Red Wheels Turning

by Ashton, Hugh

  “I also had you as a backup,” pointed out Petrov. “To answer your question, because they were the two I trusted most. I trusted your friend’s honesty and competence more than I could trust anyone else on the Netopyr, and of course I trust my own daughter, and I know she is neither a fool nor a coward.”

  “And how did you know he was there?”

  “We have Alexander Alexandrovich Mikulin to thank for this. When he was studying in England, he made friends with a group of Communists there. Through them he became acquainted with Ulyanov’s group, which he joined, and for a while, he was an active member. However, he saw what they were after – and believe me, it’s not the class struggle that they would have you believe. Ulyanov is a ruthless seeker after power, and has little interest in the proletarians that he claims to represent.”

  Brian nodded. “So he agreed to become a police informer?”

  “Correct. Not only on account of his personal revulsion against Ulyanov, but also because of the violence that his gang uses. I told you that Kolinski, along with other thugs, has carried out bank robberies, which they call ‘expropriations’, in a number of towns in Russia and in Georgia. There’s one revolutionary, a Iosif Dzhugashvili, whom the police would dearly love to keep in prison. He keeps escaping and returning from exile. He’s one of the worst. But he’s more the brains of the operation. It’s murderers without consciences like our friend Kolinski who are the killers.”

  “And Mikulin has been in contact with Ulyanov in Zurich?”

  “I’ve been telling him what to write. The Bolsheviks are probably now convinced that we have many more kinds of terrible weapon to crush any attempt at a revolution than actually exist. And Zurich’s idea of the Netopyr is almost certainly of a more fearsome war machine than the reality.”

  “Did you know Kolinski was going to come here?”

  Petrov shook his head. “No, and when we picked him up on the submarine coming here, I still didn’t put two and two together until you noticed his tattoo. Then I was pretty certain that Ulyanov had taken the bait we’d prepared for him. And Mikulin informed me when we arrived that he’d had a message from Zurich informing him that Kolinski was on his way here.”

  “And you let Harry walk into that?” Brian was still quietly fuming with rage and grief, mixed with more than a little guilt.

  Petrov shrugged. “I let my own daughter go there as well,” he reminded Brian. His tone was still quiet. “I believed that with a machine-gun pointing at him from the Netopyr and a pistol pointing at him from Maria, and an experienced combat soldier to handle him, there would be little danger from Kolinski. He had asked Alexander Alexandrovich to raid the armoury for him, and of course I was informed of all of this. Before Kolinski was presented with all his weapons, I arranged for the main charges to be removed from the grenades, as well as leaving only one round in each of the rifle magazines, again with the propellant removed. In retrospect, we were lucky that Kolinski didn’t check everything before he set off to meet the Netopyr. And then,” he added, rising from the bench where they had been sitting, “there was you to watch over everything. It is fortunate that you came back from Petrograd when you did.”

  “Hardly fortunate. I let them down,” said Brian. “I let Harry down, I let Maria down. I let Harry down,” he repeated. He rose to join Petrov, and the two men walked together out of the wooden hut which served as hospital, and now as a mortuary. The sun was low, half hidden by the birch trees surrounding the building.

  “You did nothing of the sort,” said Petrov. “If your shot hadn’t gone through his hand, Kolinski would almost certainly have killed Maria and probably finished off Lieutenant Braithwaite immediately. And I am not convinced that we could have used the machine-gun against him. He’d chosen his position too well for that. There’s no way you could have worked miracles on your own, you know. If there’s any blame, it’s on my side. I underestimated Kolinski, I failed to provide adequate backup, whatever. But I don’t want you to go around blaming yourself for something that isn’t your fault. Understood, Lieutenant?” The last words were spoken in a tone that was only half joking.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So now, we hide our grief. We stiffen our spines, and we work to make this whole sorry business work in our favour. Believe me, Lieutenant, I am not unfeeling, but I have found for myself, as I am sure you have also done in situations like this, that one of the best cures for grief is hard work. And I would suggest to you that when you go back to London, you make it a priority to defeat these Bolsheviks.”

  “That’s not a matter for me to decide, sir.” Brian spoke formally. “The British government will make its own decisions on Russian internal political affairs without my help or advice.”

  “I quite understand, Lieutenant. But I can help provide you with some material that will help convince your superiors. The death of Lieutenant Braithwaite will surely help to persuade them, or so I would imagine. But there are important strategic elements as well. As you know, the current rulers of Russia, as incompetent and venal as they may appear at times, are still managing to tie up large numbers of German and Austro-Hungarian troops on this front. I do not think that the Bolsheviks, should they ever be in a position where they can influence the course of Russian politics, would prosecute the war with the same vigour. Indeed, they might even be in a position where they could force the Russian government into an armistice. And you can guess for yourself what a disaster that would be for the Allies fighting on the Western Front. How many German divisions would that free up to fight in France and Belgium?”

  Brian nodded in reluctant agreement.

  “And, I remember you telling me in London, what seems like a long time ago, that you knew Ulyanov when you were younger. Let’s use that. Let’s make the bastard sweat a little. I think we’re going to get to know quite a lot about the Bolsheviks by the time we’ve finished with Kolinski.”

  “You’re not going to use torture, are you?” asked Brian. “Not that I have any liking for the man, but as you told me earlier, that would just be going down to their level.”

  Petrov shook his head. “I am almost certain that this won’t be necessary. Of course, there are those in the Okhrana who would beat all the information out of him, but as long as I am in command here, nothing like that is going to happen. Kolinski is feeling very sorry for himself. He is in considerable pain, thanks to you—”

  “—and Maria,” Brian added.

  “Indeed.” Petrov smiled to himself. “He is hungry, exhausted, and in pain. He is extremely vulnerable to any kind of pressure, and I foresee his telling us many interesting things about the Bolsheviks and their activities in the near future. I am sure he saw himself as almost invulnerable and invincible before today. Now he is weak and helpless.”

  “We thought that in Reval,” Brian pointed out.

  “But the main difference is that we weren’t there to take care of him. We know this man. We know how dangerous he is. And I think we can find his weak spots, don’t you?”

  Brian nodded.

  “And so we are going to carry the fight forward. Weep in a little while if you must, my friend.” Brian was astonished by the form of address, as well as by the fact that Petrov had used the familiar form of “you” rather than the formal form of address. He looked up, and Petrov continued. “Yes, I want us to be friends. I would like you to think of me and Maria as your family whenever you come to Russia. So weep later. But now we have work to do. And I am sure that is what our friend Harry Braithwaite would want us to do now.”

  -oOo-

  Chapter 10: Whitehall, London

  “I’m afraid we’re stuck with each other, whether you like it or not.”

  “It goes without saying, Finch-Malloy,” said C, as Brian sat in the armchair on the other side of the desk, “that we are extremely sorry about Braithwaite. It does seem to me, though, that both you and he acted in the highest traditions of the service, and I am sure that I can persuade the War Office to provide a posth
umous medal and a generous pension for his family, at the very least. A medal of some sort for you, as well. And you are now Captain Finch-Malloy, by the way, with all the privileges that appertain to that exalted rank.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Brian was tired. He still felt Harry’s loss keenly, but the wound was healing fast.

  “And for you, young Finch-Malloy, I want you to keep up with our friend Petrov. I received a glowing letter from him about you – and Braithwaite. We are going to need to keep up our links with Russia, and a personal link like the one you seem to have established is exactly what we need. You may well be meeting Alexei again, and the beautiful Maria.”

  Brian raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  “Yes, I know Alexei of old. My daughter was at school with Maria, and sometimes went to Petersburg, as it was then, for the summer holidays, and Maria sometimes stayed with us. Alexei and I discovered we had a lot in common, and our daughters helped to carry useful information between us without any of our Whitehall friends being any the wiser. You look surprised, young Finch-Malloy. Believe me, after a few years with us, it will be your turn to surprise raw young subalterns with your guile. So any relationship you care to develop with my old friend Alexei and his family will be greatly appreciated at a very high level indeed. Your old chess-playing partner and his gang of revolutionaries are beginning to worry my lords and masters. We need you to help keep an eye on them and to frustrate their knavish tricks. You appear to have made a good start there. Petrov told me about that as well.”

  “So you want me to join the Embassy staff in Petrograd, sir?”

  C laughed, and then stopped abruptly. “No, Finch-Malloy, I don’t think that would be in your interests or those of the Embassy. After what happened to young Featherington, I can imagine that you would be less than popular, and receive very little in the way of co-operation from the others there.”

  “About Featherington, sir. I haven’t heard anything. Is he…?”

  “The trial was two weeks ago. He was found guilty. Execution two days later. He could have appealed, but chose not to.”

  Brian swallowed.

  “I know. If it’s any consolation to you, I have to congratulate you, if that’s the right word to use here, on the way you handled that business with Featherington. A horribly dirty and disgusting job, I know, and you handled it admirably with both initiative and tact. The two don’t always go together. Your introduction to the Service has been an unusually bloody and unpleasant one, I’m afraid. But,” rising, and leaning forward to look into Brian’s eyes, “we need people like you. I’m afraid we’re stuck with each other, whether you like it or not. You’ve done well, Finch-Malloy. Damned well. Let’s carry on the good work together.” He held out his hand and Brian took it. “Glad to have you on board.”

  -oOo-

  Chapter 11: Zurich, Switzerland

  “After all that we have done for the scum, he betrays me!”

  Ulyanov put down his pen, and stared at Zinoviev.

  “A package from whom?” he asked.

  “Comrade Michelov brought it from Petrograd.”

  “And where’s Michelov now?”

  “Outside. Waiting to give you the package.”

  “Let him in.” As Zinoviev went to the door, and called for Michelov, Lenin’s fingers drummed a tattoo on the desk.

  Michelov entered, followed by Zinoviev, who closed the door behind him.

  “Sit down, sit down,” invited Lenin. His testy mood seemed to have vanished, replaced by an affable friendliness. Zinoviev was not deceived by this. He knew that this affability of Lenin’s often masked a towering rage. “You have something for me, I believe, Comrade?” Lenin was still smiling.

  “Yes, Comrade,” replied Michelov. He was a small man, and Lenin’s unblinking gaze seemed to shrink him even smaller inside his ill-fitting jacket. He held out a small square package, wrapped in brown paper. The single word “Lenin” was written in large Cyrillic letters on the top.

  “Later, later.” Lenin waved away the proffered parcel. “First, I want to know how you came to have this.”

  “I explained to Comrade Zinoviev here that it all started when I was arrested.”

  “Arrested? Where? How?”

  “As I was returning from a Party meeting. Just outside my front door. They were waiting for me. I was carrying all the papers and notices from the meeting, so there was no way I could pretend to them that I had nothing to do with the Party.”

  Lenin shook his head in sympathy, but whether real or pretended, there was no way of telling. “So they took you to the Okhrana headquarters?”

  It was Michelov’s turn to shake his head. “No, Comrade. That really surprised me. I was taken to the Imperial Nicholas Military Academy.”

  “The devil!” burst out Lenin. “Who arrested you, then, if it wasn’t the Okhrana?”

  “Comrade, I have to tell you that I have no idea. They were not in uniform, and they didn’t salute the sentries as we entered the Academy. And the sentries didn’t salute them, either. I notice these things.” Lenin said nothing, but made a note on the paper in front of him, and nodded for Michelov to continue. “They took me to an office.”

  “Which floor?”

  “Second. Near the front of the building. Room 282.”

  Lenin wrote this down, as well, and smiled at Michelov “Well done, Comrade. You certainly do have your wits about you.”

  Michelov seemed to grow a little taller at the praise. “A man in colonel’s uniform was waiting for me. My guards saluted him, all right. One of them called him ‘Your Highness’, but he didn’t seem too pleased by that.”

  “Do you know who he was?”

  “No, Comrade. But I’m pretty sure that he is connected to the Imperial family somehow, and he’s a higher rank than a Colonel from the way that they were behaving round him. They never addressed him by name, so I can’t tell you that.” Michelov waited for a comment, but there was none. He ploughed on. “He spoke to me politely, and used my full name and patronymic. Offered me tea.”

  “Which you refused, of course?” asked Zinoviev sarcastically.

  “Of course I refused.” Michelov was indignant. “I wasn’t going to drink their tea. He asked me to sit down. I refused. I didn’t want to accept any favours from those people. ‘Very well,’ he said to me, and stood up himself. Not a tall man when he stood – maybe a little taller than me, but not much.”

  “And the guards?”

  “Right behind me. I couldn’t have done anything, even if I had been armed. They’d taken all my papers and my revolver when they first picked me up.”

  “And then?”

  “He told me that he knew you, Comrade, and proceeded to describe this very room to me. This room here in Zurich. He described it perfectly.” Lenin frowned. “That inkwell on your desk there,” pointing. “That picture of Karl Marx there. The way that your coat – forgive me, Comrade – is thrown so carelessly over the pegs there.”

  Lenin’s face twisted into a bitter scowl. “We have a traitor among us. A spy or an agent provocateur, it would seem.” He glared at Zinoviev. “I charge you with discovering the swine and dealing with him appropriately.”

  “Comrade, that was also my thought,” said Michelov. “And I asked this colonel who was the traitor. ‘When you next see Vladimir Ilyich,’ he told me, ‘tell him that I needed no spy to tell me these things.’ He was smiling. So of course, I asked him how he knew all this.” Michelov paused for dramatic effect, or perhaps out of fear of the consequences of being the bearer of bad news. “They captured Kolinski, Vladimir Ilyich.”

  Lenin’s face contorted in a scowl and his fist smashed down on the table, causing the inkwell to jump, and pencils to fall to the floor. “The devil they did! But Kolinski’s tough – he never would have told them a thing about us, even under torture.”

  “I hate to tell you differently, Comrade, but Kolinski told them all. Apparently even without torture.”

  The fist smashed do
wn on the table again. “The swine! The treacherous piece of shit! After all that we have done for the scum, he betrays me! The counter-revolutionary weakling!”

  Michelov held out a hand, seemingly in supplication for the torrent to cease. Lenin seemed to relax a little, though it appeared to cost him some effort, and Michelov continued. “Kolinski was very badly injured, I was told. His right hand was completely shattered by a bullet, and he received several other very painful injuries. He was given medical treatment, this colonel assured me, and while he was under the anaesthetic that they gave him to lessen his agony, he talked a little.” Lenin slumped back in his chair. “When he awoke, they repeated what he had told him, and gave him the impression that they knew much more, and so tricked him into telling them everything that they wanted to know.”

  “Did they know who he was before he talked? That he was with the Party”

  Michelov nodded. “They did. There was indeed a traitor, Comrade, but it was no-one from here. This officer told me that one of the engineers on the military project that Kolinski was to gather information about had told him that Kolinski was coming.”

  Zinoviev drew in his breath sharply. Lenin gave him a cold stare. “This, I take it, Comrade Zinoviev, was your trusted source who told us all about your ridiculous machine?” Zinoviev nodded silently. “You really do have a turd for a brain, don’t you?” Zinoviev remained silent. “Did no-one out of you herd of incompetent useless swine ever think to check this ‘trusted’ comrade’s loyalty? Am I the only one round here who can think?” There was no answer that could be given to this scream of rage. Lenin let out a massive sigh of exasperation and turned back to Michelov. “Does it get worse?”

  “I don’t know if this counts as ‘worse’, Comrade.” Michelov was wary, even though Lenin’s anger seemed to have been deflected slightly away from him. “This colonel or whatever he was gave an order for ‘the Englishman’ to join them, and one of the guards who’d brought me went out to fetch him. He arrived in a minute or so. Big tall officer with these green eyes that looked at you like a wolf. He came in and stared at me with those eyes of his for two or three minutes without saying anything to me. Scared me really badly just by looking at me like that.”