In the faint light she saw that Grauber was already sitting in it dressed for a journey. He was wearing his eagle-crested peaked cap, instead of the fur papenka that he had worn on his visits to her hut, but he had a fur coat over his uniform and its collar was turned up round his ears to protect him from the cold. A Russian soldier was driving the sleigh and another sat on the box beside him. When she got in Grauber grunted at her as he moved over a little to make room, and the sleigh drove off.
Once it was clear of the wood it turned south. A few miles further, having reached the coast-line, it left the shore and drove on, continuing in the same direction over the ice. Erika roused herself for a moment to wonder if they were taking a short cut to the nearest railway-station by crossing a big bay; but she was so cold and utterly wretched that she no longer cared. Grauber, hunched up in his furs beside her, had gone to sleep and, having been roused so early, she tried to follow his example.
A bitter wind was blowing and it was still dark when, after two hours’ driving, they reached a break in the ice beyond which blue water could be faintly seen. The sleigh halted and, getting out, Grauber began to flash a torch. His signal was answered. A quarter of an hour elapsed and the sound of oars splashing in the water became perceptible; then a boat drew up alongside the edge of the ice.
Grauber motioned to her to get into the boat and she obeyed while he turned back to talk to the two soldiers for a few minutes. She noticed that in comradely Russian fashion he shook hands with them before he joined her. The boat pushed off and they were rowed away through the gloomy dawn light to a small tramp steamer which was standing out about half a mile away in the bay where the ice had melted. Some sailors helped Erika up the ladder and Grauber followed her. The boat was hoisted in and the ship’s engines began to turn over.
Erika had already guessed what was happening. Now that the ice in the Baltic was breaking up it would be quicker and more comfortable to go down by ship to Danzig than to spend two nights sitting up in a railway-carriage on a journey through Russia and Poland. Grauber was standing beside her on the deck as she watched the icy shore of mutilated Finland recede. Suddenly she felt him put his arm through hers and the voice she loved more than anything else in the world said:
“Take it easy, darling.”
She swung round with a half-strangled cry. Her companion had taken off his uniform cap and removed the black eye-shade. Next moment she was in Gregory’s arms.
“But how—how did you do it?” she gasped between her sobs of joy when at last he released her.
His old, wide smile lit up his lean, strong face. “I was a day too late when I arrived at Kandalaksha and I reached there in a raging fever that held me up for three days; but I left again on Monday evening. When I heard the Gestapo had sent a plane to fetch you I felt certain that must have been Grauber’s work so I hurried back to Voroshilov’s headquarters. Von Geisenheim told me what had happened and we planned this coup directly I got in last night.”
He paused to kiss the red weal that ran across her cheek, where Grauber had struck her the day before, then hurried on: “I already had Voroshilov’s order for your release and when I half-murdered Grauber a week ago I took everything of his that I thought might be useful to me, including his uniform and his eye-patch. With the patch and the bandages he had been wearing it wasn’t difficult to get myself up well enough to pass for him in the darkness. The two soldiers on the sleigh were grand fellows who had accompanied me to Kandalaksha and back; but I didn’t dare to let you know about my imposture in front of them, because they both speak German.”
“But the ship, darling—how did you manage to get a ship? And where are we going?”
“We’re going to Norway first, as this is a Norwegian vessel. If only Hitler hasn’t walked into it before we get there. You remember the plan. And now the Finnish business is settled Denmark and Norway are the next on the list.”
“Angela and Freddie!” Erika exclaimed. “They were taken away just a week after you left. D’you know what’s happened to them?”
“They’re all right, my sweet. When I first came South I saw the British Vice-Consul in Leningrad and fixed things up with him. No-one will ever know who shot those soldiers in Petsamo so the Russians have nothing against Angela or Freddie and the Consul was going to arrange for the British Embassy to demand their release. It came off all right, too, as Kuporovitch told me when I got back to Kandalaksha. A junior secretary from the British Embassy was sent up there to fetch them, so they’re on their way home to a grand honeymoon now.”
“Oh, bless them. And you’ll be able to get the typescript to London if only we reach Norway safely.”
He laughed. “It’s been in the hands of the British Government for days. I told the whole story to the Vice-Consul in Leningrad, wrote a letter explaining matters to my old friend Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust and swore an affidavit as to how that poisonous plan to brand the Nazi Swastika on every state in Europe, one by one, had come into my possession. He saw at once how damnably dangerous and subtle the whole scheme was and, although he’s not supposed to do such things, he agreed to take it himself to Moscow so that it could be flown home in one of the Embassy bags. That was much quicker than my trying to take it myself, and so much more certain.”
“But the ship, darling—how did you get the ship?”
Gregory turned to a fur-clad figure that had been standing near them. “You remember our old friend, General Kuporovitch? We left his little friend Oggie locked in a grain store that’s only opened once a week; then the General and I came South together. When we reached Leningrad yesterday afternoon I passed over to him my passport as von Lutz and Voroshilov’s order. With the order, and his new identity as the Colonel-Baron, he was able to go out to Kronstadt Bay, where the ice is breaking up, and arrange for the Norwegian captain of this ship to steam out and lie off here till we could join him.”
Kuporovitch kissed Erika’s hand. “Madame la Comtesse!” he murmured. “This Gregory of yours is a man in a million and between us we are ten thousand devils. It is I who have left prison and I feel young for the first time in twenty years. How marvellous it will be to see Faris again. The three of us together, eh? We must celebrate our freedom there for at least a month.”
Erika shook her head. “You’ve forgotten, General, that I’m German. I can’t go to either of the Allied countries before the war is over, since I won’t go as a refugee. I’m afraid you’ll both have to leave me in Norway.”
“Perhaps,” Gregory said thoughtfully; “but Norway won’t be safe for very long. We three know that; and we know, too, that the Allied Governments won’t make a patched-up peace after they’ve seen Goering’s typescript. But each time Hitler is compelled to break away from the plan and lash out in a new direction through the pressure of the German people, whom he cannot hold unless he redeems his promise to them of speedy victories, he will weaken himself. Norway, Denmark, Holland, Belgium and the rest—each will take its toll of German lives, planes, steel and petrol. Even if Hitler succeeds in overrunning them he will have to police them afterwards and tie up hundreds of thousands of men to keep them under, just as he has already had to do in Austria, Czechoslovakia and Poland. In the meantime, just as in the last war, the British and French War Cabinets will be reconstructed to bring in more forceful elements, and while Germany exhausts herself the might of the Allies will constantly increase, until under the leadership of Churchill, perhaps, since he is the most dynamic and inveterate enemy the Germans ever had, the full, colossal power of the Free Peoples will stem the Nazi tide of conquest. Once that happens, Hitler’s edifice will go to pieces like a house of cards; so the war may be over much sooner than people think.”
“Then perhaps we’ll be able to celebrate together in Paris by the Spring.” Kuporovitch wafted an ironic kiss from his gloved finger-tips to the fading, icy shore of the new territories just acquired at such appalling cost by the Union of Soviet ‘Slave’ Republics and rolled the words round his tongue.
“Ah! Paris in the Spring!”
“Yes,” said Gregory. “Or Berlin.”
A Note on the Author
DENNIS WHEATLEY
Dennis Wheatley (1897 – 1977) was an English author whose prolific output of stylish thrillers and occult novels made him one of the world's best-selling writers from the 1930s through the 1960s.
Wheatley was the eldest of three children, and his parents were the owners of Wheatley & Son of Mayfair, a wine business. He admitted to little aptitude for schooling, and was expelled from Dulwich College, London. In 1919 he assumed management of the family wine business but in 1931, after a decline in business due to the depression, he began writing.
His first book, The Forbidden Territory, became a bestseller overnight, and since then his books have sold over 50 million copies worldwide. During the 1960s, his publishers sold one million copies of Wheatley titles per year, and his Gregory Sallust series was one of the main inspirations for Ian Fleming's James Bond stories.
During the Second World War, Wheatley was a member of the London Controlling Section, which secretly coordinated strategic military deception and cover plans. His literary talents gained him employment with planning staffs for the War Office. He wrote numerous papers for the War Office, including suggestions for dealing with a German invasion of Britain.
Dennis Wheatley died on 11th November 1977. During his life he wrote over 70 books and sold over 50 million copies.
Discover books by Dennis Wheatley published by Bloomsbury Reader at
www.bloomsbury.com/DennisWheatley
Duke de Richleau
The Forbidden Territory
The Devil Rides Out
The Golden Spaniard
Three Inquisitive People
Strange Conflict
Codeword Golden Fleece
The Second Seal
The Prisoner in the Mask
Vendetta in Spain
Dangerous Inheritance
Gateway to Hell
Gregory Sallust
Black August
Contraband
The Scarlet Impostor
Faked Passports
The Black Baroness
V for Vengeance
Come into My Parlour
The Island Where Time Stands Still
Traitors' Gate
They Used Dark Forces
The White Witch of the South Seas
Julian Day
The Quest of Julian Day
The Sword of Fate
Bill for the Use of a Body
Roger Brook
The Launching of Roger Brook
The Shadow of Tyburn Tree
The Rising Storm
The Man Who Killed the King
The Dark Secret of Josephine
The Rape of Venice
The Sultan's Daughter
The Wanton Princess
Evil in a Mask
The Ravishing of Lady Mary Ware
The Irish Witch
Desperate Measures
Molly Fountain
To the Devil a Daughter
The Satanist
Lost World
They Found Atlantis
Uncharted Seas
The Man Who Missed the War
Espionage
Mayhem in Greece
The Eunuch of Stamboul
The Fabulous Valley
The Strange Story of Linda Lee
Such Power is Dangerous
The Secret War
Science Fiction
Sixty Days to Live
Star of Ill-Omen
Black Magic
The Haunting of Toby Jugg
The KA of Gifford Hillary
Unholy Crusade
Short Stories
Mediterranean Nights
Gunmen, Gallants and Ghosts
This electronic edition published in 2013 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square,
London WC1B 3DP
First published in 1940 by Heron Books Ltd.
Copyright © 1940 Dennis Wheatley
All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise
make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means
(including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying,
printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the
publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
The moral right of the author is asserted.
eISBN: 9781448212736
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Faked Passports Page 51