The Margin of Evil!

by Simon Boxall

  'What do you think will happen to us, Comrade Radetzky?' he said.

  'It's impossible to say. Depends on what mood they're in!'

  There was a knock on the cell door and a voice instructed them to return to the courtroom. They took their seats at the front of the court and waited for the bench to return. The bench returned.

  'Ivan Azarov and Artem Sobolev stand.' The two boys stood. 'It is the decision of this court that you are taken to a place of execution one week from today and shot.' The crowd let off an almighty roar of approval.

  So much for Georgii's role. He was stunned. He looked over at the two boys who just stared into space. The guards were busy manhandling them to their feet. Georgii looked over to where State Prosecutor Putinov was. He was being congratulated and feted for winning yet another case, for the state, by all his hangers on and fair weather comrades.

  Georgii sat there and felt sick, he sat down and started to think. When he had finished, he knew exactly what he had to do. He needed to call in a favour, and Auguste Gerhardt was the one that was going to grant it. The court was readying itself for the next case. One thing was for sure he was not hanging around for that one. Might as well shoot the lot, he thought as he went down to see the two boys. In the long run it would make life a lot easier. He told them that he would see them tomorrow in Lefortovo. With that he left the farce that was 'The Peoples Court.'

  The Militsya station was busy; it was rumoured that a group of 'White' assassins were roaming the streets. Units were dispatched here there and everywhere to find them. As was usually the case they were never in sight, and always just around the corner. Georgii laid low just in case Trofimov sent him off on another Wild Goose chase. He picked up the telephone and phoned Gerhardt at the Kremlin. He was at a meeting. Damn Georgii thought, he put the receiver down and then dialled the operator's number. He told the operator that the call could not wait. The switchboard put him on hold. He waited and waited and then a voice said, 'Just putting you through.'

  'Georgii, meet me in my Kremlin apartment in one hour. I cannot talk right now; I've really got to go.' Then Gerhardt hung up. Georgii placed the receiver back on its hook and then slid out via the back. Once on the street he made a beeline for the Kremlin. The walk would take him about an hour and Georgii decided that he was going to take the river route.

  The Moskva River winds its way through Moscow in a serpentine way. As far as Georgii was concerned the riverbank walks were his favourite. It did not matter what the time of year was, Georgii always liked to walk by the side of The Moskva. As he walked along he remembered how, in the past, he had loved to come and sit on the riverbank and watch the river traffic going up and down. As a child he used to imagine himself stowing away on a barge en route for the Caspian Sea. As a teenager he would walk along the bank and watch the pretty Muscovite women showing off their summer apparel to chaperones and lovers. Life was so vibrant down by the water's edge. Not anymore, revolution had seen to that. The once immaculately kept walkways had long since fallen into disrepair. Traffic on the river had all but ceased and the beautiful women now walked along the Thames and Seine embankments. The river's edge was now all but deserted.

  A voice came out of the shadows. 'Excuse me, Georgii Radetzky might I have a word?'

  Georgii turned to face the voice. A gentleman walked out of the shadows. He was about average height; he was wearing a black bowler hat and a long tweed coat. The coat was very much in the fashion of the Edwardian Teddy boy. To the one side he held an umbrella with a gloved hand; the other hand was in his pocket. Georgii knew exactly who the man was. The man perfectly fitted the description of the foreign agent provocateur.

  'I'm in a hurry, I can't really stop.'

  'That's alright, I'll walk with you. I think you might want to listen to what I have to say,' the smartly dressed man said.

  Georgii stopped and said.' And what exactly do you have to say? Why should I listen, and why are you pointing a concealed weapon at me; why should I have anything to do with a man who, through an innocent enough prank, has condemned two naive boys to death!?'

  'Everything and nothing Comrade Radetzky ... I'll be upfront with you Mr. Radetzky I've been watching you for quite a while. From a safe distance of course, but I have made sure that no harm comes your way; you could say that I've been your Guardian Angel.'

  'I don't need any Guardian Angels! I need ...'

  Georgii stopped. The man had now pulled out a revolver on him and police intuition told him that this man meant business.

  'But I think you do. My government has instructed me to ask you if you would like to work for us? End of story. A simple yes or a no will do ... that's all I ask. If it's no I'll kill you right now. If its yes, and it can only be that, we can then talk business ...'

  Further up the path there was movement, Georgii looked and saw a detachment of Red Guards walking towards them. He looked over to where the man with the bowler hat had been standing. He was gone.

  Then a voice came out of the darkness, 'I'll be in touch!'

  'Look forward to it,' Georgii thought. The guards marched past him, and he continued his journey to the Kremlin.

  On arrival he was taken to Comrade Gerhardt's apartment. The rooms were situated in the part of the Kremlin reserved for the party elite. Georgii wondered how Auguste had managed to wangle his way in here. The door opened and his mentor ushered him in.

  'Drink Georgii? I've got whisky, vodka and gin here.'

  'Whisky. Not too heavy on the water.'

  He looked around the room. It was dimly lit and there was a fireplace over on the far side. In front of it there were two winged chairs. In one of the chairs someone was sitting discreetly smoking a cigarette, but Georgii could not make out who the person was. Whilst he adjusted his eyesight he noticed that there was third person standing by the window.

  'There is someone here that would very much like to meet you ... Georgii meet Comrade Trotsky,' Gerhardt said.

  Still wary of their last meeting, Georgii Radetzky shook hands with 'The Genius' of the revolution and then took a seat.

  'Comrade Radetzky, I have heard so much about you from Auguste here. In a country full of incompetents and wasters, it is so reassuring to meet a true expert in his chosen field of detection,' Trotsky said.

  'Thank you very much for the compliment Comrade Trotsky,' Georgii said.

  'Georgii, I'm sorry to hear about the two boys,' Gerhardt said.

  'That's why I'm here Auguste. I'll get to the point ... Can you commute the sentence; can you pull a few strings? After all you have asked favours of me.'

  'I'll see what I can do. Now, Comrade Trotsky and I are really glad that you have come here tonight. In fact, I was going to send for you anyway. We have a proposition for you.'

  'Comrade, we live in a time where events move fast and sometime things don't go to plan. Take the death of Comrade Sverdlov; who could have foreseen that? As I'm sure you are well aware, my attention, and that of Lenin's, has been elsewhere of late,' Trotsky paused and then carried on, 'Whilst we have been focusing on fighting the Civil War, others, within these walls have tried to take advantage of the situation. Sverdlov had been investigating a small cabal within the party and was about to denounce one of their number to 'The Central Committee.' But he died, and very conveniently, the dossier he was working on disappeared. Without that report there can be no denunciation. We need to have that information before we can proceed,' Trotsky said.

  'So you want me to recover the file. Am I permitted to know who this cabal is?' Georgii said.

  'Yes and no ...' Gerhardt said.

  Trotsky interrupted, 'I suspect that the file has either been destroyed or it's in a very safe location. Now we believe that your recent covert investigations into the death of Isaak Goldstein and this group called 'The Kevshor's', might be linked in with the disappearance of Sverdlovs report.'

  'Georgii, we are not speaking in riddles, but for security reasons we have to be vague. We have to be! Wh
at I would like you to do is to carry on discretely with your investigations ...' Gerhardt said.

  Then a tall man stepped forward, 'It's imperative that this investigation is conducted with the utmost discretion. Because, if we are right, the person we suspect is not only cunning, but potentially a dangerous enemy. There is a cancer within these walls Georgii and, if it remains unchecked, it could spell disaster for all of us.' Georgii recognised the speaker as none other than the much feared Felix Dzerhinsky[12], Head of the Cheka.

  Trotsky interrupted again, 'But do not record anything, do not write anything down.'

  'Then what's the point of the investigation? Surely you need to present some kind of evidence at the end of the day,' Georgii Radetzky said.

  'Leave that to us! We'll cross that river when we get to it. Now the two boys, we will commute the death sentence to say ... ten years hard labour!' Trotsky said.

  'Is that the best that you can do?' Georgii said.

  'Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. You have to send out a strong signal to others; that we – 'The Bolsheviks' – mean business,' Trotsky said.

  'But they're innocents!'

  'That is all we can do Georgii. On the other matter. My advice to you, and I know how resourceful you can be get in, or someone into, the ranks of these Georgian Black Marketeers. Find out all you can. We'll be in touch,' Gerhardt said.

  With that they all said their goodbyes and Georgii Radetzky left. On the way home he thought about the day's events. The 'Kangaroo-Court', and State Prosecutor Putinov's momentary triumph. Where did he think he was; The Old Bailey? The timely appearance, of the man in the bowler hat, who had apparently been watching him from a distance for quite some time. He was probably watching him right now. It was for the best that he told no one about this strange encounter. Georgii thought that whoever he was, he was bound to meet up with him again, hopefully later rather than sooner. Anyway, first thing in the morning, he would go over to Lefortovo and break the news to the boys. Georgii hoped that they would greet any news as good news.

  But there was more; the more he thought about it. He realised that Auguste Gerhardt had been leading him along, on a merry song and dance. Yes that was it, all the time, Gerhardt had been priming him, egging him along, for the real task in hand. As to what that was, Georgii was beginning to get a sketchy idea, there were 'Bigger Fish to fry' here. Not only that, it was beginning to look like the early summer of nineteen fourteen again. Christ ... Who was it that said that history is always repeating itself? that person needed to be strung right up.

  Chapter Seven

  The tall man greeted him at the gates of Lefortovo prison. Georgii could smell alcohol on the man's breath.

  'Radetzky! Did not expect to see you back here so soon; what do we owe the pleasure!' He turned towards his guardroom assistant, after taking an unnecessarily long time checking and shuffling Georgii's papers. 'Papers appear to be in order,' the tall man said. The assistant nodded. 'My assistant comrade here will take you to see Comrades Azarov and Sobolev.' The tall man said.

  The assistant led him across the courtyard. The tall man shouted back to him, 'Good news travels fast! By the way you're not first person to visit those reprobates this morning.'

  The journey to Azarov and Sobolev's cell was uneventful. Georgii was preoccupied with how he was going to break the good news that the death sentence had been commuted to ten years hard labour. If he'd been them, he'd probably have preferred the death sentence. On they went along smelly, rat infested corridors, up and down stairs. Still locked in thought, and not really concentrating on what he was doing, Georgii was not that alarmed when someone barged past him shoving him into the wall. The man looked back at him and then started to break into a hard run.

  Instinct told Georgii Radetzky that something was wrong. They were nearing the cell. The cell door was slightly ajar, Georgii pushed the door open. The sight that confronted him was another one he wouldn't forget in a long time.

  The two boys were slumped one on top of the other. The cell was smokey and still stank of the cordite discharge. Sobolev lay across Azarov his hands outstretched; they had both been shot between the eyes. A pool of blood ran from both bodies and was slowly working its way across the cell floor. Georgii's escort was out in the corridor leaning against the cell door clutching his guts and gasping for air.

  No time to think, Georgii pushed past him, and ran off down the corridor. He was shouting unintelligibly, but in this part of the prison, even though it had not been immediately obvious, was now strangely silent. Off he ran, back the way he had come and back across the yard. There in front of him, in the distance, was his quarry running towards the gate like a bat out of hell. Like Georgii he was running for his life. He was now through the gates and out into the crowded street. Georgii was in hot pursuit and was steadily making up ground. Onwards he ran, he felt that there was a real chance that he might catch up with the murderer, but there was always someone or something that got in the way. Still he ran on, now Georgii had his Broomstick Mauser out and he was frantically waving at people to get the 'Fuck-out' of the way. Men, women and children moved out of the way once they realised what the commotion was. Mothers grabbed their children and dived for cover. Georgii came to a clearing in the street; the assassin had stopped and was now turning to face him. He was slowly aiming his pistol at him. Even from this distance he could see his adversary's finger squeezing on the trigger. Georgii pulled his, and the firing mechanism went 'CLICK.' Nothing happened! There was a deafening silence. 'Fuck-it', he thought, 'I'm a goner.' The barrel he was looking down was like none he'd ever seen before. It had a long attachment fixed onto the end of it. He could almost reach out and touch it. There was a loud 'BANG.' Georgii froze, everything was in slow motion. He just stood and stared at the man facing him. Then something odd happened, the man seemed to slowly crumple up. First he fell down onto his knees and then just knelt there for what seemed like an eternity. After that the gunman fell flat upon his face. Georgii managed to get a grip on himself when he realised, that he had not been shot. Then running, as fast as his legs would carry him, up to his, only a moment before, would-be assassin.

  He turned the man over; there was a hole in the side of the man's left temple. The assassin was definitely dead. Georgii looked around him; onlookers walked up to take a good look at the corpse. He instructed a young boy to return to the prison to get help. Georgii stood there and tried to take it all in. He rewound the last twenty minutes, back through his mind, starting with the tall man's sarcastic comments, right to the moment, before he arrived at this spot.

  Things definitely did not add up. Previous visits to Lefortovo had seen the place heaving with prisoners and guards. Not this morning. The murderer's entrance and exit had been all too convenient. Doors left open etcetera ... No, maybe Georgii's mind was playing tricks on him. Maybe he was now falling victim to Bolshevik paranoia! But his gut feeling told him one thing; this morning's killing of the two boys had been utterly pointless, they were not a threat to anyone, they had already told him what he needed to know; and on top of it all, whoever killed the killer; maybe it was the master of apparent disguise, the man with the bowler hat! Georgii looked back down the road and the tall man was walking briskly towards him from the direction of the prison. Georgii thought; let's see what this jerk has got to say for himself.

  'Radetzky! Anything I can do to help!' The tall man said.

  'I think you've done enough for one morning! Give me one reason why I should not have you arrested?' Georgii said.

  The tall man paused. He looked down at the assassin and then, back up towards Radetzky. 'This is ... not ... what you think!'

  'What is it that I think?' Georgii irritably replied fixing the man with a hard stare, 'Look! Go back to the gatehouse! I'll speak to you there. Don't go anywhere! Otherwise you will become your own guest! Is that clear!'

  The tall man nodded and walked hastily off in the direction of the prison. In the meantime a Militsya man had
shown up with a detachment of Red Guards. Georgii thanked the boy, but told him to hang around; he might have a use for him later. He then turned and instructed the Red Guards on what he wanted them to do. The Militsya man, assisted by the boy, was to go around and take statements from witnesses. Assuming that is, that anybody had seen anything worth reporting. It took some time, but eventually he got everybody organised.

  Georgii looked at the body; the impact of the bullet had completely caved in the left temple. The blood was beginning to congeal around the edges of the entry wound. The man's lips were slowly turning blue. There was something else that struck Georgii as strange. The man was definitely not a local, and by local, he was not your usual European looking Caucasian. The man looked Turkic, he had dark swarthy features. The face was covered in stubble, the skin was tanned. The killers clothing was dark and he wore the trademark cap. Georgii knew where he had seen his type before. It was when he had accompanied Gerhardt to the Black-Market a few nights before. The market had been crawling with people that looked just like him.

  He knelt down and went through the man's pockets. There was nothing in there to identify the man. He stood up and thought. While he was thinking, the Militsya man told him that there was a man that had agreed to take the corpse, on his cart, down to the city mortuary. Georgii told him to get the corpse loaded. When he had done this he was to accompany the body. He was not to leave it under any circumstances. Georgii would join him later. But there was one thing that he wanted to do before the corpse was taken away. He pulled his Swiss army knife from out of his trench coat pocket. He selected the right blade and knelt down. Georgii then turned the corpse over on to its side. He made sure that the right side was facing upward. Then he started cutting the man's clothing away from the right armpit. When he had finished cutting, he removed the clothing; and there it was, his hunch had been confirmed. There in the armpit was a tattoo of a cross sandwiched between two shields. He stood up and thought for a moment and then helped the Militsya man to get the corpse loaded onto the cart.