The Frozen Circle

by Peter Watt

  Mark Branson did not doubt the older man. Ken Barber was a legend among his peers and idolised by those who had the opportunity to work with him. The trainee detective was learning something about professional observation from an experienced investigator. Gut feeling was something he would have to develop himself.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Hamburg, Germany

  October 1919

  A week had passed for Joshua and Jan in their cell. They had not been mistreated and even allowed visits from Helga and Maria who was able to bring Joshua a set of clothing on the first day. Both men were released from their cell to meet with the women in the spacious foyer of the Freikorps HQ. They were seated at a table, free of restraints, but also realised that any attempt to escape would not get them very far.

  On the first visit Maria leaned forward and whispered to Joshua in French that she had found the gems and coins. She also told him that Helga had been of great assistance in putting her in contact with an American businessman visiting Hamburg who had paid her fairly for some of the gems in English sterling.

  In the evenings Joshua was fetched to Major von Fettermann’s office to dine with him. The Freikorps officer would discuss with Joshua their respective war experiences and a bond formed between the two former enemies despite their present relationship of gaoler and prisoner.

  ‘I hope that I will be able to release you soon,’ von Fettermann said over a game of chess one evening. ‘You are an honourable soldier – even if the British might consider you a deserter. The British did not treat their colonial allies very well in the Great War.’

  Joshua had to agree. ‘What are you going to do with Jan Novak?’ he asked casually, pushing his knight into a position to counter his opponent’s bishop.

  ‘The Pole will be released as soon as his woman raises the money that he owes us,’ von Fettermann replied, pondering Joshua’s move. ‘I suspect that she will have it all within the next few days. The Pole and his aeroplane are too valuable for us to waste. He is what you would call a pirate; he knows no real loyalty to anything other than making his fortune in these times of misery. But to that end he is a very enterprising man and provides us with a good income to further our aims.’

  ‘What are your aims?’ Joshua asked, knowing that their friendship had progressed enough for him to be so bold.

  ‘We wait for a leader who will throw off the outrageous shackles the Versailles Treaty has imposed on us. Our people starve to death and we are held responsible for the disaster of the past war. We had no choice when the weak Austrians went to war with Serbia. It is the decadent French who wish to crush us. They know that we are a morally stronger people and with the right leader one day we will crush them.’

  Joshua felt a chill at the German major’s pronouncement. It was as if he was planning for another war already. But how could anyone want another war when the last one had proved so destructive?

  When the game was over and von Fettermann had won he poured two tumblers of fiery schnapps and raised his glass. ‘A toast that we never face each other on the battlefield again,’ he said.

  Joshua returned the salute and soon afterwards was escorted back to the cell where Jan sat in a corner on his thin palliasse of straw.

  ‘You have good time with Karl?’ Jan asked sarcastically.

  ‘I found out that he is going to let you go free as soon as Helga raises the money to pay him,’ Joshua answered, ignoring the Pole’s bitterness. ‘You have more chance of walking out the front door than I do.’

  ‘What you mean?’ Jan asked.

  ‘The major is waiting on an answer from the English government as to whether I am a Bolshie agitator before they free me.’

  ‘You not Bolshevik?’ Jan asked suspiciously.

  ‘I would have more chance of getting out of here alive if I were,’ Joshua replied. ‘I have a feeling that my name is going to crop up in the wrong places.’ He did not elaborate but prayed silently that it was not even now being bandied about among intelligence circles of London. He reassured himself that it was highly unlikely that Major Locksley had survived when he left him in the cabin, and at worst he would be listed as a possible deserter.

  Major Karl von Fettermann stared at the report on his desk. It bore the letterhead of the British government and was a reply to his own report mailed a week earlier. Von Fettermann stood and strode to the single window of his office which had a view of an alley behind the HQ. The expression on his face reflected his concern. The former Australian army officer – and now a British army deserter – was recorded as a dangerous Bolshevik agitator travelling in the company of a Russian woman known also to be a highly placed Bolshevik spy. The Polish aviator’s woman had promised to pay the owed funds that day and he would be free to leave, but this letter from London was as good as a death warrant for Joshua Larkin and the pretty Russian girl who visited him each day. Despite any personal feelings von Fettermann was an officer in the German Weimar Republic and therefore must obey orders. He walked to the door of his office and called down the corridor, ‘Corporal Heinz, bring the prisoner Larkin to me.’

  The German corporal hurried away to fetch Joshua.

  Joshua was not offered a chair when he was brought to von Fettermann’s office and felt some apprehension at this change in his captor’s mood.

  ‘Leave us, corporal,’ von Fettermann said to the guard.

  Joshua remained standing as the corporal departed.

  ‘Sergeant Larkin,’ von Fettermann snapped. ‘You lied to me.’

  ‘Lied?’ Joshua queried, confused by the question but also wary of any forthcoming answer.

  ‘You informed me that you were not a Bolshevik agitator and yet the letter I have before me says that you are – and that the Russian girl with you is a spy for the Bolsheviks.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Joshua exclaimed. ‘I am not a bloody Bolshie. The British are lying and I think I know why.’

  ‘It will not matter,’ von Fettermann sighed. ‘The British are sending an officer, a Major Locksley to handle the matter for them. They have requested that we immediately arrest the Russian girl who visits you.’

  ‘Locksley!’ Joshua gasped. ‘I know him.’

  ‘How is this?’ von Fettermann asked.

  Joshua badly wanted to sit down and gather his thoughts. He knew what he said in the next few minutes would either sentence him to death or be a possible way out. It all depended on the German officer’s loyalties.

  ‘Major Locksley was my commanding officer on a mission I was assigned by the British,’ Joshua said in a tired voice. ‘Our mission was to find a person.’

  ‘You should take a seat, Sergeant Larkin,’ von Fettermann said sympathetically, sensing that the Australian was speaking the truth.

  Joshua accepted gratefully and continued. ‘There were three of us but by the time Major Locksley and I found the person he sought we had lost one member of the team to the Bolsheviks. The person we sought is the Russian woman who accompanies me now. But when we found her Locksley had orders to kill her.’

  ‘Because she is a highly placed Bolshevik operative,’ von Fettermann interjected.

  ‘No, because she is the Princess Maria of the Romanov family,’ Joshua said. ‘The last survivor of the Russian throne.’

  The expression on the Freikorps officer’s face spoke of his shock and disbelief.

  ‘For reasons beyond my comprehension,’ Joshua continued, ‘it seems that there are some in the British government who would like to see the princess dead rather than reach English shores. But we both know how important it is that she lives to reclaim the throne of Russia. Alive, she is a symbol of resistance to the Bolshies’ ambitions to seize Russia and eventually the rest of the world. Your own organisation is devoted to crushing the Bolshies in Germany. Major Locksley is the enemy here, not Maria and I.’

  ‘If you could prove what you say is true then I would not hesitate in protecting the princess,’ von Fettermann said. ‘But the British major will be here with
in a few hours and I have had the Russian girl arrested already. I am sorry, my friend. It is out of my hands now. Corporal Heinz, take the prisoner back to his cell.’

  ‘She has identity papers to prove who she is,’ Joshua said.

  The German officer shook his head. ‘I am sorry, my friend,’ von Fettermann replied sadly. ‘Forged identity papers are easily obtained on the blackmarket. You would need more.’

  Joshua rose from his chair and waited for the German NCO to enter the room and escort him back to the cell. His mind was in turmoil as he thought about Maria being arrested. They had been so close to freedom and he had let her down. He did not care about his own life but he did care about Maria.

  When the guard opened the door to the cell that had been his home for over a week Joshua noticed that Jan was no longer present. The money had been raised and he was free to continue his activities leaving Joshua alone.

  In the late afternoon Corporal Heinz came for him again. This time Joshua’s hands were shackled in front of him and he was led once more to von Fettermann’s office. When the door was opened Joshua was shocked to see James Locksley standing with von Fettermann by the window. He was wearing civilian clothing and had not changed much from when Joshua had last seen him in the cabin in Russia.

  ‘Sir,’ Joshua said, acknowledging Locksley’s position. ‘I see that you were able to get out of Russia.’

  ‘I was in France when I received news from London that you were being held in Germany, Sergeant Larkin,’ Locksley said in a cold tone. ‘It appears that you have taken up subversive activities dangerous to His Majesty’s government. I believe the girl is still with you and that Major von Fettermann is now holding her. I am sure that the British government is beholden to the Freikorps for the fine job they have done in apprehending you and the Russian bitch.’

  ‘At least grant her the honour that she warrants, sir,’ Joshua snarled. ‘At least refer to her as the Princess Maria.’

  Locksley turned away from Joshua, ignoring his retort, to address the German major. ‘I am grateful for you and your men delivering Sergeant Larkin and the Russian girl into my custody, Major von Fettermann,’ he said. ‘I am sure that my report will sit well in London with my superiors.’

  ‘Will your superiors in London recommend that the Allies lift their murderous blockade against us?’ von Fettermann asked.

  ‘This matter has nothing to do with the deal your government has with mine,’ Locksley answered. ‘Please arrange for your men to escort Sergeant Larkin and the Russian girl to a ship we have commandeered for their transport back to England.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ von Fettermann replied. ‘Sergeant Larkin is under German jurisdiction, Major Locksley, and will remain so. There is little else you or your government can do about that.’

  Joshua was stunned at the audacity of the Freikorps officer. The tension between him and Locksley had been rising but now he was defying outright the might of the conquering allies.

  ‘I will be protesting to our prime minister,’ Locksley spluttered, red-faced and angry, realising how helpless he was under the current circumstances. He knew that he would have to retreat and gather diplomatic forces to grind the German into the ground.

  ‘If there is nothing else, Major Locksley,’ von Fettermann said. ‘I would bid you a good day.’

  Locksley glared at Joshua and the German officer before turning on his heel and marching out of the office. Joshua stood silently and after a few moments Karl von Fettermann spoke.

  ‘I fear that you will not have heard the last from your major,’ he said.

  ‘I do not know how to thank you,’ Joshua said as von Fettermann released the shackles from his wrists.

  ‘Do not thank me,’ von Fettermann replied. ‘You can thank the combined efforts of the Pole and his woman. They raised a little extra to pay for what we might call your bed and board while a guest of the Freikorps.’

  Although the German officer had offered this as the reason for his unexpected release, Joshua sensed that the bond that had formed between the two former enemies had also played its part in his freedom.

  ‘The girl is waiting for you outside,’ von Fettermann said, extending his hand. ‘So is the Pole. I would suggest that you both make yourselves scarce in Germany. The British occupy us and will have the means to hunt you down. On a second attempt you may not be so lucky.’

  Joshua accepted the hand. ‘Thank you, Major von Fettermann. You have done for the cause of fighting Bolshevism more than you can appreciate right now.’

  ‘What will you do now?’ von Fettermann asked.

  ‘Like you suggested, get out of Germany,’ Joshua answered.

  ‘It would be dangerous attempting to escape by a ship,’ the Freikorps officer said. ‘Maybe better to travel overland as our occupiers have the ports blocked.’

  Or fly, Joshua thought, wondering how much Maria had been able to make on the sale of the gems.

  Minutes later Joshua stepped out onto the street to be greeted by Maria, Jan and Helga. Joshua hugged Maria to him and whispered his gratitude for her efforts to free him.

  ‘Having you around causes me much grief,’ Jan said, slapping Joshua on the back as they walked away from the Freikorps HQ. ‘Yet I think that I risk all again – for a little more money. But we will discuss that later. You and Maria have a flight to catch. The Gotha awaits us. She is eager to soar in the skies.’

  Von Fettermann stood in the foyer of the HQ with his hands clasped behind his back gazing at the group on the street. It had not only been a matter of a well-placed bribe that had convinced him to free Joshua and Maria but also his hatred for the English. Thousands of his fellow Germans had starved to death and now the British had the arrogance to demand that he dance to their tune. Resisting British intelligence in their efforts to take custody of the Australian soldier and the Russian girl was just one small victory against the occupiers of his country. He was not convinced that the Russian girl was the Princess Maria but that did not matter. What mattered was the look of frustration and rage on the British major’s face when he was denied his prisoners. It was worth the rift his organisation might have with the British fighting the spread of Bolshevism. Smirking, von Fettermann turned on his heel and returned to his office.

  Locksley stood by the door of the British army staff car that had conveyed him to the Freikorps HQ.

  ‘Sir, is that the two we came for?’ A smartly dressed young British lieutenant asked from inside the vehicle, observing the happy reunion on the street.

  ‘Yes,’ Locksley snapped, still upset about his humiliating ousting by the German officer.

  ‘Do we proceed and arrest them now, sir?’ the lieutenant asked eagerly.

  The British major scanned the street where armed Freikorps soldiers were watching him intently in the event of any attempt to intervene in the safe passage of the released prisoners. Locksley sighed, opened the car door and slumped inside next to his fellow officer. ‘I am afraid that we will have to allow the guilty to elude us for the moment,’ he said. ‘I doubt that our PM will want to give the Hun the excuse to start a second Great War. Drive on.’

  But as far as Locksley was concerned the matter was far from finished. He was determined to settle it once and for all with the elimination of the Australian sergeant and the Russian princess regardless of what it would take.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Valley View

  Present day

  Petrov Batkin was both angry and confused. Why had the police visited him to ask about the British agent, and why had not Sarah answered his calls on her mobile phone? He sensed something was wrong and was vastly relieved that the police had not searched his room and luggage or they might have found the .32 pistol in his possession. How it had been returned was a mystery to him. Somehow Sarah must have entered his room when he was out and concealed the pistol in his luggage. This made him very nervous as the police had been asking him questions about Kildare and Sarah had requested his gun to execute him
. He well knew that if they had found the pistol they might have linked him to Kildare’s death. He had also gathered from the police visit that Sarah must have taken care of Kildare before returning the pistol. Why else would the police be questioning strangers in town?

  Batkin was feeling more than the humid heat of the day in his hotel room but could not put his finger on the cause of his anxiety. He was counting the hours until his two contacts arrived from Sydney to execute their plan to abduct Monique Dawson and smuggle her out of the country. Convincing her of declaring her heritage would come later once she had the opportunity to consider her importance to the cause of Russia resuming its rightful place as the premier nation among the world’s superpowers.

  Outside the hotel the gathering clouds rose as columns, drifting from the west across the green fields and low hills of Valley View as Batkin finalised his packing to leave the town forever.

  Sarah Locksley sat in her hire car surveying the isolated farm house north of Valley View. It was like so many others with old farm machinery rusting in the yards around the house and the wooden walls badly in need of a coat of paint. She had spent her time making trips around the district to locate a base for her ultimate mission. She knew from a visit a week earlier posing as a lost tourist that this house was occupied by a man in his eighties. He was a recluse who had little contact with those in town or his neighbours on the other side of the rolling hills surrounding his farm. One of the best features of the site was the dirt track that led out of the farm onto roads connecting with the highway that would eventually lead her north to the state of Queensland. She knew avoiding the obvious highways would be important when her mission was completed. From the little contact she’d had with the local police officer she sensed him to be a very intelligent man. Damn him to hell, she fumed. Had he not arrived at Monique’s house when he did the descendant of Princess Maria would have been dead by now.