“Do not wear those filthy, degrading things,” Tatiana said. “You are much of a size with Galina. We will find you some clean clothes in a moment. Just stand there. You are nice to look at. As for alarming the building, Princess, if the police come here, I will shoot myself. But you, and Helena, and Andrew, will be returned to your gulags, and this time, Princess, there will be no order preserving you from a daily beating. It would be very unwise for you to be returned to the clutches of Valentina Karpova.”
“And you reckon you can keep us all under guard all the time?” Andrew asked. “You have to sleep sometime, Tattie.”
“We all have to sleep,” Tatiana said equably, stepping out of the bath, and picking up Priscilla’s discarded towel with one hand and her gun with the other. “Now you, Andrew.” He stripped off his prison garb. Helena turned away but the other two women, who already knew him so well, were not embarrassed, even by the effect their own naked bodies had had on him. “It is nice to see that you are still capable of interest,” Tatiana remarked.
Andrew soaped. His brain was ticking as fast as any of theirs, even if he was just as emotionally drained. But no matter how he looked at the situation, Tatiana held all the trumps — at the moment. “This friend of Atya’s,” he ventured. “You really think he can help us?”
“I think he may have some ideas.” She handed him the towel, waited while he dried himself. “Getting some decent clothes for you will be difficult,” she said. “Now, we all need to sleep. In there.” She pointed at the bedroom with her gun. “I need a washing line,” Tatiana told Helena. “A good deal of washing line.”
Helena obliged, and Tatiana used a kitchen knife to cut it into strips, while her three prisoners watched her. Priscilla and Andrew stood together, and she gave his hand a quick squeeze. He didn’t know whether she was encouraging him to try something or warning him against it. But he had seen too much of Tatiana to risk chancing his arm unless he held a substantial advantage, and at the moment she was the one with the gun. “Now,” Tatiana said. “Helena, sit in that straight chair against the wall. I know this is going to be uncomfortable, but it will only be for a few hours. Then we will all be friends again, eh?” Helena glanced at Priscilla and Andrew, then sat down.
Tatiana knelt beside her, placing the gun on the floor. “Please remember not to be stupid,” she told Priscilla and Andrew, and very quickly and efficiently bound Helena’s ankles to the chair legs, then passed the line under the chair and brought it up the back to secure her wrists, then passed it twice round her chest before making it fast to the chair back. “Just relax,” she recommended, “and it will not feel so uncomfortable. Now for you two.” She studied them for several seconds, while Andrew found he was holding his breath.
“Andrew on that side,” she said. “Lie down on your back.” Andrew obeyed. “Arms above the head,” Tatiana commanded, and secured his wrists to the iron bedhead. “You look good enough to eat,” she said, “and I mean that literally.” She pulled his legs together, looped some of the line round his ankles, and secured them to the bottom end of the iron bedstead. “Now,” she said. “Lie on top of him, Princess.”
Priscilla gazed at her with her mouth open.
“Well,” Tatiana explained, “there is really only room for two people lying beside each other on that bed. And I need my sleep as well. I am actually doing you a great favour, Princess, as I am quite sure you have long had it in mind to be intimate with Andrew.” Priscilla looked at Andrew. Her face as always was composed, but there were pink spots on her cheeks…as there were on his. She drew a deep breath and climbed onto the bed, sitting on Andrew’s thighs, one leg to each side.
“Now lie down,” Tatiana said. Slowly Priscilla lowered herself on to Andrew’s chest, her golden hair flopping on his face. “Extend your arms,” Tatiana commanded. Priscilla obeyed, and had her wrists secured to the bedhead between Andrew’s. Tatiana then brought her ankles together, and secured them to the bottom of the bed, immediately above Andrew’s.
“Now you see, you should both be quite comfortable. But try not to wake me up.” She lay down on the bed herself, her thigh brushing Andrew’s, pulled the covers over all three of them, and almost immediately, it seemed, fell fast asleep.
Priscilla’s left cheek was against Andrew’s right, so that his lips were against her left ear. He kissed it, to make sure he had her attention, not that he could doubt that he had; he could feel every contour of her body implanted on his. Her lips were against his right ear, and it was some seconds before she responded; she could see Tatiana, where he could not — Tattie’s face was in fact only inches from her own — and she was waiting to be sure their captor was asleep. Then she whispered, “Can you breathe?”
“Yes,” he whispered back. “You are not very heavy. Your highness…”
“Be patient. Try to sleep. We must sleep.”
“If I sleep, with you on top of me, your highness…”
“If it happens, it happens,” she said. “Presumably it will amuse her.”
“And you?”
She raised her head, and moved it, so that now her lips were on his. “I believe in God’s will, Andrew.”
He kissed her mouth. Perhaps he had wanted to do that since he had first seen her. Or even before then, when he had first read of her. And to his surprise and delight she responded. She was, he reminded himself, a woman who made her own rules for life, and had always done so. How he longed for his arms to be free, so that he could hug her against him. But could he possibly hold her closer than she was now, pressed down by her own weight, and held there by the cords binding her wrists and ankles? And now she was after all moving her body on his, her breasts on his, her belly on his, her thighs against his, and her pubes against his. “Princess,” he gasped. “Princess.” Priscilla sighed.
And Tatiana smiled. “Filthy capitalist beasts,” she murmured. “Now perhaps we may get some sleep.” They slept, and awoke with a start as they heard the key in the lock. Tatiana was out of bed in an instant, the revolver in her hand, opening the bedroom door and stepping into the lounge as Galina entered the apartment. With her was a man.
Chapter Eleven: The Death of a Tyrant
The weather in Kazakhstan cleared by dawn, and Kagan was able to take off. By then he knew that Tatiana and two companions had landed at Moscow, without hindrance, requisitioned a car, and driven off, presumably into the city. No one at the airport had had any orders to hinder the KGB captain. As Beria was obviously handling things at the Moscow end, Kagan did not enlighten anyone he spoke to. But when he called the Lyubyanka just before taking off at eight o’clock, and asked to be connected with the Commissar, he was simply told that the Commissar was not available. It was, of course, only five o’clock in the morning in Moscow, yet it still seemed to be absurdly confident of Beria to have gone to bed. But there was nothing Kagan could do until he reached Moscow himself, and the flight was something over three thousand kilometres. That was five and a half hours by his private jet, and even going with the sun, it was ten-thirty before he landed. He had his pilot maintain radio silence, apart from routine requirements. He was prepared to be patient.
There was absolutely no indication of any crisis. He presumed that Beria had things entirely under control. But he drove straight to Lyubyanka, marched up the stairs to Beria’s outer office, and encountered Maria. “The Commissar is not here,” she announced.
“Tell me where I can reach him.”
“I am sorry,” Maria said primly. “I am not at liberty to do that.” Kagan seized her by the shirt-front and half carried her into the inner office. “What are you doing?” she shouted. Like most women, she regarded physical contact with Kagan as being scarcely more acceptable than with an ape.
Kagan sat her on Beria’s desk, scattering pens and pencils and paperclips. “This is a matter of state security,” he said. “If you try to play games with me, my sweet little thing, I am going to twist your knickers into a knot — with you in them.”
Maria panted. “I am doing as I was ordered,” she said. “As you say, a matter of state security. That is what Comrade Beria told me, before he left. He did not tell me where he was going, Comrade Kagan. Simply that he would be back this evening, for the Premier’s birthday party. State Security!”
Kagan glared at her, but he knew she was telling the truth. So, either Beria had discovered something about Tatiana’s movements he did not yet know, or he was removing himself from the scene of action, so that he could not know what was happening, and thus could not be held responsible. The bastard! But this was Kagan he was dealing with. “Very well,” he said. “Get out.”
He released the shirt-front and Maria straightened her brassiere as she slid off the desk. But she was Beria’s creation, not Kagan’s. “I cannot leave you alone in the Commissar’s office, General Kagan.”
“You can and you will, because I am telling you to,” Kagan said. “Get out, and stay in the outer office. And do not attempt to listen in to my phone conversations.” He grinned at her. “State Security, Comrade.”
Maria backed out of the door and closed it. Kagan sat at Beria’s desk and used the Commissar’s private phone. “Voronski,” he said. “Has the Commissar for Internal Affairs used an aircraft today.”
“I am not allowed to tell you that,” the Airport Commandant protested.
“Voronski,” Kagan said earnestly. “This is General Kagan. If you do not wish me to come down there and place you under arrest you had better answer my question.”
Voronski could be heard to gulp, even over the phone. If he feared Beria, he feared Kagan more. “The Commissar flew out at eight-fifteen this morning, Comrade General. In his private jet.”
“For where?”
“He told me that information was classified, Comrade General.”
“Right,” Kagan said. “Consider yourself under arrest, Colonel. I am sending a car for you now.”
This time the gulp was even more audible. “The Commissar went to Astrakhan, Comrade General. To his dacha. He said he needed a rest.”
“Astrakhan,” Kagan repeated, slowly. “To his dacha. Thank you, Comrade Colonel. You are no longer under arrest. But you will be, if you repeat a word of this conversation, to anyone.” He hung up, and brooded at the desk. Beria had flown out, in the middle of a crisis, on the Premier’s birthday, to his dacha in Astrakhan. Needing a rest! But he had told Maria that he would be back for the Premier’s birthday party tonight. As it was a flight of several hours to Astrakhan, and several hours back, even if the flying time was not interfered with by the weather, he would scarcely have the time to spend an hour in his villa before he would be on his way back. That was a rest?
No, no, Kagan thought. Beria had gone to Astrakhan for a purpose. To see someone. Or to fetch something. Or someone! Now who could that be? He flicked the pages of Beria’s desk diary. So, with a renegade KGB agent running loose round the city, Beria takes off to his personal dacha. But intending to return for the birthday party. Of course, it was always possible that the man had cracked under the strain and gone mad. But then again he might not. And either way… Kagan reached the list of Beria’s private telephone numbers, and selected one. When the phone was answered, he said, “Let me speak with Comrade Kruschev.”
*
Tatiana swung her legs off the bed and stood up. “Welcome,” she said. “Are you Comrade Romanowski, Moonlight, or Mr Halstead? Or perhaps all three?”
Halstead looked her up and down, and then at the two people on the bed. “I seem to be interrupting an orgy.”
“Just passing the time,” Tatiana said. “Galina, you have done well. Now you may untie these people. Mr Halstead, you and I need to talk.”
“Do you mind putting something on?” Halstead asked. “I find it a little hard to concentrate.”
“Flatterer!” But she put on one of Galina’s dressing gowns and led him back into the lounge. Galina meanwhile was untying Helena.
“Where is Atya?” Halstead asked.
“Atya is dead.”
Halstead’s eyes narrowed, and he gave another quick glance around the room. “So I have walked into a trap.”
“Does it look like it? I believe you need me as much as I need you.” Tatiana sat on the settee, throwing one long leg over the other. “How strange it is, that we should meet in these circumstances.”
Halstead sat opposite her. “I don’t yet know what the circumstances are, although I imagine that were they different they would be uncomfortable for me. Is Atya really dead?”
“I’m afraid she is. You are not showing a great deal of grief.”
Helena rubbed her hands together, while her mother began untying Priscilla.
“I hope she died well. She was an old friend. More than ten years.”
“Whom you used shamelessly,” Tatiana remarked.
“It is my job,” Halstead pointed out. “As you have used people shamelessly, no doubt.”
Priscilla rolled off Andrew, and sat up, her back to him. Galina began to untie him as well. No one spoke; apart from their emotions, they were listening to the conversation in the other room. “She died with a gun in her hand,” Tatiana said. “Which is as well as any of us can hope for.”
“And you already knew about me?”
“I knew she had a lover, which was strange, for someone in her condition. It was she who told me who you were, just before she died.”
“But you did not execute her.”
“No, Mr Halstead. We were on the same side when she died.”
Andrew sat up, and like Helena, rubbed his chafed wrists. Still Priscilla did not look at him. But she said, “Tatiana mentioned something about clothes.”
“I will see what I can find,” Galina said. “We are much the same size.”
“So why have you brought me here?” Halstead asked. “If it is not a trap?”
“I wish to do a deal with you, Mr Halstead. As you may have gathered, I no longer work for the KGB. I believe that I have uncovered a plot to murder, or at least remove, Premier Stalin. But he is so unaware of it that he has even turned against me.”
“And you wish me to help you save his life?”
“I wish you to get me and my companions out of Russia.”
“Tall order.”
“Mr Halstead, you must do it all the time.”
“One person may go where six would be immediately suspect.”
“You only have to do it once. I know it will mean you may never be able to return to Russia, but it would be highly risky for you to do so in any event, as you have no Atya to help you and conceal you. And you will be taking out with you, this last time, information of incalcuble value. You may be sure that whatever happens inside the Kremlin will not be released to the world for a very long time. But you will know, now.”
Priscilla tried on Galina’s underwear. “What about Mr Morgan?” she asked.
“That will be difficult,” Galina said. “He will have to stay with his prison uniform.”
“How do I know this is not some even more elaborate trap?” Halstead asked.
“Because there would be no point in it. I knew where you were to be found, Mr Halstead. I also knew who you were. Had I still been a KGB agent, what would have been simpler than for me to have you arrested, and taken down to the Lyubyanka, with all the kudos that would have accumulated to me? Besides, what of the people in the other room? Do you know them?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“But you know of them, perhaps. The woman is the Princess Bolugayevska. kidnapped by the Bolsheviks six years ago. The man is Andrew Morgan, a British citizen, arrested by the Bolsheviks at the same time.”
“You serious?”
“Then you do know of them?”
Halstead got up and walked to the bedroom door. Andrew was dressing himself in his prison garb. Priscilla was now fully dressed, in Galina’s clothes. Both looked at him, inquiringly. “I do assure you that what Tatiana says is true,” Priscilla said.
“Aty
a told me she tortured you,” Halstead said.
“Me? Not really, beyond a cold bath. Andrew here had a hard time.”
“And you are prepared to trust her?”
“Times change, Mr Halstead,” Priscilla said. “I have observed this in the course of my life more than most people. Right now, Tatiana is on a hiding to nothing. She has to escape Russia. She reckons her path, as a defector, will be eased by taking Andrew and me with her. So, we are allies. History has often required strange bed fellows to lie down together, Mr Halstead.”
Halstead turned back to Tatiana. Who shrugged. “The ball is in your court, Mr Halstead. But…” she produced her pistol from the pocket of her dressing gown. “I will have that gun you are wearing stuffed into your pants.”
“I thought we needed to trust each other.”
“We do. But I trust people better when I am in control. Just hold the barrel, will you. And if you have any doubts about my ability to kill with a single shot, ask the Princess.”
Halstead forced a grin. “To fire a shot would have half the Moscow police in here.”
“Absolutely,” Tatiana said. “Then we would hang, shoulder to shoulder. I am sure we would both enjoy the experience, but isn’t it something we should postpone for as long as possible?” Halstead reached beneath his jacket. “Butt first,” Tatiana reminded him.
He gave her the gun. “I can take you out,” he said. “We will leave tonight.”
“No,” Tatiana said. “I must first find out what has happened to my mother, and if possible rescue her. There is also an old comrade in the cells of the Lyubyanka.”
“My son,” Priscilla said. So much had happened in the past twenty-four hours she had actually forgotten her principal duty.
“You have got to be crazy,” Halstead protested. “You are a wanted traitor…”
“We do not know that, yet,” Tatiana said.
“If we are going to get out, every moment is crucial. I don’t know if it can be done, anyway. Just how many of you are there, anyway?”
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