‘That is the theory. But the reality is somewhat different. For two reasons. Firstly, the members of the Politburo are all afraid of him. And secondly, and more importantly, not one of them trusts the others; and they are all ambitious men. Every one of them sees himself as a possible successor. Even that total moron Kruschev . . . Did you ever meet him?’
‘If I did, I don’t remember the name.’
‘Well, actually, he was never in Moscow during your sojourn here. He was down in the sticks, where he belongs, in total obscurity. But he earned himself a reputation for ruthlessness in carrying out orders; and when in 1942 it looked as if Stalingrad was going to fall, Stalin hooked him out of obscurity and gave him carte blanche as long as he held the city. I thought the marshal was mad. At such a moment! But Kruschev did it, you have to give him credit for that. He shot people left right and centre, cashiered generals, and drove the defenders on and on. God alone knows how many lives it cost. But it cost the Nazis more: an entire army. And so he became famous overnight, and since then has steadily climbed in the Party hierarchy. Now he is a member of the Politburo. And his ambitions roam even higher.’
‘And for that you hate him,’ Anna suggested.
‘I hate him,’ Beria agreed. ‘I hate them all. Because they all hate me. Because they fear me. We only ever hate the things we fear. Those we do not fear we simply hold in contempt. They fear me because I am Stalin’s right-hand man. As long as I am that, they are at my mercy.’
‘But if, for any reason, you cease to be Stalin’s right-hand man . . .’ Anna said, thoughtfully.
‘I do like women who do not have to have everything explained to them. We will defeat them all, Anna. Together.’
*
The most unholy partnership in all history, Anna thought. But . . .
‘You must forgive me, Comrade Commissar. After all, I am just a woman. I understand your problem and what you intend to do about it, but why have you imported me to help you? Do you not have an armed force of several thousand men and women here in Moscow, sworn to do your bidding without question?’
He was looking at her with a most peculiar expression, but it was one that she had seen before on the faces of other men. Oh, my God! she thought, he’s getting worked up.
‘Anna,’ he said, ‘may I remove that butter? It is starting to melt.’
‘Of course, Comrade Commissar.’
She turned towards him and held out her napkin, but to her consternation he dropped to his knees and began licking the nipple. I am in the hands of a superannuated schoolboy, she thought . . . who seeks to rule a country!
He raised his head. ‘Anna . . .’
She sighed. But he had to be humoured, until she could discover some way of getting out of this mess. ‘What would you like, sir?’ She was pretty sure that it was not straightforward sex.
He licked his lip. ‘You mean . . .’
‘Your wish is my command, Comrade Commissar.’
‘Would you . . . ah . . . lick him?’
‘You mean suck him?’ Her tone was redolent of relief; she had feared something far worse. ‘Then you had better sit, and I will kneel.’
‘Anna . . . you are a treasure.’
Anna’s brain squirmed. Every man who had called her a treasure, and there had been quite a few, beginning with Adolf Hitler, was now dead. But then, she reflected, is that not what I have in mind for this man, the moment it can be safely accomplished?
‘But,’ he said. ‘I would like to fondle you, while . . .’
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘In that case, I think you should take some of these clothes off and lie on the bed, and then I can kneel beside you.’
For all his fervour, he was by no means ready; but she soon rectified that, after which it was very quick. Then he lay back, sighing, while she used the bathroom to wash her hands and face, before returning. ‘Now, sir,’ she said. ‘May we return to business?’
‘Business,’ he said, dreamily. ‘Business!’ He sat up and began to dress. ‘You understand what is required of you?’
‘I understand what is required, sir. I still do not understand why it is required of me. Are you saying that among all your staff there is no one who will obey you without question?’
‘Sit down, Anna.’
Anna obeyed.
‘Every member of my staff will obey me without question,’ Beria said, ‘as long as they believe that I am carrying out the wishes of Marshal Stalin. To them, he is the man who led them to victory over the Nazi hordes and saved the country from the abyss of slavery. That point of view pervades the entire country; it is taught in the schools. But there is a further consideration. If Stalin were to die at the hands of a Russian, there would immediately be a witch hunt for the assassin’s employer – and no one can say how it would end.’
‘Whereas if he was killed by an obviously demented itinerant Irishwoman, rather as nearly happened to Mussolini thirty years ago . . .’
‘You have a profound knowledge of history.’
‘It is one of my hobbies. As I was saying, the culprit would simply be turned over to you for torture and execution. And anything I might attempt to say in my defence, would be dismissed as the ravings of a mad woman.’
‘That will not happen to you, Anna. You will never be brought to trial.’
‘You mean you intend to kill me the moment the deed is done?’
‘I mean, Anna, that once the marshal is dead, but not by my hand or that of any member of the MGB, my people will obey me – and only me – without question. I have ten thousand men and women in and around Moscow. A couple of telephone calls will summon them to action. They will take over every important position in the city, especially the Kremlin. This will be to prevent any coups d’état, you understand. I will then take supreme power, at which time I will make the laws. Which will include protecting those who work for me.
*
Anna was left speechless. He might have the sexual tastes of a schoolboy, but there could be no doubting the breadth and scope of his ambition. A case of those whom the gods would destroy they first drive mad?
Once his immediate needs had been satisfied, he was all bustle and efficiency. ‘Now,’ he said, buttoning his tunic, ‘I have work to do, and so have you. Choose whatever you wish from the garments on offer; the dressmakers will make whatever alterations are necessary. You must look your very best when you visit the premier.’
Anna could not resist the temptation to put him to the test. ‘In view of the weather out there, I will need a coat.’
‘Then order one.’
‘I always wear sable.’
He turned to look at her. ‘Then a sable you shall have.’
‘With a matching hat.’
‘As you wish.’ He bent over her and planted an almost husbandly kiss on her forehead. ‘I will see you this evening. Have a nice day, but do not leave this apartment.’
He hurried off, and a few minutes later the dressmakers hurried in, pausing in consternation at discovering her in the nude. But they fell to with a will, and in fact it was an enjoyable session, even if the clothes on offer bore very little resemblance to anything that might have interested her on Bond Street or the Champs Elysées, or Fifth Avenue. But they were all brand new and reasonably well cut, although the Russian idea of knickers were voluminous drawers; and she had the pleasure of shocking them all over again by declining their equally voluminous and even more all-embracing nightgowns. But the sable, with its matching hat, immediately delivered from GUM, was as good as any of those she had previously owned . . . and lost. She wondered if she would be able to keep this one.
Spending the day on her own gave her time to think. Obviously to trust Beria would be the equivalent of taking a crocodile to bed; and yet to refuse his proposal was the shortest possible route to a bullet in the back of the head.
So it was a time for the absolute pragmatism that she had practised all her life and which, as much as any of her skills, had been responsible for her survival
. Killing Stalin was not a matter for concern. Had she been allowed to complete her mission, he would have been dead twelve years ago, which might have saved a lot of people a lot of grief.
Equally, gaining access to him had obviously been carefully worked out, and would no doubt be told to her that evening. It was what happened after that that mattered. From a coldly logical point of view, Beria’s obvious course was to have her commit the murder and then be killed by the guards on her way out. Then he could deny any knowledge of her; and thus who she was and where she had come from would remain a mystery, and he could calmly proceed with his plan.
If that was what he planned, she was already dead. But she suspected that, in his overweening ambition, he wanted more from her. In the first place, given her track record, he could not be sure that she would be killed, even by several armed guards. Secondly, she also felt that he was planning some more work for her, regarding his various rivals for power, who would all have to be eliminated. And thirdly, she had no doubt at all that over the years of hunting her he had contrived to fall in love, if not with her, then with her image; and that he was now infatuated with both her beauty and her expertise. That would not last, of course; but however distasteful the prospect, she needed to make it last until either Clive or Joe, or both, arranged her rescue, or until she could organize her escape. As long as she was alive, she had a future.
*
‘Well,’ Beria said, ‘I hope you have had a good day. I must say, you look absolutely stupendous. But then, you always do. You looked stupendous even in those ghastly clothes you were wearing this morning.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Indeed, physically she was feeling stupendous. She had had an utterly restful day, punctuated only by a splendid lunch and another bath. And she was wearing one of her new dresses. Now she allowed him to take her in his arms and kiss her on the mouth.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘that we are going to have a very fruitful relationship.’
‘I would like to think so, sir.’
He released her to pour two glasses of vodka, then sat on the settee, gesturing her to sit beside him. ‘I imagine that you have spent most of the day considering what lies ahead.’
‘No, sir.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You regard it as that simple?’
‘No, sir. But I make it a rule never to anticipate until I am in possession of all the facts. Then I can plan both my strategy and my tactics. In any event, I suspect that you have already planned the strategy,’
‘You are an amazingly calm young woman. Is that born of experience?’
‘Successful experience, sir. Or I would not be here now.’
‘Quite. And you are not afraid that one day you may be set a task you, even you, cannot accomplish?’
‘It has not happened yet.’
He gazed at her for several seconds, still uncertain whether or not she was making fun of him. Then he nodded. ‘Well, it so happens that, compared with some of your previous exploits . . . By the way, have you any idea how many men you have killed? I mean, in total. I remember that you said you had lost count, at least of the Russians, but I suspect that was a preliminary act of defiance, coming at the beginning of our relationship.’
‘It was, sir. I have endeavoured to keep count. The tally would appear to be one hundred and thirty-seven. That is to say, as far as I know, I have been responsible for one hundred and thirty-seven deaths, although I did not kill all of them personally.’
‘Good God! Are you serious?’
‘I’m afraid so, sir. Of course, there have been one or two women included in the list.’
‘Including two of my most trusted aides,’ he reminded her. ‘However, with that record, you will find this one – how do you English put it? – a piece of fruit.’
‘I happen to be Irish,’ Anna pointed out, ‘and the correct phrase is a piece of cake.’
‘A piece of cake. I will remember that. Now listen very carefully. Premier Stalin spends very little time nowadays in the Kremlin. As I have told you, he is in poor health and has developed a paranoid suspicion of his old associates. He therefore only comes into town for special occasions when it is necessary for him to make a public appearance. The rest of the time he lives and works at his dacha, just north of the city.’
‘And that is safer than in the Kremlin?’
‘He regards it as so, and he is actually right. In the Kremlin there are people coming and going all the time, and many of them are of course armed. The dacha is small and easily monitored. It is guarded twenty-four hours a day, by a detachment of my people.’
‘And he trusts them?’
‘He trusts me,’ Beria said proudly. He did not seem to realize that he was contradicting what he had said earlier, but then she had never really had any doubt that he was acting less from fear than out of personal ambition.
‘Now,’ Beria said, ‘there are no guards within the house. But he is looked after by a most formidable housekeeper. Her name is Valentina, and she is absolutely devoted to the marshal. No one is allowed to see him, not even members of the Politburo on official business, without her say so.’
‘You are saying that she will have to be disposed of?’
‘That is certainly possible, but it would be best if you could avoid doing this, as it will make your escape easier if she remains alive. In any event, she must remain alive until you have been admitted to the premier. He is surrounded by alarm buttons, and if he presses one you will not get out alive.’
‘I see,’ said Anna, remembering Fahri. ‘But you think this Valentina will allow me to see him alone?’
‘Certainly. Despite his age, he does like to entertain young women from time to time. I shouldn’t think any actual sex is involved. In fact, I very much doubt that he can still get an erection. But he likes to look, and even to feel.’ He paused to stare at her.
Anna kept her face expressionless.
‘Your appointment will be arranged by telephone. However,’ he went on, still studying her as he spoke, ‘you will have to submit to a search, a very thorough search, before Valentina will allow you into his presence.’
Anna recalled the search she had had to undergo – by a man – before she had been allowed into Hitler’s bedroom in his bunker at Rastenberg. She had been engaged on an identical mission, only then she had been carrying a bomb in her bag. It had been very carefully concealed, and was composed of several different components that appeared innocent in themselves. But the man searching her had been more interested in exploring her body than her belongings. The bomb, connected to an elaborate timing system operated by acid eating through glass, had been intended to give her time to escape before the explosion. The scheme had worked very well, even though she had had to share the Fuehrer’s bed and wait for him to fall asleep before she was able to assemble the bomb, then set the fuse and leave.
And then the damned thing had failed to explode! Her bag had even been returned to her with it still inside. One of the most traumatic moments of her life. This time she could not fail, because she would be escaping not to friends but to enemies.
‘This does not disturb you?’
‘It will be an experience,’ Anna said bravely.
‘Hmm. But this is why you cannot carry a weapon . . . why I had to make sure that you can complete the mission without one.’
Anna nodded.
‘Now, when you are alone with the premier, you will, I imagine, wish to complete your task as rapidly as possible; but you must remain with him for some time, otherwise Valentina may be suspicious. Then you will leave the bedroom, close the door, and inform her that the marshal is sleeping and does not wish to be disturbed.’
‘You think she will accept that?’
‘I see no reason why not. But if you have any doubts, you may, as I have said, dispose of her as well. You will have to use your own judgement, but it will be best if she can see you out, as that would entirely reassure the guards. Then you simply get into your car, which will be waiting f
or you, and drive away. I shall also be waiting for you; and the moment you return with the information that Marshal Stalin is dead, I will take over. If we are fortunate, his body will not be discovered for some hours, by which time all my people will be in position. They will not, of course, at that time know the reason for the action I am taking – and when the news breaks, they will continue to obey me, because their future will be inextricably bound up with mine.’
‘And my future?’
‘In the short term, you will simply disappear.’
‘I can see that would be most convenient for everyone.’
‘My dear Anna, I simply meant that the mysterious woman who visited Premier Stalin on the night he died will disappear. He has carelessly executed so many fathers, husbands, sons and lovers, it has long been inevitable that one day some injured relict would seek revenge. Oh, they will seek his assassin everywhere. But they will never look, they will never be allowed to look, inside this prison, much less this apartment. And once I am in complete command of the country, you will emerge as my right-hand woman. Is that not an exciting prospect?’
‘Dazzling!’
‘So, are there any questions?’
‘Two.’
Beria raised his eyebrows.
‘The first is have you considered the possibility that Premier Stalin may take one look at me and recognize me before I can even get close to him?’
‘After almost twelve years?’
‘I have not actually changed that much. Your man Hamilton, or whatever his name actually is, claimed to do so. And that was after fourteen years.’
‘Oh, come now, Anna. Terpolov had never seen you before encountering you in the Bahamas. He was acting entirely on the description given him by my office. By me, in fact.’
‘Just checking.’
‘In any event,’ Beria went on, ‘Premier Stalin, as I have explained to you, is showing every sign of senile decay. Not only is his memory going, but he has become extremely short-sighted. The risk is negligible. You said there were two questions?’
‘Yes. The other one is when exactly does this operation take place?’
Angel of Darkness Page 25
