by H Schmidt
As he sat, waiting for the darkness, he began to whimper. Everything was over. The Bolsheviks had abandoned him. Now they were hunting him. Anna was gone. Killed by the man who had destroyed everything. He thought what had happened to him. He felt his fear turn to desperation, then smoldering anger. He had taken Anna away; he had killed her.
Billy sat at the window watching. It was dark now. There were no street lights, but still enough light to see the door to the house where Riezler lived. Did Riezler know I am watching him? Doubtful. Still, he must know by now that I am looking for him. Billy had wondered whether Riezler would leave Petrograd. He decided he would not. He would think himself safer among the few friends he had at the university than in some new city. The street was empty. Billy got up, unknowingly touched the Colt .45, and carefully opened the door. The room Billy had taken was almost directly across from the door to the house where Riezler was. At the side of the rooming house, there was a small alley, a space barely wide enough for a man. Billy slid out the door and eased himself into the alley.
Riezler smiled as he watched the tall figure slip out of the door and into the small alley. He knew the alley where the American stood opened to another alley in back of the house. Moving quickly down the stairs to the first landing, he found a window in the back of the house. It opened easily. He dropped to the street. His hand shook as he pulled the Browning from its holster and released the safety.
Billy heard the footfalls then turned to see a figure dashing across the street to his right. Was it Riezler? An accomplice? Neither? If he stayed where he was, Riezler could not miss him. The distance to the rear of the alley was no more than fifteen meters.
He eased onto the street, covering the alley and the corner to the left. He saw the first flash, then the popping sound, then a second flash from the alley. Billy dropped to one knee and fired at the flashes. By Billy’s second round, Riezler was gone. He was heading toward the street to the right. Billy raced to head him off. Rounding the corner, he dropped to his knee, expecting his quarry to be onto the street before him. No one. Riezler was still in the alley.
Had he hit him? Billy was a good shot. He had learned as a boy and was good enough to be on the pistol team at West Point. But firing down an alley in the dark when someone is firing at you is another matter. At best, he had only a fifty percent chance of hitting Riezler. He worked his way straight ahead, trying to catch any movement around him, looking for places where his enemy could hide. His eyes were teared from the pain. The tiniest whimper came from his lips, as he waited for Housman. He would come, he knew. Riezler held his left hand over the stomach wound. He could feel the warm blood running down his right leg and sticking to his buttocks where the bullet had ripped a large hole in his back. He was dying but his mind was on the lieutenant. If he could keep from passing out, he could still kill him.
“Come on, you American swine. Come in after me.” He whispered the words, willing himself to stand.
Patience. A hunter must have patience. Look at all the possibilities; give maximum credit to the enemy. His gut told him Riezler was in the alley waiting for him. Hurt or not, he was dangerous. Duck walking into the alley, he crouched beside a wooden fence. He watched and listened. He could hear shouts now. But no one was on the street. They were shouting to each other from the windows of their houses. People did not come outside at night. A dog began to bark.
To his right, no more than ten meters from him, he heard it. It was a sucking sound, the sound forced from someone in pain. It came from behind a small shed. He waited. Did he hear someone breathing? He leveled his Colt .45 at the shed. The .45 jumped twice; he moved quickly to his right as Riezler lurched to the center of the alley, firing at where the shots had come from. Aiming low to allow for the upward thrust of his Colt .45, Billy fired at Riezler’s chest, slamming the small man on his back, his Browning clattering on the cobblestones.
Somewhere, the sounds in the closed alley had found solid walls, and the echoes could be heard for several seconds. Shouting increased, sounds of people running getting closer, dogs barking. Moving away from the direction of the noise, the American headed toward the river and the bridge. An old man came into the alley and looked down at the dead man. Satisfied that he was harmless, he began searching through his pockets. Spotting the weapon, he stuffed it into his large coat, then scurried away.
Dzerzhinskii received the news of Riezler the next morning. He had not been surprised that someone killed him. Nor that it was the American. One of them had to die. He was glad it was not Housman. It was time to reel him in.
---
The count was ill. Elizaveta and Billy stood before her uncle, who was sitting near the fireplace, drinking a glass of his dwindling supply of sherry. Billy knew it was only a matter of time before the Cheka came by to pick him up again. Few men so outspoken and prominent remained free in Petrograd.
“Come with me, Uncle. I am afraid for you.”
“I shall stay in my country until I die, Elizaveta. Russia is my country. I know we will come to our senses and everything will be as it was. These people cannot rule a nation. They will come to men like me soon asking us to put the country back together again.”
His niece did not respond, merely bending over him and gently placing a blanket on his lap. She joined Billy for a stroll. They could hear gunfire near the river, something that happened nightly. They had not gone far when Billy put his hands gently on Elizaveta’s shoulders.
“Is there anything I can do before you leave?” “Just take care of Uncle as long as you can.”
“I will miss you, dearest, but I will feel better knowing that you are safe.” Elizaveta was leaving for Sweden tonight, traveling by motorcar to Revel, where she would cross the Baltic to Stockholm. All of her papers were in order. The Soviet government had assured the American ambassador of her safe passage through Russia. Necessary arrangements were made with the German government, which now controlled Revel.
Billy knew that he may never see Elizaveta after tonight. Russia was becoming increasingly dangerous for him. He had told Elizaveta he would come for her in Sweden, that she should wait there. He had not arranged for her to go to America. He knew Elizaveta understood why. Without Billy, Elizaveta’s new home was Europe, among the émigrés. She would wait in Sweden and hope that she would see her fiancé again.
---
Jim Carney was the senior member of the Political Affairs Office of the American Embassy. He stood beside the window looking at the memorandum addressed to Dzerzhinkii. It had been sent by a Vladimir Volkov from Narva. It was a report on the prisoners being held in the czar’s summer palace there. There were five names on the list. One of the names was Friederich von Mecklenburg. The list had been planted by the Cheka. Most of the documents received in the past had proved reliable. Carney didn’t know if the ambassador would want Lieutenant Housman to know about the memorandum. Carney had noticed a cooling toward the lieutenant in the last month, since his alleged escape from his brother.
Carney was a career foreign service officer. Not connected to the eastern establishment which ran the Foreign Service, he had languished in middle level positions for twenty years. He thought the approach to diplomatic service by Housman was inappropriate, unbecoming someone representing his country. But he liked him. He liked the western openness that reminded him of the people back in Kansas. He would tell him. There was a risk but he owed another American that much.
Chapter Eight
The plan that Bogrov sold to Dzerzhinskii was simple. Capture one brother, and wait for the one you wanted to attempt to rescue him--the German colonel as bait to catch the American. Use the threats of harm to each of the brothers as a means of getting information about the German Army and the Volunteer Army. There were risks. Bogrov recalled the escape from the Winter Palace. This time, that will not happen.
---
He wondered whether it would ever end. He thought of the information given to him by Carney. The information had been planted; th
ey were after him. But did they have Friederich? How could it have happened? With a good horse, he could be in Narva in two days. He had kept the horse north of the city. He had picked the gelding when Friederich released him because his coat was dull and he seemed to walk as if his feet were sore. No one paid much mind to a peasant riding such a horse. What he found was a pleasant surprise, that the chestnut loved to run and could run without effort for hours.
As he rode into Narva, he could see signs that the short summer was coming to an end. The sun was low in the sky, the air had a bite to it, and the leaves were beginning to change. In a month’s time, the snows would begin. Still, as he looked across the bay which protected Narva from the rough Baltic Sea, he thought how beautiful the country was. For all of its extremes, he would miss it and its unlucky people.
He could see the palace from where he sat upon his horse. It was situated on a narrow point--surrounded by water on three sides. Where the narrow finger jutted into the bay, the land was open, clear of any cover. On the seaward side, he could see the land sloping down to the water and docks running out into the water. He decided how he would do it. He had a lot of work to do. He turned his horse, still fresh despite the quick pace, and headed into Narva.
Today, Grigori’s fishing trawler ran its nets in the bay in front of the palace. His contact in Narva had arranged for Billy to work for the captain, tugging the nets, separating the catch, and keeping the decks clean for the other hands. Despite the backbreaking work, Billy had time to observe the palace from the water, and get to know the man whose help he needed. The captain of the trawler was a candid and abrupt man. He did not hide his dislike for authority.
“The first man who called me ‘comrade’ I told I wasn’t any comrade of his. My comrades, comrade, are my friends.”
When he spoke, Billy saw the worried look in his eyes. He talked about friends who had been beaten and killed because they didn’t give their fish to the Soviet Food Committee.
It was almost dark when they left the trawler, heading for the captain’s small house close by.
“Well, Captain, in appreciation for allowing me to work for you, join me.” Billy held up a bottle of Smirnov vodka he had taken from the embassy liquor cabinet, compliments of the Marine sergeant with a spare set of keys.
“Excellent, Billy. May I call you comrade?”
The two men watched the small house near the wharves in Narva. Billy had been in town for three days before he picked up a tail he knew was there. He had already arranged for someone to watch his back, and the surveillance did not think to find out they were being followed, too. Shortly after sundown on the fourth day, two men came out of the house and walked toward the red light district. One of the men had a small seabag slung over his shoulder.
“I had never heard the American was interested in our prostitutes. Perhaps he is a better man than we thought.”
Billy did not have to look back to know he was being followed. For the moment, he felt safe. He had gambled and won that they would not arrest him until he attempted to free Friederich. After three days, he was sure his brother was there. The fishermen who had become his friends knew just about everything that went on in Narva. One knew a cousin who had seen the soldiers ride in with the German officer. They remembered because they had been told Russia was at peace with Germany and wondered, why would they take a German prisoner?
The Cheka agents did not follow them into the whorehouse. The brothel and the streets were full of sailors from Kronstadt. The agents knew if they went inside, it would be difficult to get outside if either of the men left suddenly. One watched the front, the other the back. The American seemed to be enjoying himself, out to have a good time. The night should be an easy one. Two hours later, the two men came out the front door, walking down the center of the street. Vassily, who watched the front, thought about calling his companion but knew there was no time. He fell in behind the men, staying close. The streets were even more crowded than before.
The vodka had made them louder than before, and both seemed a little unsteady on their legs. They were heading back to the house where the American stayed. As they were almost to the end of the block, the man with the American broke away and headed toward a small unpainted house where two old ladies gestured lewdly toward the two men.
The American waved his hand in mock disgust as the other disappeared into the house, with the ladies close behind. The Cheka ignored the man and followed the American. No matter. It looked like an easy night. Nothing to report in the morning, except the stories he could tell about the surprising American.
Billy waited inside the brothel until he thought it was safe. He looked at his watch. Five hours until daylight. It would be tonight. He walked quickly to the docks. The boat was waiting, the motor running. The captain stared at Billy for a moment, alarm on his face. As the American came closer, he smiled.
“A man of many faces, I see.”
“Let us hope it fooled the Bolsheviks, Grigori, my friend. Are we ready?”
The fishing trawler worked itself slowly from the dock. It was capable of doing ten knots in open water. The docks of the palace were three kilometers to the south of the fishermen’s docks. Twenty minutes later, Grigori Renner anchored his boat five hundred meters from the point. He had agreed to bring the American out, then to do one other thing.
The four-meter rowboat was lowered into the water. Gaining his sea legs, Billy reached for the materials the captain and crew were handing to him--Springfield rifle, a Browning automatic rifle, pineapple hand grenades, two Colt .45s, and a satchel full of ammunition magazines. In another satchel, he carried string, a battery-operated torch, two gas masks and five canisters of tear gas. In a smaller satchel, he carried guncotton, fuses, and matches. Billy checked his equipment again, then covered it with a tarpaulin.
The captain watched. He was smiling again.
“Perhaps, I will be able to watch a war, Lieutenant. Godspeed. We will pray for you and your brother. To hell with Germany, with America, with Russia. There is nothing more important than family and friends.”
“Let’s hope there will not be a war, Grigori. Let us hope they think I am asleep after a night with your beautiful Russian prostitutes.” Billy looked the huge man who had tears in his eyes. “You are right, Captain. Godspeed to you. Perhaps another time when God cures us of this insanity, we can share another glass of vodka together.”
He looked at the palace, now dark but for a few dimly lit windows. He felt the rain, listened to it pelt the tarpaulin. He checked to see that it covered everything. He leaned into the oars. The bay had gotten more choppy in the last half hour. Now, he had to struggle to make shore and his arms began to ache. They knew he would come. The Cheka was expecting him to attempt to rescue Friederich. Tonight, he was counting on their thinking he was in bed, sleeping off a wild night.
He looked at his watch. Four hours until daylight. He rowed the boat around the point, coming into a tiny beach he had spotted on the first day. Pulling the boat ashore, he covered it with the dark tarpaulin to make it invisible to any guards patrolling above. The palace sat upon a hill. The sides of the hill had been eroded by the pounding the sea, forming vertical cliffs around the three sides of the point. The dock could be reached from the palace by steps rising vertically almost twenty meters. He must climb those stairs unseen to begin his one-man assault.
As he adjusted the strap on the Browning, he thought how often he had been a one-man army. Except for poor B-25, he had never fought beside an American soldier. He wondered what it would be like in the trenches in France, leading men into battle as he had been trained to do at West Point, as his ancestors had done for hundreds of years. Perhaps because he was alone, not bombarded by the endless calls for love of country, and afforded the opportunity to see the back side of war, he saw it for what it is.
Strapping down the Colt .45s, checking mentally to see if he had everything he needed, he walked toward the stairs that led to the palace grounds. The rain fell
harder now, and he wondered if anything would be hurt by the rain. No matter, now.
---
Friederich stood in front of the window, watching the rain and looking through the mist at the choppy waters of the bay. It was impossible to see beyond a few kilometers. They had placed him on the second floor. He knew he was on the north side of the palace. Since he first arrived, the jailers had left him alone. Although the food was plain, frequently borsch and hard bread with strong, hot tea, it had been edible. He was surprised that there had been no contact with him, to question him. He had tried to answer the question of why he had been taken prisoner. At first he thought one of the rebel army groups had taken him prisoner, but he had seen the Red Army star on motorcars that had toured the grounds on several occasions.
He kept coming back to his brother. What had his brother done, what was he into that caused the German Embassy to issue instructions to detain Willie? Friederich was curious why the Bolsheviks simply didn’t try to kill Willie, to be rid of him. Even to concoct a story of his aiding counterrevolutionaries and deport him. Then it came to him. They need to catch him with blood on his hands. He knew why he was here. They were waiting for Willie. He was the bait.
---
It took Billy only fifteen minutes to pack the guncotton and to rig the trigger. The rain was coming down harder now. With it came wind from the sea, causing the rain to fall at an angle, biting his face. As he worked, he watched for guards. He wondered where they were, guessing inside by a warm fire. Billy knew the path to the palace from the steps ran to an entrance on the north side of the building.
The decision to attempt the rescue this morning was made when he met the electrician yesterday afternoon. Three days before, the man had been instructed by the Narva Soviet to wire a room in the palace. Billy’s good fortune was that Boris was the cousin of one of the fishermen. He told Billy he saw a man in a Germano Officer’s uniform being guarded as he was being marched to the second floor. The guards had escorted the man to a room on the north side of the palace. The electrician described Friederich.
