The Frozen Circle

by Peter Watt

  ‘I do,’ Federov said, taking off his spectacles and cleaning them with a handkerchief. ‘But you will not escape from here by sea or land. By land you will have too far to journey through dangerous territory and by sea the shipping is all too well guarded by the Allied naval forces. The only way out for you is by air.’ Joshua blinked at the little bookseller’s statement. ‘Ah, I should explain,’ Federov continued, seeing Joshua’s confusion. ‘There is a man who has an aeroplane. He is a Polish aviator who will fly well-connected people over the Bolshevik lines and anywhere into Europe they choose. But he does not come cheaply. Maria has explained to me that she is able to pay any price required to escape Russia. If so, the Pole is your best way to escape. He has an aeroplane big enough to fly all three of you out.’

  ‘If he is able to deliver what he promises I am sure that we will be able to come to some arrangement,’ Joshua said, considering the option. They would be out and away before the British could find them and safe in France if the Pole was able to do so. A flight would reduce the time they would be in Russian territory and exposed to capture or death from either side. ‘How do we contact him?’

  ‘You are in luck,’ Federov replied in English, replacing his spectacles at the end of his nose. ‘He is coming to Archangel tonight to pick up an important parcel for me. He also speaks French which I believe you also speak with some fluency, according to Maria.’

  Joshua relayed the plan to Maria in French and Grigor in English, and she responded by saying that she would trust Joshua to negotiate while she would act as their banker.

  That evening they left the bookshop in a horse-drawn wagon. The air was bitterly cold but luckily Federov had found extra clothing for them. For Maria, he had obtained an expensive fur coat and for the men a couple of well-fitting leather coats with fur lining.

  From his past experiences dealing with the Polish pilot Federov knew what was ahead. Joshua had agreed to pay him for the expenses.

  Federov lugged a rectangular, paper-wrapped parcel under his arm. ‘The aristocrats are selling cheap,’ he said when Joshua stared at it. ‘This small collection of art icons is worth a lot of money in Paris and London. My Polish partner knows how to trade.’

  Joshua did not reply as the wagon creaked its way along the streets, arousing little curiosity in the refugees now filling the city. They passed White Russian and Allied patrols but they also showed little interest in the people huddled in the back. The wagon driver knew the roads and used the rutted tracks to the tree-lined fields beyond. After a time he indicated that they were at their destination and took the money Federov paid him.

  Joshua scanned the countryside and noticed the field was lengthy and flat, an ideal landing area for an aircraft. They did not have to wait long before Joshua heard the hum of aircraft engines. For a moment he felt a terrible fear, recognising the sound of the dreaded ‘Gotha hum’ so familiar to him from his days on the Western Front when the giant German bombers rained death down on the trenches, slaughtering many Aussie diggers as they cowered helpless. Joshua realised that his hands were trembling and his instinct was to flee for the concealment of the trees.

  The German canvas-covered biplane appeared against the horizon, flying low and slow.

  ‘It is the Pole,’ Lev Federov said, stepping forward to wave.

  The big bomber glided down at the end of the field and bumped along the slightly uneven surface to roar to a stop just a few yards from where the four stood. The engines sputtered to a stop and only the crack of them cooling in the cold air broke the silence across the field. Joshua noted that the aircraft had no national roundels but was painted in camouflage colours to blend with the earth below and the sky above.

  From the open cockpit behind a rounded nose area allocated to a front end gunner, a huge man wearing leather jacket, helmet and oil spattered goggles leaped to the turf with the ease of a gymnast. He strode towards the waiting party, slipping great fur-lined gloves from his hands as he did.

  Federov stepped forward and spoke with him. Joshua could see that the Polish pilot stood well over six foot and was broad in the shoulders. He was an impressive man. Federov then turned to lead him to his three potential passengers.

  ‘This is Captain Jan Novak,’ he said. ‘He said he will help you for a price.’

  Joshua stepped forward and extended his hand. ‘Sergeant Joshua Larkin, sir,’ he said. The Pole accepted his handshake. ‘You call me Jan,’ he said warmly. ‘I no longer in army. I now capitalist flyer.’

  Joshua guessed that the big Pole was flying for the strong post-war blackmarket, a kind of aeronautical mercenary. ‘The deal is that we want a flight to Paris,’ Joshua said. ‘Can you do it? Money is not a problem.’

  ‘Lev tell me you can pay,’ Jan said, surveying Maria and Grigor. ‘He Russian?’ Jan asked, nodding at Grigor. ‘We Poles at war with Russians.’

  ‘The girl is also Russian,’ Joshua said quietly. ‘She is paying.’

  ‘She is pretty, so she welcome,’ Jan said, smiling at Maria.

  ‘She is paying to have all three of us flown out of Archangel,’ Joshua continued, ignoring the leer on the Polish pilot’s face. ‘Do you have room for three of us and can you make it to Paris?’

  Jan turned his attention back to Joshua and scratched his head. ‘I fly you to Hamburg,’ he said. ‘First, we go by Riga where I refuel. It will cost a lot.’

  ‘Why not Paris?’ Joshua asked.

  ‘Too far and French no like me,’ Jan answered. ‘I have spare fuel under wings,’ he said, pointing to drums slung where bombs were normally loaded. ‘Is good to get us to Riga and Hamburg where I have friends who help me. But no friends in Paris. I fly you to Hamburg. I have friends who can get you ship to London.’

  Joshua thought about the Polish flyer’s idea. The most pressing thing was to get out of Russia and to be able to pick up a ship was a long step away from the dangers around them.

  ‘Okay,’ Joshua said, extending his hand again. ‘You have a deal. The three of us to fly to Hamburg via Riga.’

  Jan eyed Joshua for a moment and accepted the deal with a handshake. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now you help me fuel aeroplane for flight to Riga. It a long way and we fly by night. Less chance either Red airforce or your own shoot me down.’

  Joshua explained to Maria that a deal had been struck and that they would fly out as soon as the German bomber was refuelled. Grigor accepted the invitation to be one of the passengers with less enthusiasm. He had never flown in an aeroplane before but was convinced to do so when Joshua explained that he had never flown either. Maria surveyed the plane with great interest.

  When the refuelling was complete, Jan explained the layout of the aircraft. ‘The Russian will man the rear gun,’ he said, pointing to an open space behind the pilot’s position. ‘The girl will sit next to me on the floor. She can hang on. You will man the forward gun,’ he said to Joshua. ‘You know how operate German 7.92 parabellum LMG 14 machine gun?’ he asked.

  ‘I have a pretty good idea,’ Joshua answered. ‘I saw something similar to the ones you have aboard a couple of years ago in Belgium.’

  ‘Good,’ the Pole grunted. ‘What about the Russian?’

  ‘Ask him,’ Joshua said. ‘He speaks English as good as you. I thought Poles spoke Russian anyway.’

  ‘Poles no speak Russian. But we understand it,’ Jan replied, indignant. His country had faced centuries of being squeezed between German and Russian invasions but now the Versailles Treaty had granted them recognition as a separate nation. They were fighting for survival against the Bolshevik forces which were attempting to seize their lands as a bridge into Europe so they could spread their socialist creed in the east and engage in skirmishes with the German army in the west over disputed border zones. The Poles were formidable fighters and both the German and Red Army suffered many defeats against them.

  ‘I know how to operate the German gun,’ Grigor said. ‘Better than any Pole.’

  The two glared at each other
and Joshua stepped in. ‘What range has this got?’ he asked. He knew that the Gotha bombers had rained terror on London during the latter part of the Great War and suspected that the range was impressive.

  ‘We fly five hundred mile easy. Then I land and we put more fuel in and get to Riga,’ Jan answered. ‘I have landing field before Riga.’

  Lev Federov stood back and watched as the three were helped aboard. Once in the plane, Joshua could see that the pilot had a position to the left of the fuselage while an open space ran from the front nose area for the gunner to the rear gunner’s position. It was possible to walk from the front to the back although it was a very narrow space.

  Jan stashed the package Federov had given him under his seat and settled Maria down beside him where her head would be below the rim of the cockpit and out of the wind.

  The Polish pilot stared at the sky for a moment, noting the direction of the slight but chilly breeze. Settling back behind his cockpit controls he opened up the two engines and the aeroplane came to life. When he was satisfied that he had the revs he swung the plane around and began his taxi to take-off. The three passengers waved to the little man standing alone at the edge of the airstrip and he returned their parting gesture.

  Joshua watched fascinated as the dark field beneath the wheels rushed past under him when he gawked over the front of the plane’s nose. By the time they had reached the end of the field the plane had bumped off the ground and was airborne. The earth rushed away and the wind howled past his head, threatening to freeze his nose and ears off. Joshua pulled down the fur hat he had been given with his leather jacket and slipped on the goggles Jan had passed him before they had taken off. Both helped ward off the cold as the plane continued to climb into the darkening night sky. When Joshua glanced back at Maria he could see that she was wrapped in the jacket and only her frightened eyes showed. Joshua flashed her a smile of reassurance and he saw the change. She was smiling back at him.

  Below them Russia stretched out east and west. They were flying west and away from the war between the Red and White armies but still across territory where the Red Army was fighting the German one which had been tasked by the victorious Allies at the Versailles Conference to stem the Red tide and prevent it from invading war-weary Western Europe. What lay ahead was hopefully safety for the Princess Maria. Joshua no longer considered his own life. All he knew was that he had not been with his beloved wife when she died. At least he might be able to console himself by keeping this young woman alive. She was the woman he had fallen in love with even if he had little chance of spending the rest of his life with her, since being of royal blood she must marry one of her own kind.

  Sergeant Joshua Larkin also did not have to be told that he was now a deserter in time of war and under British regulations could be executed by a firing squad. That he was an Australian would not save him because he had volunteered to abide by the British army rules and regulations when he enlisted in that army.

  Now Joshua slumped down, sitting with his back against the inner surface of the gunner’s cockpit. He was out of the biting wind and facing Maria. The night was falling and her face was disappearing from view. Soon, he was left in a world of darkness that throbbed with the power of the two pusher engines nearby.

  No one could hear Joshua scream when he finally fell asleep, huddled in his world of sub-freezing cold and darkness. Locked in sleep, Joshua was reliving the hell of being pinned down in a trench while Gotha bombers poured bombs down on him and his men. Bloody bits of body splattered about him as soldiers were blasted apart. He wanted death to take him cleanly and not let him live like the man crawling along the trench with his stomach hanging out and his face a bloody pulp.

  He felt someone shaking him and saw Maria staring wide-eyed at him. He was vaguely aware that the night was disappearing and that he had slept. But the look on Maria’s face was one of terror. Suddenly Joshua understood why when the thud-thud of bullets striking the canvas brought him fully awake. They were under aerial attack.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Valley View

  Present day

  Petrov Batkin selected the town’s café to meet Sarah and they sat in a corner away from curious eavesdroppers. Batkin spoke in Russian knowing the chance of anyone in the town understanding the language was extremely slim. Sarah ordered a salad sandwich and Batkin a plate of French fries.

  ‘Kildare is still planning to kill Monique Dawson,’ Sarah said quietly.

  Batkin lifted a potato chip to his mouth. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because he has asked me to help him,’ Sarah replied.

  Batkin did not answer immediately but stared out the large glass window to the quiet street. ‘I do not know what to believe,’ he said, munching into the crisp potato. ‘It is almost impossible to hide such a crime in a place as small as this.’

  Sarah leaned back from the table as if exasperated by his response. ‘I am telling you that the British plan is to eliminate any chance of her working with us.’

  ‘If that is so then we have to protect Miss Dawson,’ Batkin shrugged. ‘It will not be easy. I would need assistance from our people in Australia to carry out the task.’

  ‘Do you have contacts over here?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Maybe,’ Batkin shrugged, knowing that he had been given names before leaving Russia should he need some muscle. Russian organised crime had its tentacles in every Western country and was proving to law enforcement a deadly and intelligent problem to deal with. Its ranks included highly educated former State employees, ranging from scientists to former KGB operatives now seeking the dark fruits of rampant capitalism in their country. But he did not completely trust the woman he had recruited for this mission and was not about to reveal any further contacts that he had. She was, after all, sleeping with the enemy, albeit to learn what the British intelligence was up to. Either, she was better at her job than Batkin gave her credit – or she was a traitor.

  ‘If you give me a gun,’ Sarah said. ‘I can prove that I am loyal to our cause. I will get rid of Kildare.’

  Batkin picked up another chip and stared at Sarah. ‘If you kill the Englishman,’ he said, knowing that at this stage he had to hedge his bets on her loyalty. ‘that will reassure me that you are committed to our mission. I will give you a gun but do not think I will not kill you if anything goes wrong.’ Sarah smiled. She did not doubt the former Spetsnaz soldier’s threat to kill her but she was used to living on the edge. This mission was little different from the risks she had endured infiltrating his organisation for MI6. She had a game plan and Batkin had played the right card to her. How stupid men were, she gloated. Not only would she remove Kildare but also Batkin. That would then leave her with an open field to play out the rest of her personal mission.

  The hard run helped clear Morgan’s head and ease the stress of sitting before his computer filling in the many forms required by the coroner. With the folk festival over for another year he was left with the paperwork for the lost and found property hanging over him. He was also due for a station inspection in a week from the commander of the Hume patrol.

  He had reached the top of the hill in good time and scanned the horizon beyond the lookout over the valleys of tall gum trees below the steep cliff. A car passed and when it was gone the peace of the fading day returned. A magpie warbled for the last time in the daylight. The thick clouds billowing overhead threatened a late afternoon thunderstorm and Morgan was not keen to be caught in the open. He turned and began jogging down the hill onto the flat that ran alongside the old Larkin house. The large drops spattered around him, hitting the hot bitumen which threw up its distinctive pungent scent. He knew that he would be too late to avoid the storm and when he glanced over at Monique’s house he saw her waving to him to come inside.

  Gratefully, Morgan pulled off the road and pounded his way to her front door.

  ‘You look as if you could do with shelter and a towel,’ Monique said with a cheery smile as Morgan bent at the waist to c
atch his breath and bring his pulse down to a steady beat.

  ‘Thanks,’ he gasped. ‘It’s not the rain but the lightning I like to avoid.’

  ‘I have a towel for you in the bathroom,’ Monique offered. ‘Follow me.’

  Morgan wiped his jogging shoes on the door mat, following her inside.

  ‘Where is David?’ he asked.

  ‘David has left,’ Monique answered.

  ‘You mean he has gone to Sydney or something?’

  ‘No, I mean he has left me,’ Monique replied, turning to Morgan.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Morgan lied. He had never liked the pompous bastard who he sensed looked down on him. ‘I hope it is only a temporary thing.’

  Monique shrugged and passed Morgan a towel. ‘That is up to David,’ she said as Morgan rubbed himself down.

  ‘Would you like a cup of coffee until the storm passes?’ Monique suggested. Morgan accepted. He took the mug of steaming coffee she offered into the living room cluttered with paintings and brass objects representing strange animal shapes. Monique seemed distant and he wondered if she was taking the break with her partner well.

  ‘Anything I can do?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know if I will be staying,’ she said. ‘I feel that something terrible is going to happen and I’m scared.’

  ‘Does it have anything to do with the bodies?’ he asked.

  ‘I truly believe that we have released the spirits of whoever was buried out there,’ she replied. ‘I feel as if destiny is drawing me towards some dark abyss. I know I sound like some crackpot but I believe there are forces around us that are not all good,’ she said fixing him with her eyes. ‘Morgan, can you truly protect me?’

  Morgan was startled by her question but could see that it came from the heart.

  ‘I suspect that there is a threat to your life but have to confess that I do not know where it will come from. Leaving town for a while might be a good idea until I get a handle on what is going on. Believe me, I will, this is a very small town and not much happens without someone noticing.’