by Rik Stone
Pavel had run behind Jez with Afanasiy’s ID card tucked into the palm of his hand. Now he held it up. “KGB!” he shouted. “We need a ride.”
Jez raced harder and reached out a hand. The soldier put his weapon aside and helped pull him aboard.
“Thank you, soldier. You’re a lifesaver,” he said.
Pavel had marked time waiting for Jez and without help, climbed the steps onto the platform. “Still not back to full fitness, Jez,” he beamed as he went into the boxcar, hardly drawing breath.
“Hmm!”
The guard asked their business and Jez told him as much as would be generally known about the assault on the Gulag. They ate and established themselves with a little friendly banter and then settled in for the long haul.
Chapter 15
Marmaris, Turkey
“Come, Anton, back into the aft cabin where you can’t get up to anything,” Yuri said, guiding the bodyguard from the saloon.
“Yes, sir, you don’t need worry about me. You won’t even know I’m in there.” He looked to Anna. She smiled, nodded, and patted his back as he went into the cabin. Yuri locked the door and went to the lower helm and ignited the engines. Anna climbed the steps to the flybridge and began her vigil of the shoreline while Great White eased away from the pontoon’s hammerhead. Mehmet stowed ropes and fenders, and joined her.
“Anton might be slow,” she said, “but his information was spot on. Over there, Borislav is overseeing those men carrying small bales. That will be the Semtex going onto the boat and the heroin coming off.”
She watched until they had finished with the loads. The men then secured the truck’s tailgate, drew the tarpaulin flaps together, nodded to Borislav, jumped into the cab, and drove off. Borislav stood and watched the truck leave the quayside.
“The truck will drop off its load at the clubs before going back to Russia. Tell Yuri to turn around so we can make sure they stick to their routine, Mehmet.”
But Yuri had already started the maneuver before Mehmet had got to his feet. “I think Yuri knows what he should be doing,” he said, plopping comfortably back.
A Hasidic Jewish man came into view on the deck of the gulet; or at least, he was dressed like a Hasidic Jew. He stepped onto the quay and started speaking with Borislav; most of the conversation was carried out with his hands, until finally, he used them to pat Borislav on the shoulder. Borislav nodded agreeably and then climbed into the driving seat of a black saloon and drove off in the opposite direction to that of the truck. The Hasid boarded the gulet.
Since Yuri had turned the boat, Anna and Mehmet had pretended to be working on deck. Now, Anna looked directly at the Jewish man. Midsize, rotund, and in this heat, overdressed, his long ringlets hung from under a black fedora hat and framed the sides of a full face before disappearing into a huge, unkempt-looking beard. A long black frock coat hung open and was pushed away from his body by overindulgence.
“He’s a difficult one to put an age on,” she said. “The way he dresses makes him look old, but I’m not so sure.”
“What I can see of his hair, it’s thick and black … not so old.”
Anna felt baffled. “I wish Jez was here; he’s Jewish and could maybe better rationalize things. But for me, the Hasid is an uncomfortable fit in this setup.” She shrugged and then pulled at the short sleeve of Mehmet’s T-shirt. “We should get going.”
She went down into the saloon and nodded to Yuri. He smiled and veered Great White slowly towards a water taxi tied to a buoy in the middle of the inlet. Anna leaned over the side of the boat.
“I need a ride ashore,” she shouted to the boatman.
“The reason I am eating out here is so no one can bother me,” he responded, as he pushed Baklava into his face. “Leave me alone.”
“I’ll pay double,” she called.
He put the food aside and fired up the boat’s diesel engine in an instant. Pulling closer alongside, Anna jumped aboard and Mehmet followed. The little boat rocked furiously under the displacement and the boatman cursed under his breath, but then smiled sweetly and steered the boat across the bay. The Hasidic had started his engine and jumped onto the jetty to release ropes from cleats. He climbed back onboard, picked up a boathook and pushed away from the quayside. He was the only crew and quick to return to the helm to take control of the moving vessel. The gullet got underway and passed the water taxi as it went. Breakers rocked the little water taxi and the Hasid waved apologetically before sailing on and out of the inlet into the open sea. Yuri followed in the gulet’s wake.
“Well,” Anna said, shaking her head.
Mehmet raised his eyebrows. “Yes, I’ve lived in Istanbul for a big part of my life and seen all sorts of religious men doing things out of the ordinary. But I must admit I’ve never seen a Hasid at the helm of a gullet.”
The water taxi bumped to a stop against the jetty. Yuri had arranged with Adam for a car to be left on the wharf and it was there as expected. Unfortunately, so was Sergeant Kudret. He walked around the vehicle giving it the once over.
Mehmet said, “Adam has supplied too nice a car and Kudret is window shopping; hope he doesn’t notice the keys in the ignition.”
Anna went into an alley opposite and watched until Kudret got bored. When he did, he pointed his face skyward, linked hands behind his back, and strolled off full of his own importance. A wave of revulsion coursed through her. “Arrogant bastard,” she said as Mehmet came over to join her. “His time will come … never mind that; we have to pick up on Borislav’s trail.”
Mehmet said, “I think you should drive. I keep bumping into things when I’m at the wheel.”
Anna laughed. “Yes and your shooting isn’t that much better.”
She knew Mehmet was quite aware of how lousy a shot he was, but he still screwed his face into a sarcastic wince. “Very funny.”
She smiled serenely. “Okay, Anton said Borislav would leave his car near the railway station northwest of Icmeler and take the train to Istanbul, so that’s our first stop.”
Borislav’s car was at the station where Anton said it would be, so they bought tickets to Istanbul and sneaked onto the platform. Borislav stood overlooking the track, swiveling his head nervously. They kept out of sight for an hour or so until the train pulled in: three carriages; Borislav chose the one at the front.
“Come on,” Anna said. “We’ll take the rear car.”
Chapter 16
Moscow, Russia
Michel had vowed to unearth Irishka’s corruption himself and God knows he had tried, but for days he had fingered his way through his files … nothing. He knew the man was crooked, but every piece of paperwork he had looked at suggested otherwise. And, with Michel being directorate responsible for security, there weren’t files anywhere that he hadn’t access to – no matter the subject of investigation. Even the damned General Secretary of the Committee: the Soviet leader himself.
He threw yet another folder onto the pile next to the desk. His fingers moved frantically, drummed on the desk’s red leather inset. Every document in the Lubyanka building and Kremlin with Irishka’s name on it had been retrieved and checked. But he wasn’t going to get away with the murders at the Gulag; Michel would nail him if it was the last thing he did. The vein on his temple throbbed until his attention was seized by his temporary aide, knocking and entering.
“I have Sergeants Afanasiy and Anchova to see you, sir.”
“Sergeants? Why do sergeants want to see me? Do they have an appointment?”
“No appointment, sir, and they didn’t give reason why they should want to see you. But they’re from the Smersh division of KGB, so I thought–”
This wasn’t a good day and a couple of snoops from Smersh wouldn’t help. He sighed while interrupting his aide. “Very well. Send them in.”
The aide left the office and two short, rather squat men entered. Michel sat back and stared at them. Suddenly his mood lifted, or at least was diverted from the woes of his task. There
was something quite amusing about these two. Dressed the same from head to foot, they even wore identical pebble glasses. They had round faces with stern expressions, almost theatrical. However, one had a heavily bandaged ear, so they weren’t exactly alike. Suddenly the drudgery and defeat of the previous days fell away and laughter forced up from his stomach, but he managed to hold it to a smile.
“What can I do for you, Sergeant …?”
“Anchova, sir,” one answered in a whisper. “We’re in the middle of an investigation and thought it might be appropriate to talk with you about one of its aspects.”
“Oh,” Michel said, the mirth fading. “And what aspect would that be?”
“We’ve just returned from Vorkuta. We were tasked to look into this Chechen rebel situation.”
Michel felt his eyebrows push upward and furrow his brow. “And you need to talk to me about that?”
“Yes, sir. While we were there we were overpowered by two men. We believe they were the same men who escaped the Gulag.”
“And you think I can clarify that situation?” Did these idiots have any idea who they were talking to? Still, it was slightly worrying; maybe they knew something that could be detrimental to him.
“I hope so, General. Last year, we were tasked with interrogating a man about flesh trafficking and murder. He was a Spetsnaz lieutenant temporarily working with Osnaz, a Lieutenant Kornfeld.”
Michel involuntarily sat forward, surprised. They did know something!
“The thing is, General, we feel sure one of the men who captured us in Vorkuta was Kornfeld. Everything about him looked the same. But Kornfeld was pronounced dead last year after being brought down by KGB guards.”
“The suspense is killing me, Sergeant. Where is this going?” … And what do you know?
“Well, sir,” Anchova said, his whisper suddenly faltering as if just realizing where this was going. “Er, well, because the files say you had Kornfeld under your wing at one time. It was you who was there with the medics and you who verified his death.”
Sheer relief swamped Michel, nothing to worry about there. “Oh, right, now I’m with you. But first let me ask you a question … Do you know who you work for?”
The sergeants looked at each other. “Of course, yes, General,” Anchova replied. “We are under the command of Captain Bukosky.”
“No, no, I mean do you know who heads your department?”
They shuffled and the one who hadn’t yet spoken pinked to a healthy glow. He put a hand on his partner’s forearm and, taking command of the situation, answered from the deeper end of the vocal scale, his thick, graveled words coming out slow and precise. “You do, General Petrichova, we know, but we need to find out–”
“Stop right there, soldier, before you dig a hole so deep you’ll burrow all the way to Siberia.”
The sergeants took a step back and pulled themselves further to attention, the former stern faces veiled in nervousness.
Michel’s voice rumbled from deep inside. “Just to assist you with a little training you seem to have missed along the way, let me tell you something. You don’t come barging into the office of an officer to which your low rank does not even permit you to speak. If you do have business with such an officer, you take it up with your line commander and he or she will deem whether it’s necessary to take further action. If that action is deemed necessary then they would take it to their line commander and so on until an acceptable level of rank has been reached for someone to talk with the person in question – in this case, me.”
Michel stood from his chair, walked around the desk, and towered over the men, giving them the most menacing face he could muster. “You do not, without any foundation other than you saw a man who looked like somebody from your past, come into your supreme commander’s office and accuse him of some sort of cover up. Am I getting through to you?” His words bellowed and both little men looked like they were trapped in a wind tunnel.
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Afanasiy answered, proving he could speak soprano if he wanted to.
But then the possibility that their line commander might be another of Irishka’s people dawned on Michel. “I presume Captain Bukosky gave you this task?”
They shuffled around in unison. “No, General, he didn’t.”
Michel laughed and showed them an amazed face. “No! What do you mean, no? Are you telling me you decided to take this duty upon yourselves?”
“No, sir, we were taken to one side by a high-ranking officer in the Kremlin. He gave us the duty. And he ordered us to keep it covert no matter what happened.”
The light came on. He had his answer but wanted to hear one of them say it. “Covert? So this means you’re refusing to tell the directorate of the Federal Security Services, the commander you work for, who this officer is?”
The Smersh sergeants immediately capitulated and gave Michel the outline of what General Irishka’s orders had been. Michel came close to feeling sympathy for the little men, their backs had been well and truly pinned against the wall, but he had no intention of showing them any weakness. He sat down.
“I don’t believe any of the questions you came in with justify an answer from me. I’m going to put this episode down to you being misled by someone who has no authority within our security system and even less right to give you duties. But for that very reason, you should’ve known better. You should have taken it to your line commander.” He was quiet for a moment and then told them, “I want you to go to Captain Bukosky now and tell him about our discussion, including what you’ve told me about Irishka. My aide will follow up to make sure the right corrective actions have been taken. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Anchova said, and the little men looked like their world had just been dismantled.
“Before you go, tell me, what happened to your ear?”
“The one who looked like Kornfeld, sir, he sliced a piece of it off with a knife.”
“Nasty.” Michel nodded. “That will be all.” They turned and left.
The door closed and Michel sat back in his red, leather-bound chair. He put both hands out onto the desktop and laughed as he drummed his fingers gently. His intuition that Jez and Pavel were spared had just been endorsed. He turned to the pile of folders on the floor next to the desk and decided to start again.
Chapter 17
Perm District, Russia
“You’ve looked after us well, Comrade,” Jez said to the young carriage guard as they warmed their hands over the stove. “And you’ve shared your meager rations. If I can be of help to you, just ask.”
“Well, if you have any sway that will get me out of this godforsaken wilderness and back to Moscow …” The boy laughed, but Jez gave serious thought to the request. If Michel was still alive, he would listen. “I’ll see what I can do. Give me your full name and unit details.”
The boy eagerly scribbled out the information, but his embarrassment for having asked was clear. He handed the piece of paper to Jez and made an excuse of having to check something out with the engine driver. Pavel just smiled and raised his eyebrows as the young soldier left the carriage and began climbing over the wagons.
“We’ve covered a fair bit of ground and won’t be far from Perm City,” he said.
“Yes, and that’s where we’ll pick up the Trans-Siberian Express, but we can’t ride in on this train. If our little investigators are smart enough they will have worked out that this route was one of our options.”
Pavel rubbed fingers through his ever-thickening beard. “Right, let’s think of a story for the guard. It should be a tale that might wrong-foot our pursuers if our young friend is later questioned. To make sense of it, we should jump the boxcar before getting to the city.”
They sat quietly until the guard returned. He had obviously been discussing his pending transfer with the engine driver and couldn’t keep the smile from his face. He began singing the ‘Song of the Volga Boatmen’ under his breath as he stoked the wood-burning stove, put a kettl
e of water on the top plate, and threw a spoonful of coffee into each of three tin mugs.
Jez looked at Pavel and they grinned.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this, I know,” Jez said to the boy, “but we have information suggesting Chechen rebels have a cell in Berezniki.” Berezniki was the second largest city in the Perm province and lay about one hundred kilometers north of Perm City.
The soldier beamed. “That’s lucky. The wagon train goes there from Perm. In fact, most of the coal we have is fuel for the factories there.”
“Yes, no doubt, but we’ll be jumping off even before we reach Perm. The Chechens on the run from the Gulag are on their way to Berezniki. And a cell is believed to be operating in Perm. If that is right, they will be watching the depot where this train stops. The Chechens in Perm know us from previous investigations, so we don’t want to be seen in the district, otherwise they’ll know we’re onto them. We need to choose the right place to get off, so, in case we have to make a quick departure, I will thank you once more for your hospitality. Oh, and I will speak with my contacts about a transfer.” Jez embraced the guard.
Pavel patted the young soldier’s shoulder. “Take care, Comrade. I hope things turn out well for you.”
The guard was quick to slurp back his coffee and leave for the front of the train again. Quiet time passed, the rolling stock slowed, and Pavel went out and leaned over the rail. “The train is rounding a bend and the track disappears into an old birch forest. This will be a good place to jump,” he said and nudged Jez, who had followed him out.
Pavel threw his backpack and rifle off the train, jumped off after it, and hit terra firma running. Jez, on the other hand, jumped off after his belongings, but his leading leg buckled as his foot twisted on a sleeper. He stumbled forward and his heart banged out against the inner walls of his chest; if he fractured a leg or ankle, the task would be over. Adding to his woes, the virgin snow gave way under his feet, he crashed down the embankment, and jolted to a stop as he smashed into a birch. Snow was released from branches and he found himself almost buried in the stuff.