Faked Passports

by Dennis Wheatley

  “That’s it. And the Rat Mort—and the Café de l’Enfer.”

  “And the Bal Tabarin. What nights I had in those places! But it wasn’t only that. There’s something about Paris. The flower-women outside the Madeleine. Lobster washed down with that fresh pétillant Touraine wine for lunch at Pruniers, the paintings in the Louvre, taking one’s aperitif on the pavement outside the Taverne Wagner, the bookshops in the arcade of the Palais Royal, the Sacré Cœur by moonlight, the Latin Quarter, the students in the Luxembourg Gardens, and … and the trees, when they’re just budding in the Bois. Yes, that’s it! Paris in the springtime—Paris in May. Shall I tell you something?” The grey-haired but still immensely virile-looking Russian leaned forward suddenly. “I’m damned well going there again before I die.”

  “You’ll find it pretty difficult to get out of Russia, won’t you?’

  “Oh, it can be done. Quite a lot of people manage to get themselves appointed to Soviet Embassies abroad, and once they’re out of this lousy country they never come back.”

  “Doesn’t the Kremlin usually hold the wife and children of people sent abroad, as hostages?”

  “Ah! But I’m all right there. I haven’t got any wife or children.”

  “In that case, they’d never attach you to an Embassy.”

  “Perhaps not. But I might manage to slip over the frontier one dark night.”

  “In that case, what’s kept you here so long?”

  “Valuta—foreign exchange—my boy. I’d rather teach Russian in Paris than be a General here; but I’ve got to have the money for the journey and I want to take a good-sized nest egg so that I don’t starve in my old age. I’ve been saving up and secreting foreign currency for years. I should think another twelve months ought to do it.”

  Gregory glanced at the clock. It was half-past three and they were attacking the third bottle of slievowitz. He was a little tight himself now but he could drink most people under the table and for some time past plans had been forming again in his agile brain. “I suppose,” he said casually, “if you fail to get any information about us from your Military Intelligence people you’ll send my friends and myself under escort to the German Embassy in Moscow?”

  “That’s it,” the General nodded.

  “Well, to be honest with you, that wouldn’t suit our book at all.”

  “Why?” asked the Russian suspiciously, and he suddenly seemed to become quite sober again.

  “Because I and my friends are not very popular with the Gestapo—that’s why we arranged to get ourselves given special work in Finland. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’, you know; and since we’ve failed to do the job we were given, we’re going to be even more unpopular when we get home.”

  “Will they shoot you?” asked Kuporovitch with interest.

  “I don’t think they’ll go as far as that; but we’d much rather remain out of Germany until the war’s over. I suppose—as between friends—you couldn’t fix it for us to be sent to some neutral country, like Estonia, for example?”

  The General raised his dark, pencilled eyebrows which contrasted so strangely with his grey hair. “Sacré Tonnerre, no! Oggie will be back tomorrow morning. I call him that because he’s a member of the Ogpu. When he arrives he’ll want to know all about you. If I failed to put in a report to the proper quarter afterwards it would probably cost me my life.”

  “In that case, what about letting us go tonight?”

  “Help yourself to some more slievowitz, my friend, and try to talk sense. Those two who serve me as orderlies will report to Oggie that you all dined with me this evening; so I’ve got to produce either the four of you or your bodies, haven’t I? Otherwise, what would Oggie say?”

  “I see,” said Gregory thoughtfully. “Still, if it could be arranged, may I take it that you would have no personal objection to our leaving Kandalaksha?”

  “None at all. None whatever, now I know that you’re not spies,” the General said suddenly.

  “How d’you know?” Gregory asked with quick curiosity.

  “Because of what you just told me. And, anyhow, there’s nothing worth spying on up in the Arctic, since Petsamo fell. You and your friends are just a party of Germans who managed to get out of Germany and want to keep out of it because the Gestapo’s after you.”

  Gregory grinned. “You’ve hit it, General. Now, how are we going to work this thing? If you can’t get us out of Russia into a neutral country, and you must report us if you keep us here, who could get us out of the country?”

  “Stalin could, if he wanted to—or Molotov or Krassin or Voroshilov; but I don’t see why they should, do you?”

  “If only I could get to one of them I believe I’d manage to persuade him to, all right.”

  “Well, you can’t, so I’m afraid that’s the end of it,” said the General thickly.

  “Saying I could,” Gregory persisted, “which of them d’you think would be likely to prove the most reasonable?”

  “Oh Clim—Clim Voroshilov every time. He may be a red-hot Communist but he’s not like these mealy-mouthed politicians. He wanted a fair deal—a fair deal for all; but he’s not like the other fellows—he’s human; used to like his drink and a pretty girl when he was younger. Nom d’un nom! The scandal there was after one of our victories at Tsaritsyn, when Clim and all his staff drove through the streets as drunk as hell with a whole lot of girls and danced the trepka in a restaurant. All the seedy intellectuals in Moscow said we were a disgrace to the Party but Clim didn’t care. Their bally revolution would have gone to blazes if he hadn’t held Tsaritsyn. D’you know what we called him? The Organiser of Victories. Mon Dieu! What a man! Did I ever tell you how he threw the Chief of the Leningrad Ogpu down his own stairs?”

  “No,” said Gregory.

  “Well, he did. Found out that the fellow had bribed one of his mistresses to spy on him. Anyone else would have had ten fits—but not Clim. He walked straight round into that den of assassins and beat the fellow up with his bare fists. God! It makes me cold to think of it. There isn’t another man in Russia who would have dared to do that. Have some more slievowitz.”

  “Then, if I could get to Voroshilov he might be sympathetic when he hears that the Gestapo are after myself and my friends?”

  “He might; but he won’t; because you can’t get to him. No-one has ever escaped out of this old castle since I’ve been here. It’s no good your trying; and in this country a man is either above suspicion or else he’s dead. I haven’t managed to keep alive among these blackguards for twenty-three years by taking any chances, so don’t imagine that because I’m a bit tight I’m taking any now. If I let you go Oggie would be on the warpath tomorrow and I might receive an invitation to Moscow. Then I’d never get to Paris again before I die.”

  The General was certainly tight—very tight indeed—but Gregory knew the type of man with whom he was dealing too well to set any great hopes on that. The Russian was one of the old school who could take any amount of liquor and might show it by a slight slurring of his speech but would keep all his mental faculties about him until he suddenly passed out. The fact that he had managed to keep alive so long, although he liked his liquor and loathed the Soviet régime, was ample evidence that he was an efficient officer and never made a serious slip. Since he said that it would be impossible for his prisoners to escape Gregory accepted that as a fact; but he felt that tonight was his one big chance. From tomorrow onwards the little “filth” referred to as Oggie would be snooping round and, in consequence, the General would have become ten times more difficult. If the all-important schedule for the Nazi “Family Reunion” was ever to reach London it must be got out of the castle that night.

  Russians, Gregory knew, were notoriously open to graft and it had already occurred to him to try to bribe Kuporovitch; but he wondered desperately if he dared to risk it. The fact that the General had been collecting valuta for years with a view to shaking the dust of the Soviet off his feet would make him eager to acquire
foreign currency that he could secure without risk of being reported. But if he were offered a large bribe he would know that his prisoner had had no opportunity to secrete the money since he had arrived at the castle; so he must be carrying it on him. Having played a lone hand successfully against murderers and bandits for so long it was heavy odds in favour of the General’s being a most unscrupulous man. Once he learned that there was money to be had for the taking what was there to prevent him from having his prisoner shot and acquiring the cash without any risk to himself? Yet how else, except by taking this desperate chance, was there any hope of getting out of the castle?

  Drawing a long breath Gregory said: “You were talking about valuta just now. If it could be arranged for me to try to reach Voroshilov I should want some Russian roubles. Make your own rate of exchange. I’m prepared to pay four times the normal value if you like—in German or Finnish marks—and I’ve got a big sum on me.” He had played his ace, but for all he knew it might be the Ace of Spades—the death card.

  Chapter XXVIII

  Gregory Gambles with Death

  For a moment the Russian’s face remained absolutely impassive, then he asked sharply: “How much have you got?”

  “About six thousand five hundred marks.”

  “A nice sum.” Kuporovitch’s eyes narrowed and he stared at Gregory with a thoughtful expression on his face.

  “Enough to keep you in moderate comfort in Paris for the best part of a year,” Gregory said slowly.

  The General did not reply. He stood up, walked to the door with a slightly unsteady gait and left the room without a word.

  Gregory helped himself to another ration of slievowitz. He was pretty tight himself but he had a head like a rock and was a very long way from passing out. As he might be dead within the next quarter of an hour he didn’t feel that it would make very much difference if he got slightly tighter; but he could not keep himself from wondering why the General had left him. The most likely answer to that all-important question was that he had gone down to the guard-room to fetch a couple of soldiers. These Russians were quite used to shooting people without a trial. It was all in the day’s work to them and they would think nothing of it if they were told to take a prisoner down to the castle execution chamber in the middle of the night; then good-bye to Gregory Sallust.

  ‘Well,’ he thought, ‘I haven’t had a particularly short life and I have enjoyed it; and, after all, death is the greatest adventure upon which any man can set out!’ He had been near death on too many occasions for the thought of it to worry him; but he was worried about Erika and the others. Those hectic nights that he had spent with her in Munich and Berlin had been very marvellous; but recently, since he had got his memory back, he had grown to feel a far deeper and more profound love for her. In his life he had known many women and it seemed hard that now he had found the one whose presence gave him such utter satisfaction and contentment their ways should be parted after a few brief weeks of happiness and—worse—that he should have to leave her as a prisoner, menaced by the grim prospect of being handed over to the Gestapo, which he could do nothing to avert.

  The door opened again and the General came in—alone. His gait was brisker and Gregory noticed that his hair was slightly damp. Evidently he had been to his room and poured a jug of cold water over his head to bring himself back to a complete state of sobriety before taking any decision. Such an act was typical of the man and Gregory did not yet allow himself to hope. It might be that the Russian wanted all his wits about him so as to trick his prisoner out of the money before he had him shot, in order that the execution squad should not see him take it from the body and report the fact to Oggie.

  With a steady hand Kuporovitch collected the three empty slievowitz bottles from the small table, replaced them on the sideboard and said abruptly: “Say I give you a quarter of the value of your marks in roubles, what d’you wish me to do?”

  Gregory breathed again. Although he might have soiled his hands in all sorts of dirty business for nearly a quarter of a century, the Russian was, at the rock-bottom, still the man of honour that he had been as a young officer in pre-Revolution days.

  “Since your Political Commissar is bound to hear about us tomorrow,” Gregory replied, “fix it so that it looks as if we had escaped during the night.”

  Kuporovitch shook his head. “Four of you—including two women? No. Oggie would never believe that. Besides, only a strong and resolute man could leave the castle, even with my aid, in a way which would enable me to avoid all suspicion of complicity. The best I can do is to arrange matters so that it appears that you have escaped. My record is so good that no-one will hold the escape of one prisoner against me; but your friends must remain and the report about them will have to go in tomorrow morning through the usual channels. If you can reach Voroshilov within a week or ten days and get an order for your friend’s release, with permission for all of you to leave the country, you’ll have cheated the Gestapo. If not, your friends must take their chance.”

  Gregory was thinking swiftly. Nothing would have induced him to desert his friends in ordinary circumstances but if he could get away himself it would at least offer him some chance to save them; and—above all—there was the typescript. That must be put before everything. He nodded slowly.

  “In that case it’s imperative that I should get to Voroshilov’s headquarters at the earliest possible moment. I can’t speak Russian and I may have difficulty with the railway people. Are you willing to throw in a railway voucher for my journey, faked in any name you like?”

  “Yes, I’ll do that.” The General moved towards the door again.

  “All right. That’s a deal, and I’m eternally grateful to you.”

  Gregory removed his boots and took out all his bank-notes except five hundred German Reichmarks. The General was away about a quarter of an hour and when he returned he was carrying Gregory’s furs as well as the railway voucher.

  The money was changed and the voucher handed over. Kuporovitch said that he had made it out for a mythical Vassily Stetin and that it was signed by Imitroff, one of his clerks whose name he had forged; but as the man was in hospital even if the paper were ever traced the clerk could not be held responsible for its issue and it would be impossible to find out who had forged his signature.

  Gregory drew on his furs and said: “I’ll just go along and tell the others what I propose to do; so that they’ll know what’s happened to me and at least have something on which to pin their hopes during the coming week.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” The Russian shook his head. “Oggie will question them all tomorrow and I’m not going to risk their giving anything away. They mustn’t know that I’ve had any hand in this, or even that you’ve escaped until they learn it for themselves. That’s why I collected your furs from your room on my way back from the office.”

  It was a bitter blow to Gregory that he had to leave without even being able to say good-bye to Erika and the others but he saw the soundness of Kuporovitch’s dictum.

  “Very well,” he said reluctantly. I’d better get off, then. But I shall want the Russian for ‘railway-station’, in case I get lost in the town, and the name of the place at which I’m most likely to find Voroshilov.”

  “‘Railway-station’ is Vogzal Borzair” replied the General, and went on: “The Supreme Command is at Nykyrka, in captured Finnish territory, on the south of the Isthmus. Would you like one for the road?”

  “Thanks.” Gregory nodded, so they moved over to the sideboard to empty the remains of a bottle of vodka into glasses.

  “Good luck, mon cher Baron!” The Soviet General winked.

  “Good luck—and a thousand thanks, Comrade General,” the impostor Nazi Colonel smiled back, and they emptied the glasses.

  Outside on the landing it seemed that the whole of the ancient castle was sunk in grim, foreboding silence. No sentries were about and although they trod as softly as they could their footfalls echoed on the stone steps of
the grand staircase. Down on the ground-floor the General turned along a narrow passage. At its end he produced a large bunch of keys, shone a torch and unlocked a door; then they tiptoed down two more long, chill corridors till they reached a heavy postern. The bolts creaked a little as they drew them back, but no other sound disturbed the stillness. Kuporovitch unlocked the door with another large key and swung it open as he put out his torch; the cold, night air struck their faces.

  As Gregory stepped out into the snow the Russian said: “Keep along this wall as far as the corner then turn left for a hundred paces; that will take you past the sentry. Ahead of you, you will find a shed that is used as a wood store. If you get on to its roof you’ll be able to climb to the top of the outer wall of the castle. It’s a nasty drop—about twenty feet—but the snow will break your fall. Go straight ahead again and youll reach the nearest buildings of the town.”

  Gregory gripped his hand and slipped away into the darkness. He was free again; but he had only seven days—or ten at the most—to save his friends from being sent back into Nazi Germany to face a Gestapo execution squad.

  It was nearly five o’clock in the morning so the moon had set and he was almost invisible against the blackness of the castle. Gaining the corner he paused for a moment to peer ahead in case the sentry was patrolling there; but he could detect no trace of movement in the shadows so turned left and crossed the open space. The store of wood had overflowed and at one side of the shed was a great heap of logs which made an easy way up to its roof; but as he scrambled up the pile some of the loosely-stacked logs rumbled down under his feet. Fearing that the noise, which sounded like hammer-blows in the silence, might attract the attention of the sentry he crouched on the roof’s edge for a moment holding his breath.

  Nothing stirred so he pulled himself up to the apex of the roof and, by balancing himself upon it, found that he was just able to grasp the edge of the castle wall. With a heave he wriggled up on to its broad surface and lay there, flat, so that even in the dim light his silhouette would not be conspicuous against the fainter darkness of the sky-line. The next stage was a tricky one, as twenty feet is a nasty height from which to have to drop. Had there been no snow on the ground he would have had to risk injuring himself seriously and, even as it was, he feared that if he let himself drop feet-first he might break a leg, which would put an inglorious finish to his enterprise. But Gregory was an old escaper and knew a trick or two. Wrapping his arms round his head to protect his face he just rolled off the wall. The act required much more courage than jumping but it distributed his weight over a greater surface. He struck the snow full-length and suffered no ill effects apart from a hard jolt as his body buried itself in the soft cushion of whiteness.