The Margin of Evil!

by Simon Boxall

  You won't find anything-here Georgii Radetzky! We have taken care of it, as we took care of Isaak Goldstein, as we will, eventually, take care of you!

  It took him a moment to recompose himself. His nerve was going, and his anal sphincter was weakening. With that he took flight. There was only one thing on his mind, he had to find Royston O'Reilly before they did. If they were onto him, logic dictated that they must definitely be onto 'The Scouser'. Now, where was it, the place where he said he sometimes kipped?

  Georgii calmly walked towards the centre of Moscow; whenever he was stopped he courteously produced his papers. After the usual time-wasting scrutiny, he was waved on.

  He was now walking at a brisk pace. He rounded the corner onto Ulitsa Pokrovka when suddenly - it happened so quickly. Georgii didn't see the foot. Instantly he felt the presence of another and there simply was no time left to gather his thoughts. The pain on his lower leg was crippling. He lost his balance and momentarily Georgii blacked out. Seconds later, when he came too, he was lying face down in the slush. He rolled over and looked up at his assailant. The man now towering over him was nothing more than a shadow, silhouetted against the sky. But shadow or no shadow, Georgii knew who it was; it was the man from the river. The man gestured with one hand to Georgii indicating that he would help him get back onto his feet. Once upright they stood for a moment in complete silence.

  Then the man said. 'For a detective, you still haven't mastered the art of how to travel incognito!' His assailant said.

  Georgii looked at him. Before he could say anything the stranger said, 'I've been following you for the last three blocks! But I've had you in my sights for a lot longer', he paused and took a smoke of his cigarette. Then the man carried on, 'You know that I'm not the only one who has taken an interest in your investigations.' He stubbed his cigarette out and looked around him. 'We can't hang around here; we'll draw attention to ourselves. You had better come with me!'

  With that the stranger took him by the arm and they both walked off. Well Georgii hobbled along as best he could. The pain in his foot was crippling him. By now Georgii had had time to gather his thoughts together. He knew that his so-called 'Guardian Angel' was none other than British 'Master Spy' Sidney Reilly. He remembered their earlier meeting by the river. Reilly and Radetzky walked down a mews street and it seemed to him that they had arrived at their destination. They walked up some steps. The master spy rapped three times on the door. Some curtains were pulled back in the front room and a face peered out. The door opened and then they were let into the house. Reilly ushered Radetzky into the kitchen and then offered him a drink.

  He pushed the drink towards the table and started talking. 'I hope you are a grateful man Georgii Radetzky, because this is the third time that I have saved your skin! Now, I expect that you remember the last time that we both met? I do. I made you a proposition. The problem was, and thanks to those Red Guards, you never gave me your reply!

  Georgii looked at the man. In light of recent events he was prepared to listen. The man that faced him on the other side of the table was clearly a master of disguise. Gone were the Edwardian 'Teddy Boy' fashions. They had been replaced by 'The Bolshie' derigueur: boots coat, stubble and cap. He looked no different to any other 'Ivan' on the street. Georgii was dying to ask him a question, but his host carried on.

  'Sometimes I don't make myself exactly clear! My name is Sidney Reilly I work for the British Secret Intelligence Service. I also, on their behalf, liaise with various Monarchist groups. But you know that already, don't you.' Reilly fixed Radetzky with a long hard gaze and Georgii nodded. He then carried on, 'Like you I was no great lover of 'The Autocracy', but it is of paramount importance that the Bolsheviks are removed.'

  Georgii seized the opportunity to say something, 'You say that you have saved my life three times. I can only think of two?' Then he realised his mistake, Reilly had already started talking.

  'I don't mind telling you Georgii. The first was the debacle at Lefortovo prison. The second was at the Black Market. My men spread the word on the street that 'The Kevshors' were appropriating their booty. The third was twenty minutes ago. Had you walked around the corner on the way to meet your associate and, yes we know all about Royston O'Reilly, the pair of you would have been eventually picked up by 'Those' masquerading as Red Guards. By now you would have been sleeping with 'The Tsar'!'

  'What have you done with Royston O'Reilly?'

  'We got to him before they got to you! You see your enemies, already, know all about you, but they don't know about him and they have assumed rightly that you are not working alone. If, and it's a big 'if', they had not picked you up, they would have placed a tail on you and you would eventually have lead them to O'Reilly. Then they would have picked you both up! Radetzky, they knew in advance that you were going to meet someone,' the 'Master Spy' said.

  When he thought about it, it all seemed to make perfect sense to him. This was the second time, in as many days, that Georgii Radetzky had made the mistake of kidding himself that he was, for whatever reason, beyond any kind of reproach. Now that Reilly had explained it all, it now seemed so obvious, Georgii could now see that he had made several dangerous miscalculations. At the same time, he was also wary of this Sidney Reilly. He could tell that this man was a master of his craft and he could also tell that this man, when it necessitated, was a ruthless killer.

  'Georgii, my friend, look at it another way, we live in chaotic times. It is not clear who's going to win this 'Civil War' but my money is on the Bolshie's! Six months ago I would have said differently. Look, since the Autocracy collapsed, different forces have competed for power. First came the Provisional Government and all its later incarnations. Then came the Bolsheviks. Who's to say what will come next! But they all have one thing in common their power bases are relatively weak.'

  'Do they know this,' he said.

  'Yes they do, and not only that, they also, well some of them do, know each other well! They just want do things differently. You have 'The Whites' on one side and 'The Reds' on the other!' Reilly paused and then carried on.' You see Radetzky, it's all a game. When the stakes are relatively low as they were, no one minds all this pissing about. But when a new player enters the arena it tends to, as the English say, up the ante and upset the apple cart! People then start to play for increasingly higher stakes!'

  'So who's the new player,' Georgii said sheepishly realising that he'd lost control of the conversation before it had even started.

  'You tell me old man? I have a vague idea, but you are going to lead me there. Remember wherever you go ... I will not be far behind!'

  'But correct me if I'm wrong, hasn't that been the case already,' Georgii said.

  'Yes it has and long may it continue; ha, ha,' Sidney Reilly said in a mocking 'English' tone. Then he went on, 'I expect you want to see your friend? We brought him here for safe keeping!'

  Reilly got up and beckoned Georgii to follow. He led him down some stairs to the basement. Laid out cold on a straw mattress was Royston O'Reilly. He was snoring away to his heart's content. In one hand was an empty bottle of vodka, the other formed a makeshift cradle of sorts.

  Reilly turned round to face Radetzky. 'At the moment I'll wager that he's your most valuable asset! I'll get someone to take you home.'

  Georgii nodded in agreement, all he wanted to do was go home. It had been a long, long day, and before that, had been an even longer night!

  Chapter Ten

  The car dropped him off just around the corner from his billet. He walked the rest of the way. He looked around him and marvelled to himself about life. A horse whinnied; a car horn went off in the distance, people were shouting in the street. Georgii thought about Pavel and Anna and the events of the previous few days.

  He was also reminded of something that Trofimov had said to him, 'Why did he bother to stay?' There really was no answer to that question. It was true that there was nothing here for him, but what else could he do. This police work
was all he knew how to do. O.k. family and friends had been lost, why didn't he go and make a new start for himself. He'd heard that the United States of America was good place to get to. You could make a fresh start there, nobody asked questions; they took you at face value! The real truth was that he couldn't be bothered; this was all that he had ever known and, if Sidney Reilly and Auguste Gerhardt were right, everything was set to unravel even further.

  Georgii walked past the wretched Rezhnikov and up the stairs. He could hear signs of life in the young family's room. He could hear a baby crying and a mother trying to console it. Georgii knew why the baby was crying ... like everybody else it was hungry. He entered his rooms.

  The children were awake and keen to see him. They had more bad news for him. It seems that the day before Georgii had had more visitors. They were different to the others. Pavel and Anna had been lucky they were just leaving when the visitors arrived. They could hear loud voices menacing Rezhnikov in the downstairs lobby. They'd also heard the name Radetzky mentioned several times. The pair of them had had no time to hide, and judging by the thoroughness of the search, they would have been discovered by the men. They were left with no alternative but to high tail it up the stairs and hide in the writer's apartment. Fortunately he was in; and he hid them in an old trunk. He said they could stay until the visitors had gone.

  But that was not the end of their ordeal. The 'Visitors' came upstairs to the writer's rooms. Inside the trunk peering through the keyhole, the two children got a good look at the men. They also heard the questions that the writer had been asked. They asked the usual: how long had he known him; had he noticed any irregular comings and goings of strangers concerning the 'Militsya' official. If anything did come to light he was to let them know immediately. They left their card and departed. After a while the typewriter started up again.

  When the all clear had been given, they went back downstairs. The scene was one of unimaginable chaos. Everything had been strewn all over the place. It was not as if Georgii Radetzky owned that much, but what few possessions he had were lying all over the place. The mattress was on the floor; the bed was on its side. The draws were all open and the contents were slung all over the place. It was the very picture of disorder or so Pavel led Georgii to believe. It took the pair of them the rest of the day to tidy things up. By the description the two children had given him, it did not take him long to work out whom his visitors had been: 'Dark and Swarthy', Steer clear of them Mum used to say. 'Very apt and very accurate he thought.

  It was time to go back to work, and he did not want to draw any more attention to himself than was necessary. Not only that, he felt further confrontation with Trofimov at the moment could only, in light of recent events, work to his disadvantage.

  Work was as dull as ever. Once again Georgii found himself 'Foot-slogging' around the suburbs of Moscow, with a detachment of 'Red Guards'. Unlikely as it was, this pounding of the streets, was actually doing Georgii a power of good. It enabled him to clear his head, and gave him time to think out and plan exactly what he was going to do next. Once again as he trudged up and down the streets, his thoughts turned to Royston O'Reilly. He would have to find his erstwhile associate, and find him quick, wrap things up with Gerhardt; then get the hell out of Russia. No sense hanging around to get your throat cut he thought!

  Winter slowly gave way to spring, and April moved into May. The snows melted and colour returned to the bleak Moscow landscape. Grass and weeds started to grow in the streets, and the summer stench of the city soon returned. Reports from the front were sometimes favourable, other times they were not. The Whites were in disarray and Leon Trotsky's armies won 'Historic' victories everywhere. Needless to say, the state organ 'Pravda' had neglected to mention to the 'General Populace' that the British had landed in Archangel, and the Japanese had done the same in Vladivostok. Nevertheless, whilst the economy continued to collapse the exodus to the countryside never stalled.

  On morning Comrade Trofimov, called him into her corner of the office. Unusually for her she was full of praise for Georgii Radetzky.

  'Comrade Radetzky, I am so glad that you took my advice?'

  'What advice was that,' Georgii sheepishly replied.

  'It was the advice about keeping your head down and staying out of trouble,’ she said.

  'Oh, that advice ... 'Comrade' I do what I do, I think it's fair to say that at that time a lot of things were going on, and bizarrely they all involved me. But as you can see, it has all quietened down! 'He paused then adopting a more purposeful tone, 'Comrade Trofimov, 'Hero of the Revolution'; I always bend too and take stock of the advice you give.'

  Her mood suddenly changed, 'Cut the crap Georgii Radetzky! This brings me to why I have called you in here!'

  Georgii sat there and studied her hard face. The poker face that gave nothing away. He looked at the mouth, it was the same mouth that had kissed him, and it was the same mouth that told him that she had loved him. Georgii looked at the wrinkles around the lips, and the 'Cold Blue' eyes that, when he'd been sitting at his desk, had watched his every move. Lost in thought, he missed what she said.

  '... With immediate effect!'

  'What, with immediate effect!' He said.

  'You are to be transferred to 'Roadblock' duty, on the Nizhny Novgorod road. There you will be working with a select group of Latvian guards,' she said.

  'Why me? Can't someone else do it.'?

  'I would like someone else to do it. Comrade Radetzky, you are a good investigator; but 'The Powers That Be', have decided that you are, shall we say, the best qualified, and the right man for this posting. This is non-negotiable ... and non-negotiable, I believe, was the adjective they used!'

  When do I start?' he said.

  'Tomorrow morning! Twelve, midday sharp! It would be shift work two weeks long. You will meet the Latvian Guard there. 'Then she did that annoying thing, she waved her hand towards him, indicating that he was to get out and the audience was now over.

  'Great' he thought as he walked back to his desk. Sidelined to the outskirts of town. He picked up the phone. A minute or two later, he had replaced the receiver and was on his way to meet Auguste Gerhardt. The rendezvous was at their favoured meeting place outside 'The Bolshoi'.

  Gerhardt told Georgii to walk alongside him. The crux of the conversation centred around what Leon Trotsky thought that he, Georgii Radetzky, could better serve 'The Revolution', from the Nizhny Novgorod gate, than say the safe confines of a second floor desk in an overrun Militsya station. Gerhardt stressed that the move was only temporary and he would be back home in the station by the first snows of winter. But they needed him there to keep an eye on the comings and goings from Moscow. Gerhardt also explained to him that 'The Central Committee', had become alarmed by the rise in 'Black Marketeering' and the rapid depopulation of Moscow. In order to stem the tide of emigration, and keep the people working; 'The Central Committee', and especially Lenin had decided to seal off the city. There were to be two main points, barr the railways of entry and exit. One, the Nizhny Novgorod gate and the other would be on the river. Georgii said it was an impossible task, it was like trying to plug a leaking bucket. If people wanted to leave, they had every right to do so! Anyway, if the city was sealed they would always find other ways to get out of Moscow.

  His mentor agreed, taking his protégé by the arm, and leading him away to the place where prying ears would not be able to hear.

  There was another reason. The Nizhniy Novgorod gate would be the only route for contraband coming in and out of the city. That traffic had taken the form of 'Bourgeois Traffic - out, and blackmarket goods - in. It was also the chosen route for much needed supplies and raw materials coming into the city to aid the war effort; goods that more often than not, never found their way to the right place or their legitimate destinations. They needed someone reliable to keep an eye on this important lifeline. Also he could carry on discreetly with his investigations, into the earlier matter. It was, he intimat
ed, a good move to get him out onto the edge of town and into a place away from the 'Unwanted Gaze' of certain interested parties. His money was on this place, if ever there was going to be a breakthrough in the 'Goldstein' investigation it would be here. Not only that, it had been decided to assign a detachment of Latvian guards to him. At least they were reasonably reliable, and Georgii was reminded that they protected even Vladimir IIlyvich. They were the only ones in the current political climate that could be trusted to get on with the job.

  Auguste Gerhardt then lowered his voice, if Trotsky's summer offensive was to fail and Moscow was to fall, and several people had said that this was a distinct possibility, the difference between success and failure might depend on who was in charge of the Nizhniy Novgorod gate. There was one more thing; he was going to be working with a young woman called Yulia. She was going to be his deputy. She was efficient and, on the loyalty front, he had nothing to worry about. Gerhardt patted him on the shoulder and fixed Radetzky with a long hard, serious stare, nodded his head towards him and left. Georgii Radetzky watched him go. Once he was out of sight he headed back to the Militsya station to clear his desk.

  At five thirty in the morning – five twenty nine to be precise - Georgii turned up at the Nizhny Novgorod gate. The current incumbent, this Yulia Klimtov, briefed him quickly. She told him that the gate opened at six a.m., and shut promptly twelve hours later. Comrades, whose papers were not in order were sent back. Others of a more dubious nature: Bourgeoisie, SR's and Kadets were to be detained. Those that made a run for it were to be shot on sight. Georgii remarked that there seemed to be little freight. She told him that most of it either went by river or rail. If there was any, he would encounter it possibly during the night. Yulia Klimtov promptly left, telling him that she would see him tonight. He looked around the place. The gate itself was not a gate, as in the 'Old' medieval sense; it was situated on a large area of open space, sandwiched between the last dwellings on the outskirts of city's urban sprawl and the wall of the forest. The complete area had been cordoned off and surrounded by barbed wire; every fifty yards there was a machine gun; beyond which was an open no man's land. Inside the cordon were two routes; one in and one out. Entering was through a makeshift contra flow. Into this people, cars and carts were already being directed but, the problem for them was, the gate did not open for another ten minutes. Even then, there were no guarantees that they could exit. So people sat in chairs, on the ground, in readiness, for what would be for some, a very long wait.