by H Schmidt
Dzershinskii noted the latest information to be added to the dossier. He found it intriguing. He decided it might be useful. The information had been provided by the German Embassy, always so efficient, Dzerzhinskii thought. It was a cable sent to the embassy by the Foreign Office in Berlin.
“Investigation reveals prisoner Lieutenant William Housman formerly Wilhelm von Mecklenburg, brother of captor Friederich von Mecklenburg, colonel and commander of Blitz Battalion operating north of Petrograd. Evidence suggests first contact in eighteen years when Housman taken prisoner by brother’s battalion. Housman kidnapped Africa 1900.”
---
“They want me to send you to Moscow, Billy.”
“That would be convenient for the Bolsheviks. They could blame my capture and imprisonment on the Germans.”
Friederich was smiling because of his brother’s bizarre military career and because he had decided what he would do.
“I suppose you never imagined military life would be like this.”
“No, Friederich, I have been serving out of uniform far longer than in it. I have often wished it had been different. I think about the talks we would have at West Point about our futures. No one imagined something like mine.” He smiled at his brother. “But why else would the two of us be in Russia at the same time.” It was near evening. The falling sun cast a golden hue over the blue sky and white clouds. The breeze was warm for May. Here and there, as they walked, they could see the sprouts of spring bulbs. Everywhere, trees and bushes were beginning to hint of green as the buds began to open. They walked into the village together. When the news had reached the village, the villagers gathered around the two men as they walked. Billy smiled at the old woman who came up to speak to them.
“I resemble my mother, old woman. Friederich looks like his father.”
All the villagers began to laugh, delighted that the American could speak their language. Little children hurried up to speak to him, hoping they could say later that the American spoke to them.
Friederich felt the pride surge inside him, for his brother and his family. He was delighted when he watched his younger brother among the Russians. In little more than a year, he appeared to have lived here all his life. He envied him for that. Perhaps being an American makes him that way. Yet he remembered Americans in Germany who were as arrogant as the Germans, as chauvinistic. He wondered how Willie felt about his country.
For the first time in his life, he was confronted with a choice between family and country. He found it was not a choice at all. Only the consideration of the consequences of his decision required thought. He had told Surelius his decision. He would not let the Bolsheviks get their hands on Billy. He would allow his prisoner to escape.
They had walked through the village now. The sun had just touched the tree line in front of them. Three days. Eighteen years apart and three days together. Now it was over.
“You can leave tonight or wait until the morning. The train will be here in the morning. I shall have the satisfaction of telling one of their commissars that ‘our’ prisoner escaped.”
Billy knew that his brother was risking court-martial for allowing him to escape. From what Friederich had told him, German intelligence would soon discover that he was his brother. They would know he let him go. He knew that his brother would not have considered doing anything else. He hoped he would have done the same. Billy knew that he had received a precious gift. He didn’t know whether they would ever see each other again, but he prayed to God that they would. He wanted to see his mother. His sister. His nephews and nieces.
“What about your men, Friederich? Will they understand?”
“Before I told them of my decision, my commanders came as a group to urge me to let you escape. I suppose Captain Marx told them. I was angry at first when I heard what he had done, but you must understand soldiers become brothers, too.” Friederich smiled. “I suppose you could say, Billy, you have a whole battalion of cousins and uncles.”
Billy could see the tracks to his right as he rode south. He remembered even Friederich had smiled when he came out of his room with the disguise he wore when he went south to find Yuri. He had selected one of the horses which lacked the shiny coat of the German horses, and had purchased a roughly made saddle from the village. The goodbyes were quick in the darkness. As he rode out of the camp, men were already up, preparing for the march west. The trip would take him more than a week. Billy had decided against the train. They would be looking for him. In his mind, he had selected several towns where he knew of persons who would hide him, give him food and a place to sleep.
---
“I am worried about Friederich, Sir Rupert. He has disobeyed orders from his superiors.”
“It is about time one of the von Mecklenburgs did that, Sir Gustav. For five hundred years, you people have been doing what you are told, even when your family knew it was wrong.”
“We owe our sovereign obedience.”
“That is what poor Yuri said. I doubt if those Red Bolsheviks even gave him a decent burial. He probably ended up in a pit covered by lime. Would you have Friederich betray his brother because his so-called ‘superiors’ told him to?”
Sir Gustav felt better. He wanted Sir Rupert to say what he did. “It was good to see them together, wasn’t it? It was almost as if they had never been apart. I think, when this war is over, they will find each other, don’t you, Sir Rupert?”
“Yes, I do. You know, their mother is very ill. La Grippe. Thousands are dying.
I hope Friederich’s letter arrives before it is too late.”
“Yes.” Sir Gustav began thinking about Sir Rupert’s remarks about superiors. “Old man, have you been reading that socialist literature again? It will poison your mind.”
“Well, there was a piece I read last night after the two of them were asleep. It made me more than a little irritated at our kaiser.”
“What was that?”
“It was an American document, something they wrote almost one hundred fifty years ago. Actually, it was a lot like John Locke wrote almost a hundred years before that. It was called the Declaration of Independence. Really brilliant, I thought.”
“Perhaps I should read it since Billy is an American. Who knows, we might go there for a visit sometime.”
---
By noon, the word had reached Bogrov. He was not surprised. Nothing could be done to prevent what had happened, but a new plan began to form in his mind. On his desk was a note scribbled on the copy of the German cable about Housman and the German colonel. The note said, “Can we use this?” Dzerzhinskii would be pleased with what he had in mind.
Chapter Seven
Fedor Riezler grimaced when he heard the news. The lieutenant was free again. Yet all was not lost. He would still get him; get them both because he had found her. The first day, he had lost the young student. Nicolai Alexandreivich Vasiliev was being careful. He deserved credit for that. The next day, he had waited at the point where he had lost the young man. He had guessed that he would appear at the same time. Arriving early, he placed himself in the student’s shoes, trying to imagine how he might have eluded him. When Vasiliev arrived at the square where he had disappeared, he saw the young man move quickly into a narrow alley that led to a wider street headed away from the river. Knowing every street in Petrograd, Riezler took an alley closer to him that led to the same street. He waited until the young man passed where he stood in the shadows, then stepped out to follow him.
He watched Vasiliev stop and enter a small shop. He waited for almost an hour, watching the shop, waiting for the young man to come out. Just before dark, the student stepped out onto the street and walked away from where Riezler stood. As he came to the first street corner, Vasiliev lingered a moment then crossed the street and headed west on Rodzianko Street. As Riezler reached the corner, the young man had disappeared in the dim light. The street was dark. The lamps at the cross streets were unlit. Vasiliev would not have had time to disappear around o
ne of the street corners ahead of him.
Vasiliev had been careful, as always. He was still worried that during a night of heavy drinking after the midterm tests, he had boasted that he had money because he worked for someone in the American Embassy. In other times, he would not have worried. Now he did. He had been careful. He had stopped to look if he was being followed. He had stepped into the small shop, lingering over a cup of tea and buttered bread, watching to see if anyone might appear on the street. Arriving on the street where the lady stayed, he had quickly stepped into a doorway. He waited and watched as he had every evening. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Carefully cupping his hands to hide the burning end, he lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. Taking the cigarette in two fingers, he quickly lowered it to his side, the lighted end facing away from the street.
He had seen it. The tiny flash of light. Then it was gone. Vasiliev was in a doorway. His heartbeat quickened. Elizaveta Voravskii was nearby, most likely across the street from Vasiliev. For a moment, he thought of waiting. No, there was nothing more to do tonight. Tomorrow, he would begin the vigil. Elizaveta Voravskii had helped kill his Anna. He would kill her just as he had her father and her uncle. But there was time. He would wait to get them both.
---
It was dark when Billy arrived in Petrograd. He had remembered the city when he arrived over a year ago. Although the city had witnessed a revolution, and there was chaos in the government, the streets were still lit, restaurants full, even the theatre was filled with well-dressed men and women who waited for the latest upheaval to subside and things return to normal. After all, it had happened in 1905, and somehow everyone survived. Now, the streets were dark, and gangs of men huddled together in the deeper shadows, silent and watching. Billy decided he did not look wealthy enough or helpless enough to bother. They let him pass.
He could see the embassy ahead.
As he reached the gate, the two Marine guards became alert, watching him. He smiled at the two impressive-looking men, both veterans of Caribbean expeditions.
“Sergeant Bates and Corporal Broussard. Excuse the getup fellas, but you don’t want to wear fancy clothes around Petrograd these days.”
“Good evening, sir.” Bates had a great grin on his face. He liked the young lieutenant, as did the other marines. “If you’re lookin’ for a handout, Ivan, try the Salvation Army.” Then Bates looked at the gaunt face, beckoning to Broussard to open the gate. “Broussard looks about your size, Lieutenant. He could give you a change of clothes. Looks like you could stand a bath and a hot meal.””
Several younger marines came running out. “Corporal, relieve Broussard at his post.”
“Come on, Lieutenant. I ain’t much for style, but they’re clean. We have some extra shavin’ gear in our quarters. Last time we heard, the krauts had taken you prisoner. I heard they just came on the train lookin’ for you. Soon as they took you off, they sent the train on the way. The ambassador’s been runnin’ around like a chicken with his head cut off.”
Billy was silent, just enjoying hearing the American talk. Broussard was from Wyoming. He felt like he was home, listening to the comfortable cadence of a fellow westerner. Billy noted Broussard’s discomfort at his own silence.
“I can’t tell you why they took me, Corporal. I think they were just trying to pull our tail.” Broussard wanted to be the marine they all gathered around for the story on the wandering lieutenant.
“How’d you manage to get away, sir?” Billy knew he would be telling this story over and over.
“The battalion started packin’ to head west. With all the confusion, they left me alone for a few minutes. I was lucky enough to grab a horse and get out of there.”
“It’s been over a week. How long you been travelin’?” Billy knew he would become irritated later on at all the questions. Now, he didn’t mind. He liked the marines. He felt comfortable with them, unlike so many of the embassy officials. He thought about Merriweather, still wondering whether he had something to do with the train being stopped. He knew his dislike for the easterner clouded his judgment, but he couldn’t help distrusting him. He followed in behind the cowboy from Wyoming, grinning at the rolling gait.
“It’s good to be home, Corporal.” Broussard turned and grinned. “In six months, I’ll be able to say that. I’ve seen enough of this hellhole already, sir. Guess you didn’t hear what happened to Mr. Merriweather?” Broussard had turned as they climbed the marble steps. Without waiting for an answer, “Somebody knifed him. Like an execution you hear so much about around here. Stabbed in the back. Then cut his throat. Real nasty. Whoever done it knew what they were doin’. One stab. One slice.”
He would not wait for Riezler to come for him. Elizaveta was in danger. There were still people in Petrograd who could help. I will find you, Fedor. Before I leave Petrograd, I will find you.
---
They were three days from the main body of the Eighth Army. They had covered almost three hundred kilometers. The men were tired. Friederich ordered camp set up. They would stay in place for a full day, to repair their transport, clean their equipment, and rest their weary bodies. The family should have his letter by now. It would be good to see Erika, the children, mother. The last time he was home he had been worried about mother. The strain of the war, of father’s loss, little Willie; it weakened her.
He was tired but he needed to get a look at the lay of the land. To the west, a hill rose above the rest. It would be a good vantage point. Although his horse was tired, he would only be gone for an hour or so. The horse could rest all day tomorrow.
“Captain, I want to ride up to that hill. I will be back in no more than an hour. See that the men are fed. Let the commanders know that tomorrow we will camp here, then leave the following morning.”
As he rode up the hill, he began to think of the likelihood that there would be an inquiry, that his action had put his whole family and the family name in jeopardy. Loyalty was very valuable in Germany. He smiled at the thought of Max von Hoffman.
“Sometimes, it is good to be disloyal, Friederich. Sometimes, I think we are afflicted with loyalty.”
The hill was steeper than it appeared from a distance. He could see that it crested sharply, then began a steeper descent on the other side. Near the crest, the pines grew close together, so that he had to pick his way through the soft, pine-needle bed. As he approached the top of the hill, two men appeared suddenly from each side. Another rushed from his front, grabbing the bridle of his horse. Before he could clear his Luger from its holster, he was on the ground. Struggling, he could sense a large number of men around him. They wore the uniform of Germany’s new ally, the Russians.
There were twenty men in the Latvian cavalry unit that had been assigned to capture the commander of the Blitz Battalion. They had followed the battalion for three days. The information they relied on was that the colonel would often ride off by himself after the battalion had halted. Riding ahead of the battalion, the commander of the cavalry unit had made the fortunate guess that the colonel would head for the hill they were on. The cover story had already been created and readied for issuance in the event they were spotted. The countryside was full of rebel units who still considered themselves at war with the Germans.
It was almost dark when Captain Marx became alarmed and sent out search parties to look for the colonel, the rest of the battalion put on alert. Two hours later, the detachments returned. There was no sign of the colonel. In the dark, they could not look for any signs of anything amiss. They would have to wait until morning. Had he been captured? The chances were that he had. Seldom had the captain missed the communications that existed when you fought with other units, more than now. They needed airplanes to search. The land he saw as they camped was heavily wooded. He shook his head.
---
Nicolai was nervous. Something was bothering him. He had dutifully described his surveillance, stating to Billy that he had seen nothing suspicious. Billy
had to find out.
“Do you know who we are worried about, Nicolai?” “No, sir.”
“Fedor Riezler, most students know who he is, is that correct?” “Yes, sir.”
“Fedor Riezler was a well-known agitator and organizer. He even enjoyed Lenin’s confidence until recently.” Billy watched Nicolai, noticed he had begun to turn red. “Riezler is not merely a brutal member of the Bolsheviks, he is insane. Nicolai, he kills for the pleasure of it. Now he is after the lady you have been watching because he blames her for the death of his mistress, a person he brutalized himself until she left him. He has already killed her father. He is responsible for the death of an American here in Petrograd, Nicolai. He killed the American Embassy official, Reginald Merriweather.” Billy looked into the eyes of the young man, whom he liked. “Now, Nicolai, is there anything you need to tell me?” Still, Nicolai hesitated. Billy reached over and grabbed the young man’s forearm and squeezed, making him jump and wince with pain.
“I need to know, Nicolai. Tell me.”
The boy had done a foolish thing. Perhaps it would not let Riezler find Elizaveta, but there was now that possibility. He did not feel sorry for Nicolai. He made a mistake. Still, he thanked God that he had a conscience, something too many in Petrograd seemed to be without. Why do cities tear the sense of right and wrong from people? Perhaps because it so easy to slip into a crowd and distance yourself from those you betray, he thought. No matter now, he had to find Riezler. There were places to look. Riezler liked to hunt. We will see how he enjoys being hunted.
Billy had hired two additional guards to watch the house. Riezler had spotted them. Why did Housman add guards? The boy. Housman had found out from the boy. Does Housman know it is me? He would include me as a prime suspect, no doubt of that. No matter, the lieutenant would be around soon. Probably late at night when the streets are empty. I have time.
