Cast No Shadow

by Peter Alderson Sharp

  “Damn this bureaucracy, Dan.” Vladeshenko shrugged dramatically. “You never can rely on your orders being relayed.”

  Kelly wondered about the charade, but his spirits were lifted by the thought of moving from his cell.

  “How has Dimitri been treating you, Dan? Well, I hope?” inquired the Major.

  Kelly thought for a second before answering. “He has been particularly unhelpful and unresponsive,” he said in a flat tone.

  “Hmm, that is unfortunate. I must apologise Dan. We will speak later, Corporal.” Dimitri’s face had set in a grim expression.

  As Vladeshenko turned to leave, Kelly exaggerated a wink to Dimitri. Immediately Dimitri’s face was illuminated. He understood. Kelly had deliberately deflected any hint of fraternisation.

  “Come, Dan! I will get you away from this place and onto one of our glorious destroyers which are winning the battle of the oceans.”

  News to me, thought Kelly, but he made no comment.

  As he followed Vladeshenko out of the cell he made eye contact with Dimitri. In response the corporal stared intently at the retreating officer’s back and turned down his mouth. It was another clear warning.

  A staff car waited outside the shabby little army command post, located just inside the perimeter wall of the naval harbour. To Kelly’s delight it was an old Humber. Somewhat the worse for wear and sporting an unattractive drab green paint job, nevertheless it was a little piece of England.

  They climbed in and Kelly breathed in the smell of old leather. Vladeshenko tapped the driver on the shoulder. She glanced back as he issued directions in Russian, an unhappy looking woman, heavily built with a peasant face. She turned her sad face forward, pressed the starter button and the Humber’s engine purred into life.

  As they moved off, Vladeshenko turned to Kelly, his face impassive, but the eyes probing. “You haven’t been quite truthful with me, Dragan. I am saddened by that.”

  Kelly’s look of puzzlement was genuine; he had no idea what the Russian was referring to.

  In response to Kelly’s look, the Russian continued, “You were involved with the British Secret Service were you not? An incident in Yugoslavia I believe?”

  Kelly nearly choked on spontaneous laughter. “I was a teenager, recruited from my languages degree course at college to assist in a matter, purely because of my ability to speak a particular Serbian dialect fluently,” he explained.

  He paused and gazed at the Russian, whose look encouraged Kelly to continue. “As I say, I developed a reputation for being able to speak all of the Yugoslavian languages and dialects and somehow, through one of my professors I think, this came to the notice of one the security services who just happened to be looking for someone with that ability for an operation they were planning. I suspect you know the rest.”

  “But once you are recruited to the secret service you have joined for life? Is this not so?” the Russian asked.

  “I never joined,” explained Kelly. “I agreed to help out on one operation. I’ve had no further contact with the service since.”

  “All is clear. I now understand.” The tone was placatory but the Russian looked anything but convinced.

  Conversation lulled at that point and Kelly had a chance to get his bearings. They were heading down a wide jetty with only a few small Russian ships moored alongside. At the end, on the right, Kelly could make out a large destroyer. This, presumably, was their destination. With a start, he realized that the ship on the other side of the jetty was flying the union flag. As if reading his mind, Vladeshenko remarked, “British frigate. Hit in the last convoy run. In for a few repairs.”

  “Couldn’t I hitch a lift with her?” enquired Kelly hopefully.

  Vladeshenko looked uneasy. “I’m not sure when she will be seaworthy. Pretty severely damaged, I’m afraid.”

  Kelly said nothing. They were passing the British ship now and he could see no evidence of serious damage.

  The staff car pulled up at the gangway of the Ekaterina, which was guarded by a number of armed marines. They left the car and were escorted up the gangway by two of the marines. Whilst Vladeshenko was distracted, Kelly stole a glance at the British frigate no more than sixty yards away across the concrete apron of the jetty. A number of British sailors were watching proceedings, but they could have had no idea that Kelly, dressed as he was in his Russian peasant clothing, was in fact a Royal Navy officer.

  As they stepped onto the deck Kelly saluted, as was the custom, after which they were escorted below decks to the wardroom where he was made comfortable, given a sleeping berth, and allowed to use the showers. He exchanged his peasant clothes for sailor’s fatigue dress. At all times at least one of the marines was in sight.

  The captain of the vessel joined them in the wardroom and introduced himself as Captain Tzereskova. He was a man of about fifty years, quite old by this war’s standard, but he had a kindly face. He referred to the major simply as ‘Vladeshenko’, omitting the now almost obligatory ‘Comrade’. Clearly, Tzereskova had no time for his army guest.

  The Captain then introduced another young man as ‘my Political Officer, Comrade Lieutenant Botvinik’. He did so in an entirely offhand manner, which suggested to Kelly that this gentleman was no great supporter of the current regime.

  Gesturing to the others to sit around the table, once they had settled the captain spoke in Russian and in a kindly way to Kelly. The political officer translated what in effect was a greeting and a welcome to the Destroyer Ekaterina. Kelly in return thanked the captain through Botvinik for his hospitality and his accommodation aboard the vessel.

  Once formalities had been completed it was Lieutenant Botvinik who appeared to take control. He spoke to Vladeshenko and in response the major embarked on a lengthy prologue punctuated by gestures and frequent references to ‘Kelly’. Occasionally Botvinik interrupted Vladeshenko with what Kelly, judging by the intonation, surmised to be questions. Captain Tzereskova did not speak once during the entire proceedings, staring into space for the most part. On the one occasion their eyes met, the Captain gave a tired, almost resigned smile.

  At length, Botvinik turned to Kelly, his face stony. “Lieutenant Kelly, as a gesture of our goodwill you have been transferred from the military post in the harbour to the comfort of this ship. However—”

  Kelly felt he knew where this was going and decided he needed to make a point. “You are very kind to accept me onto this ship,” he interrupted. “However, would it not be more sensible to transfer me to the British frigate moored just across the jetty?”

  “As I have already explained, the ship is not yet seaworthy,” said Vladeshenko smoothly.

  “Then all the more reason to transfer me. I am a Royal Navy Officer and could be indispensable to the captain in helping to return the vessel to seaworthiness,” Kelly retorted.

  Tzereskova gazed intently at Kelly but made no comment. Kelly wondered how much he understood, perhaps more than he was prepared to let the others know.

  Botvinik and Vladeshenko exchanged glances. Vladeshenko looked somewhat uneasy, but it was the political officer who spoke.

  “Unfortunately, there are other issues that need to be considered, Lieutenant Kelly. We are not entirely happy that your story holds together. We may need to interview you further on a number of issues.”

  “Are you telling me that you are holding me as a prisoner and intend to interrogate me?” The question was clearly directed at Vladeshenko and Botvinik, but Kelly stared directly into the Russian sea captain’s eyes as he spoke. Tzereskova blinked once, but his gaze never left Kelly. He understands, thought Kelly, and he doesn’t approve.

  “No, no!” Vladeshenko held up his hands in protest. “Not at all! We are simply asking of you the courtesy to extend your stay and answer a few questions, that’s all.”

  “Have you informed the captain of the British frigate that I am here? And if not, would you be kind enough to do so?” asked Kelly.

  “I’m afraid that’s
not possible at this time,” Vladeshenko answered quietly.

  Tzereskova looked towards Botvinik and asked something in Russian. The Russian began a lengthy monologue, occasionally glancing towards Kelly. Tzereskova looked vaguely annoyed and asked a supplementary question. Botvinik was clearly uncomfortable and was making his point forcefully, frequently shaking his head.

  Tzereskova stood up and spoke sharply to Botvinik who sprang to his feet in the position of attention. Vladeshenko remained seated until a withering look from Tzereskova brought him sharply to his feet. He spoke directly to Kelly in Russian, again in a kindly voice, and then looked to Botvinik to translate.

  “The captain is holding a cocktail party tonight on the quarterdeck; he would like you to attend, Lieutenant Kelly.”

  Kelly ignored Botvinik and spoke directly to Tzereskova. “Captain, thank you for your hospitality, I would be delighted to attend.”

  Tzereskova either did not understand or pretended not to. Kelly suspected the latter and looked to Botvinik to translate. He did so, nodding. The meeting was clearly over, whether or not Vladeshenko and Botvinik wanted it to be, and Kelly was escorted back to his temporary quarters by the two marines stationed outside the wardroom door.

  Kelly had tidied himself up as best he could, but it was difficult to look smart in naval fatigues. He said a cheery hello to his marine escorts as he left his quarters and made his way to the quarterdeck. The awning had been erected and a few lights were strung around the deck. They must be quite sure of their harbour defences to do something like this, thought Kelly. The two marine escorts peeled off and placed themselves strategically on the deck, one at the entrance to the forward passage and the other at the stern.

  The party consisted mainly of officers from the destroyer, with perhaps a few from other ships, but Kelly was unable to tell. There were a small number of civilians also on the deck, presumably the elite comrades of Archangel.

  On seeing Kelly, Captain Tzereskova left one of his guests and strode purposely over to him. Grasping him by the arm the captain walked him around the groups of guests. Kelly’s smattering of Russian convinced him that he was being introduced and he responded by smiling and shaking outstretched hands and repeating “Zdravstvujte!” whenever it appeared appropriate.

  His reception was mixed. In the main he was greeted cordially, and his hand clasped firmly and shaken vigorously. A minority seemed diffident and almost afraid to appear friendly. Clearly, thought Kelly, there are two distinct factions on this vessel.

  Botvinik appeared on the Captain’s elbow and asked something. Kelly recognised the word ‘translate’. Tzereskova smiled but waved him away, pointing to a young Second Lieutenant whom he gestured to join him. The young man introduced himself in perfect English to Kelly as Garethi Yashin. Tzereskova put an arm through each of theirs and manoeuvred the two men to a quieter part of the deck.

  “Listen carefully to the Captain,” said Yashin quietly, “but look at me and respond to me. Do you understand?” He was smiling and gesturing.

  “I understand.” Kelly entered into the role play by nodding his head and smiling. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Botvinik and Vladeshenko hovering nearby, but with the general bustle of the party, not within earshot.

  The captain had his back to Vladeshenko and Botvinik, looking out to sea. Kelly and Yashin were in profile and to anyone else, appeared to be having a conversation. However, it was Tzereskova who spoke. “Yes Dragan, I can speak and understand English. You were right in that deduction.” The captain was looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

  Kelly nodded in response as if to some small talk coming from Yashin.

  “Are you a brave man, Dragan?” asked the captain.

  “I believe so,” Kelly responded, then after a pause during which Tzereskova had not acknowledged his response, added, “Yes!”

  “Good!” said Tzereskova. “You will need to be. This is not a good situation. Look to the stern, now look two metres forward of that on the port side, in fact to where that marine is stationed.”

  “Yes,” answered Kelly mainly to Tzereskova but partly to some trivia being spoken by Yashin. “I have been very impressed with the contribution of the Soviet Forces on the Eastern Front.”

  “In a moment,” said the captain, “we will stroll over to that area. Approximately two and a half metres under where the marine is posted, there is an opening into the next lower deck. A hawser is tied off there that extends to a bollard on the jetty. You will need to hurdle the rail then hope to God that you can grasp the rope, slide down it as quickly as possible and sprint to that frigate. May God help you if you are caught before you make it.”

  For a moment Kelly was thunderstruck. He fought to regain his composure quickly. “What about the contribution of the marines in this venture?”

  It was Yashin who answered. “They will play no part in this venture. It is an entirely naval exercise. Nor will others who are antagonistic to the glorious allied cause.”

  “Are you ready, Dragan?” asked Tzereskova.

  “Quite ready,” Kelly responded.

  Without a further word, Tzereskova turned on his heel and started to walk slowly to the stern. Kelly and Yashin walked with him, still chatting. As they turned Kelly saw two groups of officers peel off from their current groups and form separate groups around Vladeshenko and Botvinik. It was clearly perfectly planned but looked entirely natural, part of the ‘circulating’ process normal at cocktail parties.

  As they approached the stern, the captain appeared to notice something amiss with the marine sentry. As Yashin and Kelly moved to the side, the captain confronted the sentry, pointing to his white belt and highly polished boots. Tzereskova spoke angrily to the poor marine whose concrete mask had slipped to show apprehension, even fear. With a final cursory word, the sentry was dismissed and made his way dismally to his quarters below the quarterdeck to sort out his dress.

  Without a further word, Tzereskova and Yashin strode away leaving Kelly on his own.

  He seized the moment.

  Placing both hands on the rail, he hurdled it and fell, twisting to face toward the ship as he did so, in the hope of seeing the hawser in the gloom. Instead, his leg struck the rope and nearly sent him spinning, but he lunged in the direction of the collision, felt the rope, and clamped his hands onto it.

  The hawser gave little as it took his full weight and the shock nearly made him lose his grasp; he hung on, gasping, flicked a leg over the rope and slid down. The friction burned through his fatigue trousers, and his hands felt as though they were being shredded. Through the pain, he became aware of the shouts above and general clamour from the ship.

  Kelly hit the ground running. He had no idea how far behind him the Soviet marine detachment was, he simply ran as hard as he could. Then he became conscious of the next hurdle approaching fast. The British marine sentries at the base of the gangway had crossed rifles to prevent his entry onto the ship.

  “British Officer! British Officer!” he screamed as he approached. Confused, the sentries momentarily dropped their guard, just long enough for him to punch a hole between them with his body and scramble up the gangway. As he reached the top a shot rang out and a round ricocheted from the metal of the ship a few feet from Kelly.

  “Cease fire!” An authoritative voice roared out. It came from a man a few feet from Kelly. Tall and heavy, he sported a full facial set and was standing legs apart and hands on hips.

  The roar had had the desired effect; there was almost total silence. Kelly was now on the frigate looking down on the scene below. It had become a tableau; the British marines had regained their composure and were now in the ‘on guard’ position blocking any further advance of the Soviet marines along with Botvinik and Vladeshenko. It was a classic stand-off.

  “I demand to know who has fired on a British Man of War whilst a guest in a friendly Soviet port!” The big man again.

  No response.

  “I demand an answer! This i
s an international incident which I intend to report to the British Government.”

  The silence was broken by the slowly approaching footsteps of two Soviet naval officers. Tzereskova and Yashin. Tzereskova looked calm and unhurried. He caught Kelly’s eye but displayed no outward sign of recognition. He was speaking to Yashin, his mouth close to the young officer’s ear.

  “There is no need, Captain!” Yashin spoke on behalf of Tzereskova, who was clearly maintaining his ‘no English’ pretence. There must be benefits to this subterfuge thought Kelly. He imagined Vladeshenko and Botvinik speaking quietly in English to exclude others, whilst the captain listened in and understood every word.

  Yashin spoke again. “Captain, Captain Tzereskova greets you and apologises for the incident. No harm or disrespect was meant. We were entertaining a countryman of yours when he decided to leave in a most entertaining and theatrical manner. Unfortunately, he had not apprised us of the joke he was about to play and this resulted in confusion among our sentries. In the confusion a shot was accidentally discharged.”

  Kelly caught the whisper between the British captain and his number one standing alongside. “What’s old Tzereskova up to, Jock? He speaks better English than you do!” The Scots number one chuckled.

  Aloud the captain shouted, “Please inform Captain Tzereskova that I accept his apology and the matter is now forgotten. It would be sad indeed if someone had deliberately attempted to sabotage the excellent relationship between our two great nations.”

  Tzereskova spoke quietly to Yashin as the latter relayed his message. As he did so Tzereskova stared pointedly at Botvinik, who was now looking increasingly flustered.

  “We will carry out an internal investigation at once, Captain. If we find that any member of our crew has attempted to initiate an international incident, they will be dealt with most rigorously.”

  A clear threat to Botvinik, thought Kelly. Tzereskova had very cleverly turned this whole incident to his advantage.

  As if to retrieve some credibility Botvinik called up to the frigate, “You have a man on board who may be implicated in espionage, Captain. May we interview him?”