Road of Bones

by James R Benn

  “I think Lieutenant Nikolin is very glad to be back and to have survived,” she said. “I think this document could send him back to the penal detachment, since it contradicts his most recent story. I also think you would not wish that.”

  “Not on anyone. I’m simply asking your opinion. Is that the general’s signature, or a forgery?”

  “Very well,” Maiya said, glancing around to see who was watching. A trio of Russians walked down the road, all enlisted men carrying shovels and chattering away with each other. She laid the order on top of her files and smoothed it out, squinting as she studied the scrawled name on the signature line.

  “Yes, I think so,” she finally declared. “But the general is a busy man, and often his signature is rushed. Like this. Do you see?” I did. Belov could’ve had a career as a doctor.

  “You’re not one hundred percent sure?”

  “No, not with certainty. If you are going to reveal this, it would be terrible for Vanya. Are you?” she asked as she handed it back.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “My main concern is whether or not General Belov signed it.”

  “If I had to give an answer, I would say yes. But I could be wrong. Someone could have left this for you to find with a forged signature. It is all very confusing, isn’t it?”

  “That it is. Do you know where Major Black is? I wanted to say goodbye before he left.”

  “He is in his quarters,” Maiya said, with the hint of a grin, this one genuine. “No one is supposed to know he is leaving. Security is very important, Captain, even this far behind the lines. Now I must go, General Belov needs these reports.”

  That was my minute with Maiya. She was right about Nikolin, of course. I could use this order to shake things up, but it would only put him behind the eight ball without accomplishing anything. Belov could deny it was his, true or not.

  “Nothing,” I said as I got back into the jeep. “Maiya said it looked like Belov’s handwriting but she couldn’t be sure.” I told them about her concerns for Nikolin.

  “The only thing more horrifying than being sent to a penal company would be going back to a penal company,” Sidorov said, starting the jeep. “She raises a valid concern, if we wish no harm to befall the young lieutenant.”

  Sidorov tore out into the road, passing a truck, and careening back into the right lane where he scattered another group of shovel-wielding soldiers. I wished for no harm to come to me.

  “Digging more slit trenches, I’ve been told,” Kaz shouted, holding onto his cap.

  “Belov must have been embarrassed by the display last night. The false alarm, the wild firing, and the insufficient protections. I pity those poor boys, they’ll be digging all day,” Sidorov said, accelerating on a straightaway before skidding to a halt outside the apartment building where Black was housed.

  “Good luck, Captain,” Kaz said, straightening his cap and smoothing out his uniform jacket.

  “And the same to you both,” Sidorov said. “Do your best to get Major Black to confess, will you? He is my best hope.” With that he gunned the engine and zoomed down the road.

  “Are you warming up to our Russian colleague?” I asked Kaz as we took the steps to the main entrance. “You’ve gone from the cold shoulder to a bon voyage.”

  “There is no reason I should not wish him well, given he is working with us, in good faith, as far as it goes,” Kaz said, opening the door.

  “Meaning you don’t trust him?”

  “I trust he will do his best not to be sent back to the labor camps,” Kaz said, “as any sane man would do. But as much as I hesitate to say it, he does have a certain charm. For a Bolshevik murderer.”

  “Well, let’s see if an American will make a voluntary confession,” I said, rapping on Black’s door.

  “I wonder if it will make any difference?” Kaz said, his voice low as if he was talking to himself. The way they ran this country, maybe not.

  “Come in,” Black shouted from inside. Pretty trusting of him, since the knock could be from one of the heavies who’d pressured him. I opened the door and saw why he hadn’t been worried. Black was seated at a table, a Colt .45 in one hand. On the table in front of him was a disassembled Thompson submachine gun.

  “Hello, fellas,” he said. “You caught me on cleaning day. Have a seat.”

  “We figured you’d be on your way to parts undisclosed by now,” I said, pulling out a chair and inhaling the heady aroma of gun oil.

  “All I can say is I won’t be here for long,” Black said, wiping down the automatic and inserting the magazine. “Please don’t mention Bulgaria, okay?”

  “Everyone seems to know,” Kaz said, dusting the seat off with his handkerchief before sitting.

  “I know. Which is why I’m tired of hearing about it,” Black said. “Is this a social call or what?”

  “We wanted to wish you a bon voyage,” Kaz said. “If you are in Sofia, be sure to visit the Boyana Church. The medieval frescoes are magnificent.”

  “I’ll send you a postcard,” Black said, setting the Colt down and beginning to assemble the Thompson. “Now cut to the chase or amscray.”

  “I do hope your Bulgarian is as fluent as your pig Latin,” Kaz said.

  “I never said I was going to Bulgaria, dammit,” Black said, slamming down the gun’s receiver. “What is it you want from me?” Now he was getting testy, just the way I liked my interrogation subjects. Mad and not thinking straight.

  “I want to know what it was like, watching Kopelev and Morris get it,” I said.

  “It must have been horrible,” Kaz said, shaking his head in sympathy.

  “Did they make you clean up the blood?” I asked.

  “You’re nuts,” Black said, rubbing down the receiver with an oily rag. “Are you accusing me?”

  “Of being a patsy, yes,” I said. “What was in those crates you authorized for shipment to Tehran? I thought materials came from Iran, not to it.”

  “Apparently you never heard of reverse Lend-Lease,” Black said, sitting back and staring at me. “Chromium ore, manganese ore, tin, it all gets shipped from the Soviet Union to the States, along with other supplies.”

  “Are you saying those crates contained ore?” Kaz asked.

  “No, I’ve got nothing to say about any supposed crates, except that anything sent from here under my signature is top secret OSS business,” Black said, going back to assembling the tommy gun.

  “I bet you don’t even know,” I said. “You weren’t important enough to know. They used you for your signature and your top secret clearance.”

  “Who is they?” Black demanded, putting the bolt and the receiver together, each metallic click and clack bringing him closer to ramming the magazine home and facing us with a whole lot of firepower. “And what is it you think I did? Kill those two guys, or watch ’em get it?”

  “I don’t think you killed them,” I said. “I think they were killed because they wouldn’t go along with the scheme, and someone needed to pressure you. It worked, didn’t it?”

  “They. Someone. You keep using words that only tell me you have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s a fantasy, Boyle, and fantasies are dangerous. Mark my words,” Black said, screwing the rear grip into place.

  “Speaking of danger, watch out when you and Major Drozdov get to Bulgaria. Anything can happen there, it is a strange place,” Kaz said.

  “Drozdov?” Black laughed. “Why would I worry about him? Now I’ve got things to do. Get out and take your crazy accusations with you.”

  “Don’t say we didn’t warn you,” Kaz told him as we got up to leave. “Deep in the Bulgarian forest you will come across the lamya, a female dragon with three dog-like heads. Quite ferocious. Be careful of her.”

  “Know what’s even more horrifying than that? A man who pushes heroin while wearing the uniform,”
I said, anger overtaking me. I grabbed the edge of the table and threw it against the wall, scattering magazines and parts of the Thompson across the floor.

  Black pushed his chair back, scooping up the Colt from the floor.

  “Leave it,” Kaz said, his Webley out in a flash and leveled at Black’s head. “Or not, as you wish.”

  “I ought to have you court-martialed, both of you,” Black snarled, his hand moving away from the pistol. “Get out.”

  “Our pleasure,” I said. “It stinks in here.”

  “That was amusing,” Kaz said as we exited the building, one eye on the windows in case Black got any idea about potshots. “He seems fairly confident, doesn’t he?”

  “He sounds like a man happy to be leaving Poltava,” I said, “even if it means braving the lamya in the forests of Bulgaria.”

  “He readily dismissed the notion of Drozdov as a danger to him,” Kaz said as we walked back to Operations. “His bravado may have been a front, but that was a spontaneous reaction.”

  “Well, I don’t think it was a front. He was genuinely glad to be getting out Russia. Maybe he’s just a gung ho OSS agent, or maybe he can’t wait to put a threat behind him. But I agree about Drozdov,” I said. “There was no hesitation, no telltale glance, no fidgeting. He went straight to the denial as if the idea was ludicrous.”

  “Perhaps he is simply an excellent liar,” Kaz said as a column of trucks lumbered by. “An OSS agent should be, I would think.”

  “Even a good liar can reveal things,” I said. “My dad always claimed he could spot a lie by a suspect glancing around the room, as if searching for the truth. Or if they hid their hands. Me, I find it easier to spot the truth, and that comment about Drozdov was effortless on his part. He was being honest.”

  “We shall see, when we present our Tehran proposal to Major Drozdov,” Kaz said. “Although the paranoia of an NKVD man might prevent him from thinking straight.”

  “I’m counting on that paranoia,” I said. “He should be happy to wave goodbye to us. Two fewer Westerners to worry about.”

  “Do you think he will approve Sidorov’s departure with us?” Kaz asked as we hustled across the street toward Operations.

  “No. Not their style. I have no idea what they’ll do with him.” Actually I did. It wasn’t good.

  We checked in with Bull to see if he had any dope on Black’s mission. He didn’t. The OSS played things close to the chest, although he’d heard rumors Black and Drozdov would be heading out soon. Bulgaria, unless that was a cover story. I said I didn’t think Black was that crafty, and he laughed, right before he told us to get out and nail the killer before Joe Stalin got impatient.

  “I thought it was our own military mission breathing down your back,” I said. “The Russians too?”

  “Not as bad as Major General John Deane,” Bull said. “He’s in charge of the US Military Mission and he’s none too happy right now. About anything. This incident is making everyone nervous at a critical time.”

  “Please, additional pressure is so interesting,” Kaz said, lounging against the door frame. “Do tell.” Kaz was the only lieutenant I knew who could wax sarcastic with a general and make it sound polite.

  “All this,” Bull said, waving his hand in the direction of the airfield and points beyond, “it’s not really about bombing Germany. It’s about bombing Japan.”

  “You gotta explain that one, Bull,” I said.

  “When we first planned this operation, it all made sense. The shuttle bombing part. But since then, the Russians have moved a lot closer to Germany, but they haven’t allowed us to move our bases closer.”

  “It did seem odd that we were this far behind the lines,” I said.

  “Right. It wastes fuel. But the Soviets don’t want us to have freedom of movement within their country, and we’re holding back on complaints because we’ve been angling for bases in the Far East to bomb Japan.”

  “But the USSR is not at war with Japan,” Kaz said.

  “Not yet,” Bull said. “But believe me, once we get closer to defeating Japan, they’ll jump on board so they can get a share of the spoils. We’ve been asking for a commitment for air bases in Siberia, but they’ve stalled so long, we don’t even need them anymore. We’ve taken Guam, Tinian, and Saipan in the Marianas. That put our B-29 Superfortresses within range of mainland Japan.”

  “What’s all the fuss about, then? We could just pack up and go home,” I said.

  “It won’t be that long before we wind down here,” Bull said. “But in the meantime, the brass—and by that, I mean the guys who are the bosses of my boss—want to keep things on an even keel with the Russians. Meaning you need to wrap this up, pronto.”

  “The closer Soviet troops get to meeting British and American forces, the greater the need for cooperation,” Kaz said. “It could be a disaster.”

  “Bingo. The last thing we need is bad blood between allies,” Bull said. “Get cracking, you two.”

  “I wish I had more faith in our plan,” I whispered to Kaz as we went to find Drozdov.

  “I wish I had more faith in those who are running this war,” Kaz said. “Imagine trusting the Russians to do something simply because it will help end the war in the Pacific? Fools.”

  With that cheery thought in mind, I knocked at Drozdov’s door. Drozdov opened it, revealing a senior officer sitting behind his desk. This had to be his Bull Dawson, but without the charming smile, and with a propensity for executions.

  “Come in,” Drozdov said. “I have just finished updating the colonel on your progress. Perhaps you have something new to offer?”

  There was a hint of desperation in Drozdov’s voice, confirmed by the look on the colonel’s face, not that I could make it out through the haze of choking smoke from his Belomorkanal cigarette. Maybe we could make that work for us.

  “Yes, we do,” I said, as he stood aside for us to enter. The colonel was leaning back and eyeing us as he puffed away. He was a big guy, with dark hair beginning to gray at the sides where it was cropped short. He had a chest full of medals, nicotine-stained fingers, and high, pockmarked cheekbones. “If you have a moment to spare.”

  He did.

  “May I present Colonel of State Security Aleksei Vladimirovich Aristov,” Drozdov said, sounding like a butler at a society ball. He rattled off what sounded like our introductions. I nodded to Kaz, who began our report in Russian. I wanted Aristov to get the unfiltered account. Drozdov looked too nervous to say anything that might rattle the boss.

  “Do you concur, Captain Boyle?” Drozdov asked.

  “About going to Tehran? Yes, I do. We will need Capitan Sidorov as well. Our associate in Tehran has made contact with the Iranian Gendarmerie and they will assist,” I said.

  Drozdov jumped in and translated that bit, probably not wanting to look like a bystander. Aristov replied quickly in staccato bursts like a machine gun and Drozdov put his questions to us.

  “Are you certain Private Maxim Bogomozov is involved?”

  Yes, we were. Not the brains of the operation, but he’d been recruited for his criminal background and language skills.

  “Is an American involved?”

  Yes, we think a recently transferred sergeant may have been part of the scheme. He is at the Tehran base, and we intend to question him there.

  “Did the American pull the trigger?”

  Yes. And the Russian, I told him. As criminal partners. I figured he’d be happy to split the difference.

  “Was Lieutenant Mishkin part of this plot?”

  We think so, I told him, remembering that Colonel Aristov was here to investigate the death by overdose of an NKVD officer along with the killings. I said we suspected drug smuggling was part of the plan, and that Mishkin may have favored product over profit. I didn’t bring up the drugs in the OSS/NKVD warehouse, since I didn’t want
Drozdov taken out and shot.

  “Where did Mishkin get his drugs?”

  In town, before the shortage. But his overdose may have come from drugs stolen from the war effort. Stolen by disorganizers of the rear, to borrow a Soviet phrase. I tread lightly on this one, knowing that any remark too critical of the USSR might get us shut down.

  “Has Major Drozdov been helpful to you?” This line Drozdov managed to deliver with a straight face.

  Helpful in every respect. A colleague. But strict when it came to security matters, I added, figuring being too friendly to Westerners was not exactly a job recommendation in this part of the world.

  “What do you plan to do next?”

  Wait to hear from our sergeant in Tehran. Wait for Captain Sidorov to finish his questioning of suspected drug dealers in town. Go to Tehran if we can secure permission. Will the colonel approve?

  As Drozdov translated, Maiya appeared in the doorway. Aristov gave her an appraising glance, then returned his attention to Drozdov.

  “I have a message from Captain Sidorov,” Maiya said. “He asks if you would meet him at the Cosmos Hotel. He may have some important information.”

  “What sort of information?” Drozdov asked, pausing in his exchange with Aristov.

  “He would not say, other than it was important and that Captain Boyle and Lieutenant Kazimierz should hear it for themselves,” Maiya said, studiously avoiding Aristov’s eyes.

  “Do we have your permission to go into town, Major Drozdov?” Kaz asked. As if Drozdov was the one calling the shots in this room. The two NKVD men whispered to each other, and finally Aristov flicked his finger in Maiya’s direction.

  “You may go,” Drozdov said. “Maiya will drive you, and you may return with Captain Sidorov. The colonel will consider your request about Tehran.”

  “When will he decide?” I asked.

  “He has decided about Poltava. That is enough for now.”

  I couldn’t disagree and hoped it put him in the habit of getting rid of Westerners. I thanked Colonel Aristov as we departed, tossing off a spasibo like I knew what I was talking about.