“I am required to do so, Comrade Karpova,” Tatiana agreed, and Atya wondered if her boss had ever shared her bed. “I wish the woman Seven Hundred and Six.”
“Ah,” the commandant commented.
Tatiana frowned. “I hope she is in good health, Comrade Karpova. I gave orders that she was not to be harmed, or starved, or worked more than enough to keep her healthy.”
“And I have obeyed your orders,” Karpova said, having had time to think. “I will send for her.”
“Well, hurry,” Tatiana said. “I wish to be back in Alma-Ata by dawn.”
Karpova left the room, and Tatiana sat down. Atya sat also, but as Tatiana did not speak, she kept quiet as well. It was fifteen minutes before Karpova returned, with two of her female guards, and Priscilla. Tatiana was immediately on her feet. Priscilla was fully dressed, in the prison uniform of pants and blouse, but she moved as if sleepwalking, her eyes half shut. “What have you done to her?” Tatiana snapped.
“It is necessary to keep her under sedation, from time to time. She has attempted suicide several times,” Karpova explained.
Tatiana peered at Priscilla. She looked healthy enough, and, as ordered, her hair had not been cut and had indeed been recently washed. But her eyes revealed little awareness of where she was. Or perhaps who she was. “You have kept her under sedation, for five years?”
“No, no,” Karpova said. “She has these moods of despair. She is in one, now.”
Tatiana put her hand under Priscilla’s chin and lifted her head, peered at her. “What are those marks?”
“When she is in a mood, she will not eat. Then it is necessary to force feed her.”
Tatiana continued to hold the almost lifeless head. Priscilla might indeed have been dead, but for the slow flutter of her nostrils. “If her brain has been damaged, you will pay for it, Comrade Karpova,” Tatiana said.
“When she recovers from this dose she will be as good as new,” Karpova said. “But then she may be difficult. We have had a hard time with her, I can tell you, Comrade Gosykinya.”
“Well, she will not trouble you again. Has she nothing else?”
“You brought her with nothing else,” Karpova pointed out.
Tatiana continued to stare into Priscilla’s eyes for some seconds, then she said, “Bring her down to the car. We will need a coat and gloves. And thick stockings.”
The guards received a nod from their commandant, who then said, “Will you not stay awhile, Tatiana Andreievna?”
“I am in a hurry,” Tatiana told her. “Call me when next you are in Moscow, Valentina Pavlova.” Karpova’s mouth twisted, but she made no comment. The guards returned with the necessary warm clothing; Priscilla was made to sit down while the socks were pulled over her feet and her flat shoes replaced with furlined boots. Still she showed no emotion. “But I wish a favour of you,” Tatiana said.
“Of course.” Karpova bristled with anticipation.
“I wish a tommy-gun.” Tatiana gave one of her girlish giggles. “I will use it for shooting foxes, on the drive back.”
Karpova looked puzzled, but it was not her business to criticise or even argue with a KGB officer. She sent one of her aides to fetch the gun. Atya followed Tatiana and the Princess and her guards down the stairs; Tatiana carried the tommy-gun under her arm. “Do you think the Princess is all right?” Atya asked.
“We shall have to find out. Put her in the back seat,” Tatiana told the guards. Priscilla was inserted into the back of the car. “Get in beside her,” Tatiana said, “and hold her head up.” She laid the tommy-gun on the seat beside her.
They drove out of the compound and the gates swung to behind them. “Is she all right?” Tatiana asked.
“I think so, Comrade Captain.”
Already the sky was lightening as they approached the main road. And again without warning, Tatiana braked, the car slithering to and fro on the snow. Taken by surprise, Atya fell forward and bumped her head. Priscilla fell over behind her, on the seat. “Check your weapon,” Tatiana said. Atya rubbed her head as she sat up, pulled her automatic pistol from its holster. Tatiana had doused the car lights, and was also checking her pistol as well as the tommy-gun. “That car is still there,” Tatiana said. “I do not like it.”
“Perhaps it has been abandoned, Comrade Captain.”
“I do not think it has been abandoned. I think we will return to the gulag and obtain some additional help.” She began what would have to be a five-point turn on the narrow road, but as she did so a shot rang out, followed by several more, which were then smothered in the rattle of automatic fire. They came from the little ridge of high ground to the left of the waiting car.
“Shit!” Tatiana snapped, as her tyres exploded and bullets thudded into the coachwork. “Get out. Take the Princess.”
Atya scrabbled at the door on the side away from the firing, thrust it open, seized Priscilla’s hand, jerked her out, and together they tumbled into the ditch, which was half full of ice and water. Spluttering, Atya dragged Priscilla’s head up, and watched Tatiana rolling away from the car, the tommy-gun in her hand, as a bullet struck the petrol tank and it burst into flames. “They are trying to kill us,” Atya gasped, still spitting water.
“Yes,” Tatiana said grimly. “Is the Princess all right?”
“I think so,” Atya said.
“There are four of them,” Tatiana said. “Only four!” Atya gulped. Although she had received training as a KGB operative, she had never engaged in a real shoot-out before; neither had she seen active service during the War. “Make sure the Princess cannot slide into the water,” Tatiana said, never taking her eyes off the four figures who were surveying the burning car from the ridge. “My God,” she muttered. “One of them is Shatrav. Oh, yes, Shatrav. I have waited for this moment. Atya, prepare to shoot. When I say so.”
Atya propped Priscilla against the side of the ditch; she was sitting in freezing water from the waist down, and this seemed to be reviving her — her eyes were open and her breathing more regular. But Atya obeyed orders, drew her pistol, and crouched just beneath the edge of the bank. “They have waited long enough,” Tatiana said. “They are coming. Fools.”
Because the presence of Shatrav confirmed what she had already deduced; only one man had known where she would be found, on this day and at this hour. Her master, in every sense. Her entire being was filled with fury. But she remained absolutely calm as the four men approached. Each was armed with a tommy-gun. “You must shoot absolutely straight and for the belly,” she told Atya. Atya swallowed, and gripped her pistol in both hands.
The men came up to the car, having to approach carefully because it was still burning. But even from some yards away they could see there were no bodies lying about. “Now,” Tatiana said, as the first man turned towards them. She rose to her knees, her pistol also held in both hands, and shot him in the heart. As soon as she had squeezed the trigger she was turning the gun to the second man. This shot blew the top of his head away. Beside her Atya had hit the fourth man, on the other side of the car, but although he fell he was not dead. The third man, also on the other side of the car, dropped to the ground and sent a burst of automatic fire in the direction of the women.
Tatiana flattened herself against the parapet as the bullets whistled over her head. “Stay down,” she told Atya. But Atya was still peering over the parapet, and before she could respond she gave a shriek and collapsed into the ditch, half in and half out of the water, whimpering as blood welled out of her tunic. From the amount of blood Tatiana did not consider it necessary to go to her help; she was clearly dying.
She was neither concerned about the death of her lover nor alarmed at her own situation. Her intended assassins would not dare leave until they knew she was dead. “What is happening?” Priscilla asked.
“Don’t move,” Tatiana told her. She was listening. The flames had nearly died now, and the only sound was the movement of feet. Coming closer. Tatiana holstered her pistol, picked u
p the tommy-gun; at close quarters this was the more deadly weapon. Carefully she controlled her breathing, looking up, and a man appeared above her. Shatrav! Tatiana fired upwards, squeezing the trigger to send a cloud of bullets skywards. Shatrav dropped the sub-machine-gun and came tumbling down the embankment beside her, his groin and stomach ripped open by the flying lead. But the wounded man had also reached the parapet. He was staring at her as he brought up the tommy-gun. Tatiana fired at him too, and heard only clicks; that bastard Valentina had given her only a quarter of a magazine! She stared at death, then there was an explosion and the man turned away from her and fell. Tatiana looked at Priscilla, who had fired Atya’s gun. “For five years I have wanted to kill someone,” Priscilla said.
“I am glad you waited,” Tatiana said.
Priscilla turned to look at her, still holding the gun.
“If you kill me, you will die,” Tatiana told her. “They will recapture you very quickly, and they will execute you. But I can save your life.”
“You?” Priscilla asked. “You tortured me.”
Tatiana shrugged. “It was my job to do so.”
Priscilla’s knuckles were white on the trigger. “And you enjoyed it.”
“One should always enjoy one’s job, don’t you think, Princess? But now we are on the same side. I have been betrayed, as you were betrayed. I will save your life, and we will seek vengeance together. Is that not what you want? Vengeance?”
“Does it matter?” Priscilla asked. “My husband is dead. My son is dead. My family have been destroyed. Vengeance…” she shrugged. “Perhaps, before I die.”
“Your son is alive,” Tatiana said.
Priscilla’s head came up, sharply. “You are lying. I was told both Joseph and Alex were dead.”
“The people who told you that were lying. Your husband is dead, yes; he never recovered from the wounds he received when you were kidnapped. But Alex is not only alive, he is at this moment in Moscow. He came here, looking for you. He is staying with my mother. We must get him out of Russia. Get you out of Russia.” She smiled. “Get us all out of Russia. After I have settled a few scores.”
“Can you do this?” Priscilla asked.
“I don’t know, but I mean to try.”
“Tatiana,” Atya moaned. “Tatiana, help me. I am freezing.” She had slipped down so far only her head was out of the water. Tatiana knelt beside her, watched the air mingling with the blood dribbling from her mouth and nostrils. “I cannot help you, Atya,” she said. “You are dying.”
Atya stared at her. “Then listen,” she muttered. “I have betrayed you. Betrayed Russia.”
Tatiana frowned as she bent lower.
“My man,” Atya whispered. “My Johnny…he is an English agent, named Halstead. His code name is Moonlight.” It was Tatiana’s turn to stare. “He is returning to my apartment, tomorrow,” Atya whispered. “For my report on our journey. He…” she gasped as the blood choked her, opened her mouth, closed it again…and then it sagged open a last time.
“She is dead,” Tatiana said. “Moonlight! A man called Halstead! For how long have we searched for that man, and he has been under our very noses, all the time.” She looked up. “I will still help you, Princess. If you will help me.”
“What do we do first?” Priscilla asked.
“We increase our strength,” Tatiana told her.
Part Three: Death of a Tyrant
During his office treason was no crime,
The sons of Belial had a glorious time.
John Dryden.
Chapter Nine: The Chase
Kagan sat at his desk and stared at the phone. He willed it to ring. But it would not. It was eight o’clock in the morning in his office in Moscow. The time zone scale for central Asia was a mosaic mess, thus, although at eight o’clock in Moscow it was ten o’clock just across the Urals, and twelve o’clock in Central Siberia, the area around Balkash was unique, in that it had its own scale, and it would only be eleven o’clock there. But even so, Shatrav should have reported back to Alma-Ata by now.
What could have gone wrong? Shatrav, one of the most experienced men in his section, and three other hand-picked operatives, sent to eliminate three women, one a debilitated prisoner, one a cripple…and Tatiana Gosykinya. Kagan had always considered Tatiana a vastly overrated operative, had always resented the fact that she was so overrated by Commissar Beria himself. Surely there was no way that even Tatiana Gosykinya could have resisted four agents of the KGB headed by Shatrav himself. He began to wish he had gone himself, availed himself of Beria’s invitation, enjoyed the Princess…and Tatiana Gosykinya as well, before executing them. Now…he could wait no longer, picked up the telephone. It took some time to get through, but at last Smorodsky was on the line. “Report!”
“I have nothing to report, Comrade General,” Smorodsky said. “Captain Gosykinya arrived here last evening, as scheduled, and left in a car. She told me to have the plane standing by at dawn this morning for her return. But she has not yet returned.”
“And Major Shatrav?”
“Major Shatrav arrived here yesterday morning, with his companions, again as scheduled. They also left in a car. I have not heard from him since.”
“You do not find this suspicious?” Kagan inquired.
“I am not paid to be suspicious about KGB activities, Comrade General.”
God save me from fools and incompetents, Kagan thought. As for what Beria would make of it…but Beria could not be allowed to know of it, until it was sorted out. He needed to be in Alma-Ata himself. Yet it would take him more than four hours to get there. That would be mid-afternoon, local time. Shatrav had been supposed to have done the job by sun-up. “Listen,” he said. “I am coming to visit you. But before I get there, I wish you to go to Gulag Number One. That is where Captain Gosykinya has gone. I wish you to find out what is keeping her there.”
“1 will send immediately, Comrade General.”
“Smorodsky,” Kagan said. “I do not wish you to send, immediately. I wish you to go yourself, immediately.”
He could hear Smorodsky gulp on the other end of the line. “Yes, Comrade General.”
“Leave now, find out what is the problem with Comrade Gosykinya, and meet me at the airport this afternoon.” He replaced the phone, looked at his secretary. “Telephone the airport and tell them to have a plane ready for me. I will be out there in half-an-hour.”
“Yes, Comrade General.” The woman turned for the door.
“And Anya,” Kagan said. “Should anyone inquire after me, anyone, I have been called away on urgent personal business, but will be back this evening.”
*
The two women dried themselves and their clothes by the heat from the still burning car before resuming their journey to the north-east. It was necessary to stop in Ayaguz for petrol, by which time they had skirted the eastern end of Lake Balkash, and were heading out into the vast steppes of central Siberia; although the sun was high in the sky, it remained very cold, and the snow-covered road was very poor. They were accompanying the railway line, and soon after eleven a train went blaring past, the passengers leaning out of the window to wave at the automobile, a rare sight in these parts, certainly in winter. They had not spoken much. Tatiana reckoned that Priscilla was still recovering from her drugged state, and was equally trying to understand what had happened and was happening. While Tatiana had a lot on her mind. That she had been betrayed, and condemned, by Beria, was obvious. What she could not understand was how he had dared; she was Stalin’s protégée. Therefore something very sinister was happening.
Her immediate instinct, if she was now an enemy of the state, or of the KGB, had been to free Morgan, and enlist him, and perhaps enjoy him, before the axe fell. She did not regret that decision for a moment. But as her sense of anger and outrage began to simmer rather than boil, she was thinking beyond merely freeing Morgan. She had first to figure out who was behind her betrayal. If Beria had acted on orders from Stalin, then he
r only hope was to get out of Russia. But if Beria was acting on his own, as part of some plot against Stalin…and this seemed very likely, in view of her instructions. He wanted the Princess, for some reason of his own. He wanted her taken to his own private dacha in Astrakhan. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought as she watched the petrol being poured into the car; she had merely flashed her KGB warrant and been served immediately with everything she wanted.
But if that were so, all she needed to do was regain Moscow, and Stalin’s side! And watch Beria crumble into dust. It was a risk worth taking. “Let’s eat,” she told the Princess.
They lunched in a little bar on the far side of town. “Where are we going?” Priscilla asked.
“To another gulag.” Tatiana smiled at the expression that flitted across Priscilla’s face. “Don’t worry, I am not going to lock you up again. I am going to pick up your friend Morgan.” For the first time Priscilla looked down at her clothes, at the same moment putting up her hand to her hair; her prison suit was concealed beneath the coat she had been given, but the coat itself was old and shabby.
“Oh, you are not terribly well groomed.” Tatiana said. “But I do not think Morgan will mind. He is in love with me. Or was,” she added thoughtfully.
“After the way you treated him?”
“Before,” Tatiana acknowledged. “But now I am his only hope of survival. Yours too, Princess,” she reminded her, well aware that as Priscilla regained full control of her faculties, she would remember just how she had been treated before she had been sent to the gulag — and by whom.
She paid for the lunch again by the simple method of flashing her KGB identity card, and they got back into the car, Tatiana shooing away the crowd of young people, of both sexes, who had surrounded it. “I wish you would tell me exactly what is happening,” Priscilla said as they drove out of the little town, as before heading north-east.
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