by Simon Boxall
Morning came and the silence was broken by the whistles of trains heading off to far away destinations. O'Reilly had noticed that there was probably only going to be a short window of opportunity for them both to escape. But, as Georgii explained to Royston, it would probably be unwise if they left the way they had come. They would have to walk back down the track and into town. It was agreed that if stopped Georgii would do all the talking. Therefore for effect, O'Reilly would be Radetzky's prisoner. Radetzky handcuffed 'The Scouser' and off they went. At first all seemed to go well. They made it out into the open and down on to the railway tracks. They left the line and clambered over a fence and across some wasteland. Then, when everything seemed to be going well, the pair of them walked right into a Cheka roadblock. Amongst their number was the Militsya official who was holding a pair of field glasses, and the 'Red Guard' whom had been having the conversation about illicit vodka stills and agent provocateurs.
Georgii showed them his papers, that part was straight forward enough.
'So Comrade Radetzky! Tell me, what is your business in an off limits part of town?'
Georgii proceeded to tell him that, whilst on a routine patrol, he had seen this man, now handcuffed, behaving suspiciously by the railway line. The Cheka man had his notebook out and was copiously taking notes, whilst the other asked the questions.
'I'm afraid Comrade you give us no choice; this does not tally with the information we have received!' the Cheka man said.
'What do you mean? Does not tally with information we have received,' Georgii said indignantly.
'I'm afraid you will have to come with us.'
They were both blindfolded and then bundled into the back of a lorry. Georgii's handcuffs were removed and new ones were attached. The handcuffs were a size too small and bit severely into his wrists. He sat there with O'Reilly, and wondered what would happen next. Georgii stared into the black for what seemed like an eternity. The lorry stopped at its destination; the two men were taken in and tied to a chair. Craning his head, Georgii could hear, unintelligible voices in the distance and they were heading in his direction.
The pair did not have long to wait as the Cheka man and his colleague returned. Georgii recognised their voices; he also sensed that a third person was now present.
Then the man's voice said. 'We are going to remove your blindfolds! But you and your English friend will only look directly at the wall in front of you!'
Georgii found himself blinking at a white plaster wall.
'Comrade Radetzky, we have been looking all over Moscow for you? You are very lucky that we ran into you when we did,' the voice said.
'Yes Georgii you are! We have received a reliable report that an overseas agency has placed a high price on your head!'
Georgii instantly recognised the voice, as that of Auguste Gerhardt. He then quipped, 'It's not going to do them much good, the killers that is, because they won't be able to spend their roubles around here!'
'No time for jokes Georgii! Someone wants you dead,' Gerhardt said.
'Many people want me dead. It's an occupational hazard, when you're a Chetnik man,' he replied.
'So what's with all this cloak and dagger stuff?' Georgii said.
They chatted whilst O'Reilly sat in silence. Gerhardt explained that he was beginning to worry. He had not heard anything so, for Georgii's own safety, he had decided to place a tail on him. The tail was experienced but had noticed that someone else had been discreetly watching him. So after the Lefortovo shootings Gerhardt, working in unison with Leon Trotsky, decided that in light of what they had already told him, they were now going to put a team of three onto him. He was to be placed under surveillance night and day.
In the meantime new evidence had come to light. A flophouse had been raided and a suitcase full of coded, British, 'Foreign Office' documents had been discovered. The code was broken and your name featured prominently. However Gerhardt said he was not at liberty to tell him anymore at this point in time. But, off the record, they had picked up information that elements within the criminal underworld were developing, shall we say, more than a passing interest in his activities. Georgii said he couldn't possibly understand why a foreign intelligence service would be interested in him. He decided it was probably best to say nothing about the meeting by the river.
'I think it's a case of Georgii, that you have discovered a connection or a correlation that you, as of yet, do not appreciate the true value of, and that someone has recognised this also, and is more than happy for you to do all the dirty work, whilst they watch from afar. I also think, that the moment you become expendable, is the time when, ha, ha ... we fish your body out of the Moskva.'
Georgii hated sick jokes made at his expense, 'What makes you think that we won't be fishing your body out of the river?'
'Because, ha, ha, my good friend, no one can ever pin anything on me. Think about it ... when was the last time that I ever solved a case? Ha, ha ... wouldn't be the first time that 'Agents Provocateurs' had worked with 'Organised Crime'.'
That was true, Georgii supposed. He always got someone else to do his dirty work for him.
'Anyway Georgii, Peoples Commissar Trofimov, I hear, is concerned for your well being and safety. I think you've made a big hit there. Anyway, I have to go; the two outside will brief you on what you are to say and do.'
With that Auguste Gerhardt was gone. The Cheka man and his accomplice returned. They explained that he was going to escape from a criminal gang in the Prokovnya District. In order to authenticate his ordeal they would have to, regrettably, take him down to the basement and give him a good working over. Before they took him down, Georgii lent over towards the Englishman and whispered to him to meet him two days from now back at the railway yard. Two hours later Georgii was thrown out of a fast-car onto the street. A young woman walking home with her child found him and then she raised the alarm.
They took him to a clinic but the smell was so bad that he discharged himself at the earliest opportunity. Georgii walked home, the ice was turning to slush and his shoes were leaking. As far as he was concerned there was no justice in this world. Also it was becoming apparent that over the last thirty-six hours he'd aged another forty years.
Once home, and on the sofa, he started to fall into a deep sleep. The ceiling began to spin!
The dream was almost always the same, but there was always a difference. He was standing on the riverbank, looking over to the other side. Voices carried on the breeze, children laughed and played. Adults stood around in groups chatting. He turned around and looked across the steppe. The ferry was coming towards him and he could just about make out someone calling his name. The ferryman was calling out to him. It was then that he heard the sound, it was like a whistle. Also there was a very deep drone accompanied by a chuff, chuff, chuff; every chuff, was louder than the one before. Then it appeared; it was a huge locomotive with a 'Red Star' on the front. It stopped by the riverside celebration. The laughter had now turned to cries of terror. Red guards alighted from the train. Men and women were separated. One by one the names of the men were read out, their names were crossed off a list. A tall thin man stepped forward and said something. It was too faint to hear. The man indicated that the men were to be lined up first, then, as they were lined up; the guards started shooting them, right in front of their own families. Then the women were shot, followed by the children. The village was burned and the food was taken. Then the bodies of those, whom minutes before had been celebrating the gathering in of the harvest, lay face down in the dust. The murderers walked around for a while, kicking a few of the bodies, just to satisfy themselves that everybody was dead. Then they got back on their train and disappeared the way they'd come.
But the one thing that stuck in Georgii Radetzky's mind was the tall thin man climbing up on to the footplate. He turned around and shouted to him across the river, 'Georgii Radetzky! Sooner or later you are going to have to make a decision! You can't sit on the fence forever. Sooner or
later you are going to have to take sides ... make sure, Comrade, it's the right one!'
Georgii woke up, in fact he was still dreaming. The sofa was now in the middle of the room. In front of him was a small man smoking a pipe. He then woke up and everything was as it had been. Dawn was breaking into the bedroom and the two children were sleeping in the bed. He pulled himself together and got ready for work. He arrived at the Militsya station. When he got up to the first floor office a round of cheering and applause greeted him.
'Comrade, we'd given you up for dead. We should have known better,' one colleague said. 'So you arrested ten Gangsters! Bravo Georgii Radetzky. Bravo,' said another.
Trofimov waved him over to her cubicle. 'Well done and welcome back Comrade Radetzky.' She hugged him and said, 'Hero of all 'The Socialist Russia's. Take some time off Georgii I'm sure that we can manage without you, for a little while.'
He made his apologies and then headed for home. Everything had gone to plan. He had milked it for all it was worth. Now all he had to do was re-establish contact with Royston O'Reilly, but he wondered what on earth Gerhardt's 'Toughs' had done with him.
Chapter Nine
Georgii thought it was probably wiser this time to take a different route to the railway yard. He also thought that it would be probably for the best if he wore some sort of disguise. He knew that before, and during the war, and even during the days of 'The Provisional Government', he had been quite well acquainted with certain sections of the nobility and the 'Criminal Fraternity'. In 'his book' there was not that much of a distinction between the two; only that, in the past, especially during the days that led up to the final dissolution of the 'Old Order', he'd quite often had the opportunity to rub shoulders with some of the more 'Newly Radicalised' elements of the aristocracy in the officers mess. They all wore disguises so why shouldn't he. In the end he thought better of it.
Whilst he was busy laying-up inside his 'hide', Georgii Radetzky, wryly smiled to himself about Gerhardt's little witticism, 'Criminals are still criminals, but now they wear uniforms'. Maybe it should change to, 'Aristocrats are still Aristocrats, but now they call themselves Commissars'. Yeah, that was about right he thought. Anyway the light was beginning to fade and now it was down to business. He made himself as comfortable as he could, then he got out his field glasses and waited. Georgii did not have to wait long. The trains stopped, the gates opened, the lorries arrived and the market was set up before his eyes. Everything was as it had been a few nights before. The people queued and were led through the market in cohorts. Money and goods changed hands; there was even a makeshift cafe over to the far side by the disused railway sheds. By God, Georgii thought, these racketeers were well prepared. Then he noticed something strange, for a moment a light had flashed. It had only been there for an instant, it was a little glint, up there and over to the right. There one minute, gone the next. Georgii blinked and, straining his eyes, he looked through his binoculars. On top of the furthest shed something had definitely moved. Georgii squinted, and looked again, harder. He hadn't been wrong and his eyes certainly had not deceived him. On top of the shed roof there was a group of men and they seemed to be observing the goings on down below.
Even though daylight was gone, Georgii adjusted his binoculars to take a closer look. He increased them to maximum magnification and what he saw stopped him in his tracks. The silhouettes had now turned their gaze onto his hide. The light was gone but Georgii could tell that they were now becoming increasingly preoccupied with his corner of the yard. He looked long and hard at their sharp images silhouetted against the dark blue night sky. Even from this distance, of at least five hundred yards, Georgii could see that one of the men standing slightly behind, the other was smoking a pipe. Its shape was firmly silhouetted against the night sky.
Georgii put his glasses down. He could have kicked himself. It had never occurred to him that someone might be taking a greater interest in him than he was in them. Despite everything that Gerhardt had said, Georgii was convinced that he could blend comfortably into the chaos of 'War Communism'. It wasn't the first time he'd had it and it certainly would not be the last time he'd experience it that painless, slow but steady, disintegration of the gut. The smell was becoming apparent and it was that smell that would give him away. Georgii picked up his glasses and looked back towards the shed. He blinked, but they were now gone and the light of day was finally throwing its lot in with the night. Georgii lay there and thought, 'What the fuck was he going to do.' Whilst he was thinking, he gradually became aware of the fact that there was now a lot of shouting going on by the gates. Georgii quickly scrabbled across the joists and turned his attention towards the din; the racket seemed to be getting louder and louder by the minute.
The order of only a moment before had now been replaced by what could only, at this time, be described as by an ugly crowd scene. The previous order, right before his very eyes, had started to unravel. Most of the commotion seemed to be taking place by the yard gates. People were trying to force their way back into the place but the 'Kevshor' security men, wielding long polls, were beating them back. The problem was the harder they beat them back, the harder the screaming mob tried to get back into the yard. Elsewhere the Black-marketers were frantically engaged in trying to pack up and stow away their wares. Georgii, gleefully, thought to him-self, once again fate had intervened at exactly the right moment. There was not a second to waste. He got up and jumped down onto the first floor. Without any further ado, he left the building and walked around the back where he hoped he would not be visible to those, whom, only minutes before, had been watching him, or so he thought, with great interest.
Georgii peered behind him and he could see that the riot was now in full swing. He turned around and took a running jump at the wall. He got a hold of the top with his hand and then hauled himself up onto the top steadying himself up on the wall. He looked back towards the disturbance. From this vantage point, Georgii could see that more and more people were surging in, he could see that the 'Security' guards were now falling back. Behind them, Georgii could see another group of men bringing up an object from the rear. They were pushing something on wheels. Then, as if on cue, the security men in front of it dispersed and fell in behind as he watched. It had all happened so quickly and he could see exactly what the 'Kevshors' were about to do. So had the crowd ... They had now stopped moving forwards, at the same time a loud murmur resonated from it. Some people were trying to exit by way of the gate, but they now found themselves getting trampled or crushed from behind. The object on wheels was none other than a 'Lewis Gun'[14].
Then it started, with a 'rat –a-tat–a-tat-a-tat', that just seemed to go on forever. As if on cue Georgii took this opportunity to make good his escape. There was no point hanging around, so he crept away into the night.
Next morning, there were Red Guards crawling all over the place. Georgii lost count of the times he'd been asked for his identity papers. By the time he got to the station the place was a hive of activity.
'Comrade, are we glad to see you!' Or words to that effect; colleagues kept on saying to him, 'Have you heard ...' and, 'Did you know 'The Whites' ...' and so on.
According to information received, the general gist of which was that a covert group of white insurgents, up in the northern part of the city, had massacred an illegal orthodox gathering, that was being held in the woods. It was not pretty; women and children had been slaughtered. 'Never in all my years'; 'yes, yes, yes ...' Georgii had heard it all before. He got his coat, hitched a lift and then looked at the scene of the crime for himself.
From the outset, Georgii could see that something was not quite right. To the trained eye, the scene looked like the bodies had just been dumped there. Another give away was that there was something unnatural in the way the corpses lay. On closer inspection, and Georgii had witnessed the after effects of massacres and pogroms before, you tended to find blood all over the place. Here the only blood was leakage on or around the bodies! Al
so there seemed to be no clergymen amongst the dead. There was a makeshift table with a crucifix on it, but none of, the other Orthodox paraphernalia that you would associate with an outdoor service of this kind. It was obvious, that this was not the place of murder. It was also getting late, so Georgii scrounged another lift, this time to the nearby goods yard.
After the car had gone, Georgii set off at a brisk pace for the yard. Twenty minutes later, he found himself walking along the wall towards the yard gates. The padlock was large and rusty and looked as though it had been hanging there for years. Georgii looked around him, and then shinned over the gate. On the other side, everything appeared to be as it was before the market had opened. But Georgii knew that this was not the case because he had been there and was witness to the events of the night before.
He looked around him and then put his spectacles on. Georgii looked over towards his semi-derelict hide and then crouched down and ran his fingers through the dirt. Moving around the yard he repeated the exercise several more times. Spring was coming and the ice was beginning to melt and he knew exactly what he was looking for. There had to be some evidence from last night's massacre. He walked over towards the sheds and carefully looked around. It seemed to him that, whatever had happened here the night before had been erased off the face of the world. A cold gust of wind caught the nape of his neck; he turned the collar of his coat up and let out a shiver.
Georgii turned around and found himself facing the shed wall and then the hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle. On it was written: