Rag and Bone: Billy Boyle 05

by James R Benn

  “Leaving a corpse behind we’d think was Captain Sidorov,” Cosgrove added. “Apparently he was decent enough to want to spare his family retribution.”

  “Stalin is cold and ruthless,” Churchill said. “As is their entire system of government. This Sidorov then is not entirely without scruples?”

  “He killed when his plan was threatened,” I said. “But much of it centered around protecting his wife and daughter from Article 58, if you’re familiar with that, sir.”

  “The law that would make his wife and child enemies of the people,”Churchill said. “I wonder if it will still apply.”

  “I don’t know, this is a criminal matter, not political,” I said.

  “It is all politics, Lieutenant. It was politics when he dressed up the first murder to be blamed on the Poles. It has been political, with ambassadors hounding me; Stalin—Stalin himself—demanding that our man in Moscow explain what is happening. You’re aware of the Polish situation?”

  “You mean the massacre at Katyn? Yes.”

  “The less said about that, the better. There’s more to this than Katyn, Lieutenant. The Poles are agitating for their prewar borders after the fighting is over. But they took their eastern lands from the Russians in the 1920 war, so who can say which is right? Now the Poles in London want us to take sides, and the Americans, too. And at what danger to this grand alliance? Do the Poles ever think of that?”

  “I imagine they think of freedom, sir.”

  “Sadly, Poland is occupied by the Nazis. Freedom cannot be thought of until we rid Europe of Hitler and his regime. That can only be done in conjunction with the Soviet Union. Stalin may be a beast, but he’s a beast at war with the beast at our door.”

  Why I was here began to sink in. I drank my whiskey and water and kept my mouth shut.

  “I’ve spoken with the commissioner,” Churchill said. I knew who he meant: Sir Philip Game, commissioner of the Metropolitan Police.

  “Sidorov is going free,” I said.

  “He will go home to the Soviet Union,” Churchill said. “Hardly free. At this juncture, we cannot allow any potential for rupture in our relations with Stalin. He could see this as a sign of our taking sides between the Moscow Poles and the London Poles. Too much of this affair has been wrapped up with the Katyn matter. The murder of Egorov, the informants at the Rubens Hotel, the attempted murder of that poor Polish boy. The arrest of Lieutenant Kazimierz.”

  “You’re very well informed, Prime Minister,” I said. I knew it was hopeless to say anything else. In Churchill’s mind, the release of one Russian killer was a small price to pay for insuring all those other Russians kept killing Germans.

  “I’d like to be informed as to your attitude, young man. Charles tells me you have a sharp mind, but that you can be unorthodox. I need to know this matter will be settled. Prosecuting Sidorov and creating a breach with Stalin will not help the Poles, or us. Only the Nazis will benefit.”

  I told him he had nothing to worry about. After all, I was drinking his whiskey.

  “SO WHAT’S THE plan?” I asked Cosgrove as we got back into his staff car. I really wanted to ask him about my sharp mind, but I kept my curiosity to myself.

  “Sidorov is going home with the story he told. Attacked by a downed German flier while assisting the Home Guard. Found wandering days later, severe concussion. No reference to Sheila Carlson. It’s been worked out privately with Ambassador Ivan Maisky.”

  “The Russian ambassador and you worked this out?”

  “Sometimes it pays to find common ground. Ivan likes it here in London. The more smoothly things run, the longer before he’s called home to Moscow.”

  “When is Sidorov going?”

  “Today. Ivan has sent Sidorov’s uniform and personal effects to me. The captain will wash, shave, and dress. Then on to the RAF field at Digby for a flight to Gibraltar, then Lisbon, where he will be met by representatives from the Soviet Embassy, and thence to Moscow. Where he will be greeted as a hero, most likely.”

  “What about Sheila?”

  “Miss Carlson will face a lesser charge, in exchange for keeping quiet.”

  “How much lesser?”

  “Possession of forged ration cards. She will serve time in prison until the end of the war.”

  “They’re getting away with murder.”

  “Yes. I don’t suppose it will help to tell you I don’t like it either,” Cosgrove said.

  “It does, actually. Could I ask two more favors?”

  “That one with Brown wasn’t difficult. What are they?”

  “I’d like to ride with Sidorov to Digby. No funny business, I promise you. Then, whenever you have one of those MI5 and MI6 powwows, I’d like to drop by. As soon as it can be arranged.”

  “No sidearm, and you may escort Sidorov to Digby. Along with my men, of course,” Cosgrove said.

  “Of course. And the meeting?”

  “As you well know, Lieutenant Boyle, such meetings do not exist, since MI6 operates only outside of Great Britain.”

  “Of course. When will you not be meeting?”

  “Tonight, at ten o’clock, no such meeting will take place at the same location at which the last meeting did not take place.”

  “I’ll be there,” I said. “Or I won’t be, right?”

  “Now you’ve got it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  SIDOROV WAS SURPRISED to see me when the car picked him up at Scotland Yard. He hid it quickly, covering his expression with a friendly grin. “Billy, have you come to see me off?”

  “I thought you might like some company,” I said, opening my jacket and raising my arms for Cosgrove’s men to search me. “Nothing up my sleeve, guys.” They didn’t even smile. One of them sat up front with the driver, and Sidorov and I had the spacious backseat to ourselves.

  “I shall miss London,” he said, looking at the Thames as we drove by.

  “Maybe you could come back, after the war.”

  “No. There is only one chance given to visit the West. I shall remain in Russia, with my wife and child.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “My daughter, yes. But my wife? I will tell you the truth. Her father is a high Party member. I married her as much for that as for love.”

  “Why?”

  “To have a chance at something better than the life of an orphaned peasant. But I got more than I bargained for in that exchange.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Her father took a liking to me. He has encouraged my career.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” I asked. “That probably got you this posting.”

  “No, it got me my previous assignment. This posting was a reward, for a job well done.”

  “What did you do?” Sidorov didn’t answer. Instead, he watched pubs, houses, and shops pass by as the car drove out of London. A few miles later I tried another angle. “Why did you warn me about Diana?”

  “A harmless piece of information I had come by. Harmless if kept out of the wrong hands, of course. I thought you might not look upon me as a suspect if you thought I had information that would bear on her safety.”

  “Is she safe?”

  “Billy, I have no reason to think otherwise. I do not know anything other than that she is working within the Vatican. It was reported to us, through our network in Rome, that a British SOE agent had made contact with a circle within the Vatican. When her name was confirmed, we cross-referenced our contact files, and there you were. She may be in great danger, or she may be across the Swiss border. I have no idea.”

  “You have a pretty extensive network. Here and in Rome.”

  “The English have a lot of foolish romantics, Billy. Some of them saw the Marxist state as the salvation of humanity. Trust me, those who think that way have never been there.”

  “You have spies in the government? MI5? MI6? How else could you have learned her name?” Again, miles of quiet slipped by, and I knew Sidorov would not give up this informat
ion. A hint, perhaps, but nothing more. I took a book from my pocket. “Here. I thought you’d want this.”It was the copy of Selected Poems by W. B. Yeats, from the cottage in Shepherdswell. Sidorov took it and pressed the covers between his palms, as if it held the essence of all that he had lost.

  “Thank you,” he said. Then he did an odd thing. He tore out the first page of the book, where he’d written the Latin inscription. He stared at it for a moment, then rolled down his window, and let it fly out into the wind.

  “Corpora dormiunt vigilant animae,” he said.

  “The bodies are asleep, the souls are awake,” I answered. “Why can’t that go home with you?”

  “Latin is the language of the church. By definition, reactionary. A small thing, to be sure, but others have been denounced for less. For nothing.”

  “I can see why you wanted to start a new life here,” I said. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to get a confession out of you, the case has been closed. Winston Churchill told me himself.”

  “Really? I thought my own government would free me. I never dreamed Churchill would be the one.”

  “He doesn’t want to upset the balance of things. With inconsequential matters like two murders in London or thousands in Katyn.”

  “I am sorry about those two deaths.”

  “What about the Poles at Katyn?”

  “I was not responsible,” Sidorov said. “ Egorov and Vatutin were pigs. If they hadn’t been in the secret police they would have found other ways to inflict pain. But still, I did not wish to kill them. It was unfortunate.”

  “Is it their souls that are awake?” I asked. My question brought more silence, and the final miles fell away until we entered the gate of the RAFairfield. We drove directly to a waiting Lancaster bomber, already turning over its four powerful engines.

  “It appears the English can’t wait to get me out of the country,” Sidorov said. I asked the guys in the front seat to give us a minute, and they got out, leaving us alone in the car.

  “Where did you see that Latin saying?” I asked Sidorov.

  “It was inscribed in a stained-glass window, in a small Norman church not far from Shepherdswell. I saw it when Sheila and I were looking for a secluded house to rent. Why?”

  “Just curious,” I said. “What does it mean to you?”

  “A reminder, to never forget a great sin.”

  “I’m surprised to find a religious NKVD man.”

  “It is not common, especially if you want to move up in the Party ranks. It may seem strange to you, but I’ve always been religious, ever since the orphanage. And yes, I know, I have an odd way of showing it.”

  “I won’t argue that. Confession is supposed to be good for the soul,”I said. “Anything you want to tell me before you go?”

  “My sins are too great, Billy. The worst of it is, where I am going, they are not considered evil. It is almost comical, isn’t it? I commit crimes in England, and they send me home to Russia, where my greater crimes were rewarded. I can’t seem to be held to account.”

  “For what, Kiril?” I asked, almost in a whisper. He looked down at the floorboard, then laid a hand on my arm.

  “I was at Katyn.” The words hung heavy in the air, as if they held a terrible curse. “I was second in command at an NKVD prison near Smolensk. I had orders to bring a contingent of prisoners to the forest outside of Katyn. Not Polish POWs, but regular prisoners, some criminal, some political.”

  “For what?”

  “The graves had already been dug. Pits, really, you couldn’t even call them proper graves. Excavated by heavy machinery. With the Poles stacked up in them, they didn’t need bulldozers, just muscle and shovels to cover the bodies. That was my job, to cover up the bodies. Much like everyone else is still doing.”

  “You saw it all?”

  “Yes. I stayed as far away as I could, but it was unavoidable. They marched them in from the railroad, all day. Thousands of Poles. Thousands of pistol shots. And my prisoners would work through the night, covering the bodies.”

  “That was the assignment you carried out so well?”

  “Only in part. After the last of the Poles were killed, they sent us into the forest one more time. They’d left one pit unfilled, for my prisoners. A small pit, to be sure, for one hundred men. It was hard labor for the guards, shooting them and then having to do the work of burying them. The prisoners went quietly, though. They’d seen so much killing, they seemed to accept it as inevitable.”

  “Had you known?”

  “No, not until that last day. There was nothing I could do if I didn’t want to end up in the pit myself. I used my pistol and a shovel that day, to show my men I was a proper comrade, ready to share their burden. I could not do otherwise, could not order men to murder and keep my own hands clean. That is what my father-in-law rewarded me for. My enthusiasm.”

  There was a sharp rap on the window. It was time for Sidorov to go.

  “Good-bye, Captain” was all I could say.

  “Farewell, Billy. I’m afraid the confession has not helped my soul, and only unfairly burdened yours. But you asked.”

  “I did,” I said, as Sidorov opened the door.

  “Do you know what is odd?” Sidorov said, one foot out the door. “At night, I still pray. When I am alone, I pray. As if anyone might answer.”

  The door slammed shut, and the Lancaster engines roared their desire to fly into the high, cold darkness. I stayed in the car and watched until the bomber was lost in the starry sky and silence cloaked the night. I knew then why Dad had never told me what he’d done to get Nunoout of trouble with the Mob. There are times when the wheels of justice have to go off course to set things right, and those times are best kept to yourself. I’d never ask again.

  THIS TIME, AS I entered the headquarters of MI5, I didn’t have to cool my heels in the foyer. I was expected, and a guard escorted me up to a small conference room, slightly larger than Cosgrove’s office, where the previous meeting had been.

  “Ah, Lieutenant Boyle,” Cosgrove said warmly as I entered. There were eight men in the room, and they all closed their file folders as I came close. Folders with Most Secret stamped in red. “You know Kim Philby, of course. The others, well, you don’t really need to know their names. Sit.” There was a round of chuckles, and I took a seat next to Philby. Besides Cosgrove, his was the only face I recognized.

  “Where’s Mr. Brown tonight?” I asked.

  “Mr. Brown has been reassigned. Mr. Smythe has taken over his responsibilities, should you need to discuss anything with him. Now, tell us, how did things go with Sidorov?”

  “Fine,” I said. “He’s on his way to Lisbon now.”

  “Good,” one of the unnamed men said. “We can do without any further difficulties. Well done.”

  “Tell me, Lieutenant Boyle,” Philby said as he lit his pipe. “Why did you ask to attend this meeting? Are you looking for a different posting? MI6 is always looking for new talent.”

  “Thank you, sir, but no. I’d been curious if I could get Sidorov to agree to work for us—meaning the U.S. and Great Britain—thinking it would be useful to have someone on the inside in Moscow. I had a hunch he might go for it, but I needed more time. I decided to try and close the deal on the way to the airfield.”

  “Close the deal?” Philby asked, arching an eyebrow. “In what way?”

  “Talking to him, trying to figure out what motivated him. It seemed clear that if he wanted so badly to get out of going back, he must not be a big fan of the workers’ paradise. Turns out he hates his father-in-law, who’s some NKVD bigwig. Not too fond of his wife, either. She’s too much of a dedicated Communist for his taste. Apparently she works for the Propaganda Ministry and believes everything they publish. I finally got him to see it would be his best revenge, to use them against Stalin, as his cover.”

  “Remarkable,” Cosgrove said.

  “I also promised him a bankroll, if he ever managed to get out,” I said.

 
“Money is not a problem,” Philby said. “But how are we supposed to contact him?”

  “Corpora dormiunt vigilant animae,” I said. “That’s the password. He’ll repeat it back in English.”

  “The bodies are asleep, the souls are awake,” Cosgrove said, slowly translating the Latin. “Fitting.”

  “Excellent, Boyle,” Philby said. The others nodded, making notes. “It will be especially useful after the war.”

  “And now as well,” one of the others said. “The more we know about Stalin’s postwar intentions, the better. We’ll put a man in touch with him.”

  Philby rose to show me out. When we were in the hallway, with the door shut behind us, he leaned in close and spoke in a low voice. “I wanted to thank you for putting me onto Dalenka. We never knew a member of the Three Kings had survived, much less made it to London. She’ll be very valuable.”

  “I’m glad,” I said as I shook hands with Philby. I hoped working for MI6 would be an improvement over the Chapman gang.

  I left them to their pipes and files, and walked back to the Dorchester. It was a starry night, but no bombers flew over London. The crowds were out, filling the sidewalks and taking in the sights. I imagined Diana looking up at the stars in Rome, and felt certain that, at least for now, she was safe, doing what she needed to do. Someday, we’d walk arm in arm again, perhaps in London, perhaps in some city not yet free of the Nazis.

  I thought about the eight men I’d left in that room. From Sidorov’ shints, I knew there was a spy in MI6. There was a good chance it was one of them, or somebody who worked for them or to whom they reported. That was why I’d wanted to ride with Sidorov, to give myself enough time with him to make my story plausible, and to leave no chance of its being checked. Also to give him a chance to convince me he didn’t deserve to be set up. But that hadn’t happened. Instead, he told me what I needed to do. To be the one who held him to account.

  I didn’t know who it might be, and had to trust that Cosgrove would investigate discreetly, as he said he would. But I didn’t dare raise suspicions at this point; whoever it was, I wanted him to think he was safe and secure so he wouldn’t hesitate to send on information about Sidorov.