the truth of what had happened in Prague.
Even as she spoke, she tensed her muscles for the electric shock, but there was none: Ludmilla had raised a finger. ‘Why did you exclaim like that? Because it is true?’
Anna bit her lip.
‘Twenty-one years old,’ Ludmilla mused. ‘And now you have tried to assassinate our glorious leader.’
‘There is no proof . . .’ Again Anna bit her lip, but too late. ‘Ooh!’ Another streak of agony raced through her body.
‘You understand,’ Ludmilla said, ignoring the interruption, ‘that there will have to be a trial. It will be a public trial.’
Hopefully that was a question. ‘Will I be allowed to defend myself?’
‘Of course. It will all be done according to law. But before the trial you have to sign a confession. This must name the people who sent you here, and who have assisted you in this dreadful plan.’
‘But if I make a confession, what is the point in having a trial?’ Anna asked the question without thinking, and again braced herself for
the coming shock, but Ludmilla had again signalled Olga to leave her alone for the time being.
‘If you do not make a confession, how is the judge supposed to determine your guilt?’ the colonel inquired. She might have been speaking to a small child. Had Anna’s wrists not been secured she would have scratched her head. ‘Of course, whether you make a confession of your own free will is entirely up to you, and will make no difference to the procedure we have to follow. You must be interrogated to ensure that you tell us the truth. You do understand this?’
I am in a madhouse, Anna thought, surrounded by lunatics. But she nodded. ‘Yes, comrade.’
‘I am so glad,’ Ludmilla said. ‘It makes life easier for everyone. Now do remember, Anna, that I wish to be your friend. Olga wishes to be your friend.’
Again Anna started to turn her head, and again changed her mind.
‘All we require is your cooperation. Now, returning to this matter of your being dangerous, it is not my business to question the judgements of my superiors. But it also says here that you have a very high IQ. You should therefore understand that both Olga and I are highly trained in unarmed combat. No doubt you are even more highly trained. But for you to attempt to beat us up and fight your way out of here would be very counter-productive. For two reasons. One is that if you look up at the top of that wall you will observe a little box. That is a camera that is filming your every moment in here. The moment you attempt to misbehave this room will become filled with men. They will not harm you seriously, because you have to be absolutely fit when you appear in court, but in addition to their combat skills they are also trained to hurt people severely, in places that will not show. I’m sure you would not wish that.’
Anna swallowed. ‘No, comrade.’
‘And the other reason, of course, is that if you attacked Olga and me, you would make us your enemies instead of your friends. And we so want to be your friends. Don’t you want us to be your friends, Anna?’
‘Yes, comrade.’
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