by Simon Boxall
Five days later they arrived back in Moscow. To all sense and purposes the place looked the same, but it wasn't. After all 'The Crap', that he'd taken, nothing could ever be the same again. But, by Georgii's reckoning, you live, you learn and you try to move on. Yes it was a simple philosophy, but it had worked for him in the past and he saw no reason now why it shouldn't work again. People were like snakes, all they had to do was shed their skins.
They took him back to his rooms and told him to take a few days off. When he felt better he could return to the Kremlin. Georgii had to admit that they were quite understanding, despite the fact that he'd not actually delivered, what it was that they were wanting. The files were gone and, along with it, all the incriminating information that they contained. Georgii was not even asked to put another one together from memory. They left him, pretty much, alone.
The Moscow of nineteen twenty was not that different from the place he'd left behind. There was evidence of decline everywhere. Weeds grew in the middle of once busy thoroughfares; there were still shortages of everything from flour to clothing, Georgii reasoned that the 'Kevshors', had never had it so good, blackmarkets were rife, and, in parts of the city, law and order had completely broken down.
By pre-war standards people's lives were still wretched and the city continued, at an alarming rate, to empty out. Streets were half deserted and looting was widely practised at night. Despite disease, personal loss and despair, there was an optimism that had not been there before. It was hard to say what exactly had brought about this change, but maybe it had something to do with the fact, you know when you hit rock bottom, that things can't get any worse than they are now and if you carry on down this line of thinking, then eventually you come to the conclusion that, inevitably, things can only get better. Georgii figured that maybe he could have done a lot worse. Perhaps fate had dictated that his corpse, whatever was left of it, especially after the wild creatures of the night had helped themselves to it, would be, by now, decaying in the middle of that lonely forest. Really it didn't pay to think about it, but human nature being what it was; wherever you looked, there was always something to remind him of the last eighteen months. Everywhere he turned, there was always a reminder. He could see it in the drunkard Reznikoff's eyes.
But there were still one or two reminders of the past. The first was a good one; Stalin had kept Georgii's rooms on, in a city where living space exacted a high premium. The Housing Committee could have billeted two families into his designated 'Living space' and he would have had to factor himself into that equation. But, because of his status as 'Cheka' case officer, he was in a privileged position, whereby he was to be left alone. The room by the door was almost as he had left it. His books, the books he'd found on the street, were still there, the tatty furniture and the mirror were exactly where he'd left them on that night when he'd taken flight. In the wardrobe, his clothes were there and it looked as though his uniform had been cleaned and his shirts had been ironed.
So it was that Georgii found himself, eighteen months after it all had begun, sitting in the same wing chair, staring across the same street. By his reckoning there was no point hanging around here feeling sorry for himself; he might as well go back to work. He needed to take his mind off things.
His place of work was in the office adjacent to Joseph Stalin's suite of offices. 'The Boss' was often away and, in his absence Georgii was often authorised to act on his behalf and, in some cases, make executive decisions on Stalin's behalf. Infact the arrangement worked well for the both of them. From Stalin's point of view, he had a hard working diligent aide, whom could be trusted with departmental affairs, and other business; and, from Georgii's, he had the suzerainty of one of Russia's most powerful men, 'The Rising Star' of the party. He was privy to most of Stalin's business and was often used by him, sometimes at short notice, as a sounding board and confident. The only others who enjoyed a similar level of access were Anastas Mikoyan and Sergo Ordzhonikidze, but these two, by their very nature, were high profile in their dealings with Stalin. Georgii was not, he stayed firmly in the background. As time went on Georgii Radetzky excelled in his new role and 'The Boss' was happy that his earlier assessment of him had been proven so correct.
The second reminder of the past happened many months later. It actually happened during the hard winter of nineteen twenty, twenty one. It came in the shape of a large package. Georgii opened it and, to his dismay, the two folders were inside, also there was a letter. The letter had been written in Warsaw five months earlier, but inside of it was a second shorter note. He started with the first:
Dear Georgii,
Again we find ourselves on different sides of the frontier, but I want to express my most heartfelt thanks at your keeping your word. Your friendship has meant a lot to me and it still does. Even as I write this letter I am not altogether sure of your whereabouts or even if you are still alive. Now, I'm acting on a hunch that you are still alive and that somewhere, someplace this package and all its contents will find you. I do hope so, considering the painful lengths you went too, to get hold of this stuff and the deprivations we all went through.
But I suspect, that you are wondering how I actually got a hold of this. Well I'll tell yer! As you might have guessed, that's if you've got this far, I made it to Warsaw and for a few weeks, I was on my 'Beam ends', as they say, unable to get any further. The British embassy, were less than helpful in my requests for repatriation. So I found myself, again, living on the streets, begging at railway stations, in a country where the people are, shall we say, less than friendly.
Reduced to penury, like all the other beggars, I did the rounds of theatres, restaurants, shops and railway stations. It was at the dilapidated Vienna railway station, that an English speaking party caught my attention, they had a nanny and a small infant was with them. So starved of my native culture, I went over to investigate. I didn't recognise her at first, but there was something about her, that seemed all too familiar. Then the penny dropped, it was your Yulia; but she was completely different. The man was a 'Grease-ball Lush', I'd never seen him before and he looked a bit like that Oscar 'What-sis Face', the 'Nonce' playwright from a few years back, the one that 'Shacked up' with a 'Toff'. They had just got their tickets and were headed for the station restaurant, when I went up to them and asked for some 'Spare change'. The man flung some money at me and Yulia gave me a filthy look. The pair of them walked off to the restaurant.
But I was beginning to attract attention, so I went round to the front of the station and hung around on the street. Then a strange thing happened, I heard Yulia's voice from behind and she said, 'Be here in two hours! I have something for you', then she was gone. Two hours later she gave me a letter and the files and a bank note for fifty pounds, she told me to get this lot to you, and then she was gone. I wrote this letter a while later.
That was the easy bit! I don't need to tell you, with Russia and Poland at each other's throats, how the hell was I going to get this to you. But never fear, Royston O' Reilly always has his ways.
So here they are and I hope they find their way to you wherever you are!!
Your 'Old Mucker'
Royston O' Reilly
P.S. if you're ever in Liverpool, don't forget to look us up!
Royston O' Reilly was as good as his word; somehow he had got the package to him. Georgii looked at the second letter. His mind could find a thousand reasons, as to why he shouldn't read the letter. Why he shouldn't just rip it up and be done with it. He sniffed the paper to see if it was scented, it just smelled of paper. But it was a case of 'Curiosity killed the Cat', if he read it, it might lay things to rest once and for all; if he did not, might as well throw it in the fire now; but then there was always going to be a lingering doubt, as to what might have, should have, been. What if, we'd gone that way in the forest instead of this?
My, Dearest Georgii,
By the time you receive this I will be in England, so I don't know where to begin, I suppose you
could say that it's all now, 'Water under the Bridge', but I don't know, I simply don't. I don't even know how to begin this letter, I don't even know if you're still alive! But I had to say something, I simply had to try.
Seeing Royston brought it all back to me. Ever since I watched you and Stalin's party walk out of that clearing; Yes Georgii, I stayed and watched, that was the least, in the circumstances, that I felt I could do. After that it was as if the previous year had never happened.
As I say I don't know where to begin, I know where it all ended. All my hopes and dreams for our future ended in that forest near the Vistula. But you know as well as I that there is no going back. You can maybe, but I cannot, they'd cut me down as soon as try.
I could go on about duty and loyalty to ones country, but I don't suppose, after all we've been through, that it would cut much ice with you. I know that it won't and, as Royston used to say, 'we've all been round the houses a few times.'
Writing this letter is the hardest thing that I have ever done, but if any good is to come out of this, and I hope that somewhere there is, you need to know two things. The first is that you are now a father and you have a son named George; the second is, your friend and mentor was double crossing everyone.
How do I know this? It is because Sidney Reilly was my handler in Russia; it is fair to say that he placed his complete trust in me. There was always a Plan B in the event that either one of us should be captured. In the event of the balloon going up, I knew who I could safely contact in The Bolshevik government. Reilly also told me that there was a high ranking 'Double Agent' working in the upper echelons of the Kremlin. You have to understand Georgii that Sidney Reilly told me everything, the name that continually came up again and again was, 'Auguste Gerhardt, he's one of us ... he's given me unprecedented access to all things 'Bolshevik'. I can only assume that he and they are, one and the same.
But I do understand that you feel betrayed, and nothing I do or can say, can ever ameliorate the situation. I must stop now and get this to O'Reilly, before Sidney suspects ...
I will always love you
Yulia K xx
P.S. Watch your back! The gunman in the clearing and his associates are well known to Reilly and Gerhardt!
Georgii Radetzky reread Yulia's letter over and over again. She didn`t know that he had already worked it out but it confirmed that he was on the right track when it came to all-things pertaining to Auguste Gerhardt. It is even possible he thought that there was some hidden message buried in the text but he was probably only deceiving himself in the way jilted lovers often do. But he came to the conclusion that there was 'No point, crying over spilt milk', Georgii got up and walked over to the fire place and threw the letter into the fire. He stood there for a few minutes, and long after Yulia's letter had curled up in the flames he stood their looking at the remnants of it disintegrate in the grate. Even after there was no visible sign left of the letter, he picked up the poker and mashed the ash into even smaller particles of dust.
Georgii returned to the desk and picked up O'Reilly's letter. He then picked up the package. Georgii then, stopping for a moment, almost repeated the action. Of course why didn't he think of it, in fact it had not even occurred to him. He ran outside and across the lobby, he flew down the stairs and headed for the post room. They couldn't help, but told him that his package had come via the Nikolskaya Tower entrance.
Georgii sped out of the building and across to the gate. At the guard house, he made enquiries as to who might have left the package. Descriptions were vague, but one young lad thought it was quite a thick set, dark haired looking man. The lad also said that the man looked pretty unkempt and he was sure that the man was not Russian, Russian in the strictest sense. But he could not be a hundred percent sure; it was a case of, 'Comrade, so many people come, so many go ...'
But Georgii Radetzky knew who had delivered the package. He walked out on to Red Square. Standing in the freezing cold of winter with his hands on his hips, looking about from left to right; Georgii knew exactly who had delivered it. Somewhere out there was an old friend, but was history indeed about to repeat itself? Georgii thought, 'Yer really had to give it to him; you really had! Why go chasing after 'The Scouser', why not let 'The Scouser' come to him.'
Smirking to himself, Georgii turned around. He was beginning to really feel the biting January cold and muttered to himself, 'No fuckin' postage stamp!' He walked back, through the Nikolskaya entrance and back to his office. There was still a line that needed to be drawn, and he was the only one that could do it.
Georgii knocked on Stalin's door. A moment later a voice from behind told him to enter. Georgii walked up to 'The Boss' and handed over the two files.
'Where did you get these,' the Commissar for The Nationalities said as he leafed through the contents.
'Not sure as to how they got here, but the fact is that they did. They got here from Poland.'
'So Comrade Radetzky, take a seat,' Stalin leafed again through the files. Then he said, 'Now remind me, how many of these were ... let me see, there were three folders weren't there? You gave me one and you and the English spy Yulia Klimtsov had one each. That was your insurance, wasn't it? Georgii, I want you to remember back to the time when we first met.'
Georgii nodded.
'I suspect that you, like so many others, are surprised that I didn't have you thrown into the Lubiyanka; leave you there to rot, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera and then, when the coast was clear, have you shot. It could easily have been arranged; I could have had you shot on the spot after Piaktow's 'Little Exhibition' in the forest. The dwarf Yezhov would have excelled in the task if I had ordered it! No Georgii, that would have been too easy. But the reason that I have not done any of that is because I knew some things that you do not, or could not, have possibly known!'
Georgii looked at Joseph Stalin. Even in public 'The Commissar for the Nationalities', was not known as a great speaker, but he was coming across loud and clear. Georgii's father had told him stories of such people like Stalin, they kept themselves to themselves. Often their behaviour was interpreted as simply rude. Infront of crowds they were fine, often adored by their followers, one to one, they were totally useless, they lacked the necessary 'Social Skills'. Georgii had always assumed that Stalin was one of these 'Cold Fishes', a natural loner, not the gregarious type, preferred to keep himself to himself. It was after all, a little bit of an act and he also suspected that it was all carefully constructed, part of the man's newly acquired myth and legend. Even now, amongst certain sections of 'The Party', a reverence bordering on adulation was beginning to surround the man. He listened as the Commissar went on, 'honesty and trust; initiative and imagination; originality and creativity ... exceptional qualities in a man; wouldn't you agree?'
'Why yes of course,' Georgii said.
'Gold dust around here ... almost impossible to find; people have some of one, and nothing of the other ... Comrade, right at the beginning, I told you that I was looking for a man that I could trust ... more importantly, I was looking for, someone that possessed all of the above.'
'But you have Mikoyan, Yezhov, Ordzhonikidze, and plenty of others, who can do 'Their Bosses' bidding,' Georgii said.
'You`re right in so much as they will all do my bidding, if I tell them to jump over a cliff they jump. Ordzhonikidze and Mikoyan are loyal to a fault, but they cannot think outside of the box. Personally Yezhov makes me sick, just look at him, he's always looking for an angle. He will go to the highest bidder; the others are fools! If I gave them a job and it was idiot proof, I guarantee, Georgii, that they would still manage to get it wrong! No, it's the qualities that you possess that I want and your little jaunt across the Russia's has only served to confirm what I previously thought.' Stalin stopped, emptied his pipe and leant forwards across his desk. There was now something almost sinister in his tone, 'No, you have exactly the right qualities. You're not ambitious, so you don't represent a threat; you`re conscientious and honest, almost to the p
oint of obsession, and you get the job done on time; you've got a sense of humour, ok, we've not seen much evidence of it recently, but it will return! You work alone and you're quite discrete about whatever it is that you are doing. More importantly your face fits in around here, which is more than I can say about some of the others. Since our return, you've not, really, put a foot wrong. From where I'm sitting, Georgii Radetzky, your future`s looking good, as the English say you've got to learn on which side your bread is buttered. You can go.'
The audience with Stalin appeared to be over. Georgii got up and made for the door, just as he was nearing it, he turned around and said, 'You just said, not really put a foot wrong! What do you mean by that?'
Stalin said. 'Well spotted Georgii! Congratulations on being a Father and congratulations on handing those files over, and, yes, the untouchable Auguste Gerhardt was always our man. I just can't prove it and make anything stick, but I will. He's the one that sold us all down the river! Whichever way it went he stood to gain and his British, American and Japanese paymasters were all paying money into his overseas bank accounts. Sit down Georgii, I haven't really finished with you yet!'
'How did you know? Georgii Radetzky said. He could see that he'd left himself wide open, now he was going to have to take it on the chin.
'I see everything that goes to your desk. I don't blame you for throwing Kilduff's letter into the fire. In your shoes, I'd have done the same. Remember what I said to you in the forest?' Stalin said. The Boss carried on, 'Maybe there is a way out of this after all; maybe if we distribute these files to the Central Committee, they will see how preposterous these allegations against me were. Tomorrow, I will present these files to them. Let's see then, what Lenin and Trotsky have to say.'