by CW Hawes
Forty minutes had passed before the last vestiges of the city disappeared and were replaced by open country. While in the city, I’d noted the speedometer stayed around fifty kilometers per hour. Now, in the open country, the driver increased speed to eighty. Night was settling in and we were entering an area of forest. Outside the car windows all was black, save for the twin beams of the car’s headlamps creating little pools of light into which the car drove.
I kept track of the time we were on the road. Forty-five minutes after leaving Moscow we turned off the paved highway and drove down a dirt road. Suddenly there was a clearing in the trees and a large house with light shining from the windows. Given the speed we were traveling and the time it took to arrive at our destination, I guessed I was about fifty kilometers outside of Moscow.
The car pulled up by the front door. The driver got out and opened my door. He made sure I saw the pistol. He said something in Russian and motioned for me to get out of the car. I got out and the driver closed the door behind me. The door of the house opened and three people came out into the night. One had an electric torch, the other two had lanterns.
The driver indicated I should walk to the group by the door. The one with the torch played its beam upon me and then I heard a very familiar voice say, “I’m sorry Lady Hurley-Drummond for the melodrama. It was necessary to avoid the MGB.”
I said, “Mikhail? Captain Turbanev?”
“At your service, my lady.”
I ran to him and threw myself into his arms. “Oh, Mikhail. I was so frightened.”
The driver said something in Russian and Mikhail laughed. “Nestor says you attacked him with your shoe.”
“I did. I thought I was being kidnapped. Tell him I’m sorry. But you could at least have written a note.” I pulled away.
“Notes are dangerous, in the wrong hands.” He leaned close to my ear and said, “I’ve missed you, my love, my Dru. But we are together again.”
I’m sure my face was beaming. “I’ve missed you, as well.”
“Let’s get out of the cold. Come in.” Mikhail said something in Russian and the others followed us into the great house.
Mikhail and I stood together in the entrance hall. People were bustling about. Mikhail took my coat and gave it to one of the people who’d been with him outside.
“This is Gregor. He is the butler here. He speaks French and German, but no English. He is aware of who you are. There are two people I’d like you to meet. They are part of my cell.”
Mikhail took me to a small side room. A man and a woman were there and stood when we entered.
“Baroness, Count, this is Lady Hurley-Drummond who we hope will be a correspondent sympathetic to our cause. Lady Hurley-Drummond, this is Baroness Bobrinsky and Count Neratoff. They are two of the members of my cell and dear friends.
Count Neratoff took my extended hand and bowed over it. He stood up again and said, “A pleasure.”
The Baroness and I shook hands. She said, “Call me Dunyasha. I’ve been in America too long for all of this formality.”
I laughed. “I’m pleased to meet you,” I said.
She laughed a bitter laugh. “You might not be so pleased if Beria’s thugs find out you know me.”
“I see.”
Mikhail smiled and said, “In the Baroness’s blunt manner she is saying even a famous journalist is not immune from disappearing for having made our acquaintance.”
Dunyasha continued, “The Soviets don’t admit publicly the Czarists are alive and well, but they’ve been hunting us down ever since the Revolution. If they find us, they kill us – and very often our friends, as well. You are now our friend. Beware.”
“Thank you for the warning,” I said.
The Count spoke. “It isn’t a one way street. Do you remember last year the shooting of the Soviet diplomats outside the Soviet embassy in Belgrade?”
“Vaguely,” I said.
“Retribution,” he said, “for my uncle.”
Mikhail added, “The Count used two bullets at seven hundred meters. The knife has two edges.”
“Come,” Dunyasha said, “before these men bore you with their bragging. We are going to eat and I’m sure you’d like to freshen up first.” She took my hand and we left the room. She took me down two corridors to a room. “This is the only washroom in the house with running water,” she said. “A flush commode and plenty of hot water with which to wash up. I’ll wait for you here.”
I thanked her, went in, and closed the door. I relieved myself, washed my hands, splashed water on my face, and touched up my makeup.
In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought. If I’d been followed, I was a marked person. At the very least I’d be expelled. At the most, I’d be killed.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror. This is it. I stand at the Rubicon. No. I’ve crossed it. With Caesar I’ve said, “Jacta alea est.” Making love to Mikhail had been taken by him as tacit allegiance to the Czarist cause. Truly an assumption, on his part. I’m not impressed thus far with the worker’s paradise. But I’m not convinced things were any better under the Czar. And if Vladimir the Fourth becomes leader of the country, will he be better than Malenkov? Is this a case of better the devil you know? These people certainly don’t think so.
I opened the door.
Dunyasha had a big smile on her face. “I was beginning to think we’d have to send in the cavalry. Come. Let’s eat.”
She put her arm around my waist and guided me down several corridors to the dining room. A large group was already seated. She guided me to a chair on Mikhail’s left. She sat to my left. The Count was sitting to Mikhail’s right. Once we were seated, a priest stood and said what I assumed was a prayer in Russian. When he finished, the footmen began bringing in the food.
The first course was soup. A sweet cabbage soup. The Count asked, “Have you enjoyed your stay in Russia thus far, Lady Hurley-Drummond?”
“I’ve enjoyed the scenery. The architecture is somewhat monotonous. I’m not keen on being watched.”
The Count chuckled. "All but the most die-hard Communist sympathizer agrees with you."
Dunyasha added, “Mother Russia is more concerned about what I do than my birth mother.”
The second course was fish in aspic. Quite elaborate fare given the fact so many can’t even get the basics to eat. I asked Mikhail, “With so many not getting much more than the barest necessities, how do you justify the opulence of our meal?”
“I understand your concern,” he said. “Note that what you are eating comes from the supplies of top party officials. We take what we can and share with as many as we can. Your story of Robin Hood, eh?”
“Who are these people?” I asked Mikhail.
“These people are either servants who work here or paramilitary who protect the estate and will soon begin conducting operations against the state,” he answered.
“Operations against the state?”
“Yes. Everyone of us here have been touched by Stalin.”
The Count added, “And the touch was with the finger of death.”
Dunyasha chimed in, “Because of Stalin, tens of millions have disappeared, been imprisoned, and died. I lost my entire family. They were sent to the gulag, where one by one they died. I’m alive because I was in America attending university.
Mikhail spoke, “And such is the case with most everyone in our movement. They don’t just yearn for the good old days. They’ve lost family, estates, friends, businesses. The slaughter of human life and the destruction is beyond the ability to imagine.”
Dunyasha continued, “And we have little hope anything will change, no matter which Communist is in power.”
“Our intelligence tells us Malenkov is weak. He won’t last,” Mikhail said. “Now is when we must act. While they are divided.”
“And you’re prepared?” I asked.
“We are,” Mikhail replied.
The poultry course was chicken braised in mushroom sauce with buc
kwheat and bacon.
I asked, “The party officials eat like this while the workers wait in lines?”
Dunyasha corrected me. “The top party officials eat like this. Everyone else starves while waiting in lines.”
“I see.” I said. Here was clearly another inequity. I’d be hard pressed to say it was worse during the time of the Czar. Then again, it appeared Mikhail wasn’t eating peasant food.
After the chicken came the beef stroganoff with mustard, then a beet and sauerkraut salad, which was followed by baked apples and tea for dessert. I was so full by the meat course, I only sampled the last dishes. I did, however, enjoy the tea. With the conclusion of dessert, we withdrew to the drawing room. Brandy was served to those who wished to partake.
Mikhail pulled the Count, Dunyasha, and myself aside. “The Count and Baroness have agreed, therefore I’ll share a bit of our structure with you, Lady Hurley-Drummond. You understand of course the sensitive nature of this information.”
“I do.”
“Good. We are confident you will be our advocate and we feel this information will be of benefit to you, understanding it must stay with you.”
“I understand.”
“Good,” Mikhail said, took a sip of brandy, and continued, “Each cell is a square-based pyramid. There is one central figure and four subordinates, who in turn are leaders of their own cells.”
Dunyasha clarified, “I’m under the Captain and I have four people under me.”
Mikhail continued, “The leader is code named Anton. The four below him have code names beginning with your ‘B.’ Mine is ‘Boris.’ The next level down begins with your ‘V.’ The Count here is ‘Vlad’ and the Baroness is ‘Valentina.’”
The Count said, “The people below the Baroness and I have code names beginning with your ‘G.’”
“And so on down the overall pyramid structure,” Mikhail completed.
“In addition, I know one other ‘V’ person not in my cell,” Dunyasha said.
The Count expanded, “The four of us together can communicate to four other cells. This allows us to get the word out if we are compromised.”
Mikhail summarized, “Thus communication moves up, down, and sideways.”
“Sounds very effective,” I said.
“It is,” he responded. “It is why we are still in business. In addition, over half of our top leadership lives outside the country.”
Dunyasha wasn’t quite so optimistic. “Nevertheless, the MGB has a long reach. No one is completely safe. It matters little where anyone lives.”
“The hour is late,” Mikhail said. “There will be more tomorrow, but for now, Lady Hurley-Drummond, we need to return you to your hotel.”
My heart sank. I’d been hoping to spend the night with Mikhail.
Dunyasha said, “I’ll get my car.” And left.
Count Neratoff bade me a good night and left. The room was not completely empty. Mikhail motioned for me to follow him. He opened a door to a small side room, entered, and I followed. He pulled me tight against his chest and kissed me hungrily. Our tongues each seeking its mate. Finally he pulled back.
“Oh, my Dru. I’ve missed you. I hunger for you. Soon we’ll be together. Movement is dangerous. But for you I’ll risk it.”
“Mikhail, I don’t want anything to happen to you. Perhaps…”
“My Dru.” He touched my cheek. “How I want to make love to you. Soon. Soon.”
I pulled him back into my arms. “I ache for your touch. Please come to me.”
“I will. Or I’ll have you come to me. In either case, we’ll be together. Now you must go. Tomorrow.” He kissed me, removed his ring, and gave it to me. “My pledge to you.”
I looked into his eyes. The passion. The desire. All there. I kissed the ring and slipped it into my handbag.
He opened the door and guided me to the entrance hall. Several others were preparing to depart. Gregor appeared with my coat. Mikhail held it for me while I slipped it on.
“Until tomorrow.” He kissed my hand. Then led me outside to where Dunyasha was waiting.
I’m not very knowledgeable about motorcars, but I know something expensive when I see it and I was looking at something very expensive. Mikhail opened the door for me and I got in. Even in the dark, I could feel the rich, supple, leather of the seats and knew this was no ordinary car. Dunyasha put the vehicle in gear and sped off into the night.
SEVEN
A Talk With Dunyasha
“Are you going to help us?” Dunyasha asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
The night was moonless and the pine forest was black ink. Dunyasha’s face was faintly visible in the glow from the instrument panel lights. The mirth in her voice, though, was very evident. “I think you will. You’re quite taken with him, aren’t you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Sweetheart, we all are. Mind if I smoke?”
“No. In fact, a cigarette would be nice.”
She was fumbling in a pocket of her coat.
“Allow me,” I said. “You’re going too fast.”
Dunyasha laughed heartily. “My dear La–”
“Call me Dru, since we’re on a first name basis.”
Dunyasha let out another laugh. “Alright. My dear Dru, we’re only going one hundred thirty.”
“What is that? About eighty miles per hour?”
“I don’t know. I’m not that good with math.”
“Anyway, what about deer?”
“Okay. Ninety-five. Is that better?”
“It is. What is this car, anyway?”
“A Talbot Lago T26 GS with body by Saoutchik, a Russian ex-patriot now living in France. It will outrun anything the MGB pigs can put on the road. Even their airships and autogyros.”
I took a cigarette out of my case, lit it, and passed it to her.
“Thank you, Dru.”
“You’re welcome.” I lit one for myself, inhaled the smoke, held it for a second, and exhaled. “Does he make the rounds?” I asked.
“No. He’s actually quite selective. But if you’re looking for commitment out of him, look elsewhere. He’s married to the cause.”
“I see.”
“Disappointed?”
I didn’t say anything.
She continued, “Of course you are. We all are.”
“Who’s we?”
“Every woman who’s seen him or spoken to him. And especially those he’s bedded.”
“I see. Have you been with him?”
Dunyasha laughed. “Why do you think I’m in this god forsaken country working to install a new government I don’t give a damn about? Yes, I was with him. Until recently. I’m guessing you’ve taken my place.”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know where I’m at. Dunyasha, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She waved her hand. “I’m not jealous, Dru. We both knew there would be nothing more. He’s married to the movement and I have a husband. We took our pleasure, said those sweet and meaningless words, and dreamed dreams we both knew would never be.”
“I had a lover. I lost him. I wanted more and he is married. Now…”
“Are you married?”
“Widow.”
“My advice? Enjoy the men who want you. Soon enough no one will. It is how things are. We lose our beauty and no one gives a shit about our brains. If you have money, it helps.” She took a long drag on her cigarette and exhaled the smoke.
“Aren’t you lonely?” I asked.
“Of course.” Her laugh dripped bitterness. “But I have my cars and aeroplanes and men. Now this quixotic cause. I suppose, should I make it to old age, I can get reacquainted with my husband. He’s not a bad fellow. Good to have next to you sitting by the fire.”
“You are rather cynical.”
“I am. So don’t believe a word I say; except regarding Mikhail, which I tell you for your sake because I rather like you. He’s a very good lover. Enjoy him while you can.”
“Thank you for your words of wisdom.”
“I doubt what I say qualifies as wisdom. Can one be wise at forty? I know the world is full of fools and I’ve been one.”
I touched her arm. “I’m glad you put that in the past tense.”
She took my hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Now, since I’m suppose to help convince you to go tilting after windmills, are you going to join our crusade to topple the Communists?”
“I don’t know. The Czar wasn’t perfect. Then again I don’t think he was as bad as Stalin.”
“Right on both accounts. And between you and me, I’m not sure Vladimir will be any better than that Georgian pig, Stalin.”
“Why are you in this? You sound skeptical and cynical.”
Dunyasha laughed. “I’m involved because of Turbanev. Primarily. But also because these are my people, even though I’ve lived in America since I was five. Surely the bumbling ineptitude of an autocrat is preferable to the life-sucking machinations and control of totalitarianism.”
“I suppose you are right, although neither is preferable in reality.”
“True. One takes, though, what one can get.”
“The lesser of two evils.”
“Precisely.”
By the time we entered Moscow, the first sign of dawn was on the horizon. The streets were deserted. Street lamps shown on bare pavement and nothing more.
“Don’t let the empty streets fool you,” Dunyasha said. “Beria’s people are everywhere. Vampires destroying the living. Which is why I’m going to drop you off and drive like souls fleeing hell to get out of here before the police decide to stop me.”
“But surely they wouldn’t stop you driving this car. It’s obviously foreign.”
“One never knows. Therefore one minimizes chances. Besides, there are a few high-placed officials who have Talbot Lagos. And they might be on the get rid of list. In which case, the police might shoot first and ask their questions of the corpse.”
“No one is safe.”
“No one, my dear Dru. No one.”
She stopped at the hotel. Grabbed my arm and pulled me to her. She kissed me and said, “Be safe. Be watchful. Soon we shall meet again.”
