Ten minutes later they were on the fore-deck of the destroyer being herded together with the other prisoners. Kuporovitch stepped out of the mob and addressed one of the Soviet officers in Russian.
“My friend and I were prisoners on the U-boat. He is an Englishman and I too, am British, although born in Russia. We are both war correspondents, and were being taken to Germany. May we see your captain?”
After expressing his astonishment that two British prisoners should have been on board the submarine, the officer took them aft and up to the bridge.
The captain of the destroyer was in a high good humour on account of his recent kill. Kuporovitch congratulated him on it, then told him that Gregory and himself had been captured in Tallinn while reporting on the campaign in the Baltic States. They produced their papers, which were all in order, so the captain saw no reason to disbelieve them, and, after congratulating them on their escape, sent them below with the officer to whom Kuporovitch had just spoken.
The officer, having introduced himself as Lieutenant Dakov, took them to the mess and gave them half a tumbler of vodka apiece. Then, as they were now shivering with cold, he suggested that they should turn in for a bit while he had their clothes and furs dried. Gratefully they followed him to a double cabin, stripped off their saturated things, and got between the blankets in the bunks. Utterly exhausted, within five minutes they were both sound asleep.
By half past four the destroyer was back at her moorings in Kronstadt bay, but her captain had the kindness not to have his guests called until ten o’clock. Their dry clothes were brought to them and, greatly refreshed by a seven-hours’ sleep, they dressed. They were then given a good breakfast in the mess and, as soon as they had finished, Lieutenant Dakov told them that he was going to take them ashore.
Their terrible experience of the previous night was still too recent for them to get it quite into focus as yet, and they both felt that they had not actually lived it but, rather, passed through a most appalling nightmare. So far they had had little chance to speak of it to each other, or to make future plans; but immediately they were settled in the boat Gregory said anxiously to Stefan:
“Where is he taking us?”
“To the Naval Governor’s office,” Kuporovitch replied. “Naturally they want an account of how we came to be captured.”
Gregory already knew that the Soviet officer who was with them could not understand French, so he went on, “What do you suggest telling them?”
“That we were both pressmen working in Sweden, and that when Hitler attacked Russia we decided to slip over to the Baltic States, to report the new campaign. That as the Soviet forces were driven back we too fell back, until we were cornered in Tallinn. Naturally we were anxious to escape capture by the Germans, so we tried to get away in a small boat; but we were caught by the submarine and taken prisoners, after all.”
“That sounds a pretty plausible story. The only trouble is that our passports won’t bear it out. They have never been franked in Sweden, and they have been franked in the Soviet Union.”
Kuporovitch shrugged. “But they are visad for Sweden; and, in fact, for practically every country that is still neutral in Europe.”
“Yes, because old Pellinore had the blessed forethought to realise that we might want to come out of Russia a different way to that by which we went in.”
“All right, then. The fact that they are good for Sweden is half the battle. I shall say that since they are diplomatic passports entrance and exit stamps were not considered necessary there. And by the mercy of God the Soviet stamp does not show at what place we entered the Union. I looked at mine this morning. The Soviets took over the Baltic States over a year ago, so if we had been there it would have been the Russians who stamped them, and there is nothing to show that we came through Persia because, when we did, the country was in a state of upheaval.”
“That’s true. And as we were travelling as semi-military personnel all the way out from England our passports weren’t stamped in the Middle East either. Still, Kronstadt is inside the Leningrad defence ring and, except by making one’s way through the German lines, which they would not expect two pressmen to attempt, there is no way out——”
“They could fly us out.”
“Yes, I was just about to add—except by air. But that needs a pretty high priority. Naturally we should ask them to fly us to Moscow; but if they say that space in an aircraft cannot be spared, what do you propose suggesting that they should do with us?”
“I shall ask them to let us proceed to Leningrad, in order that we may be attached to Marshal Voroshilov’s press bureau and make ourselves useful there, until a place in an aircraft going to Moscow can be found for us.”
“Right. Now say that they question me separately. How long were we supposed to have been prisoners in the U-boat?”
“Let us say for three days.”
“How long were we at sea in the little boat before the sub picked us up?”
“Two days; and we were picked up soon after dawn on the third day, about thirty miles west of Tallinn. The boat was a small motor-launch. We had plenty of fuel but the engine had failed and neither of us knew how to put it right.”
Gregory took up the fabrication. “We left Sweden in a tramp, two days before the stamps on our passports show that we entered Russia, and we went first to Riga. We had been working in Stockholm as freelance journalists and thought it a good chance to get a scoop for the British papers because, as far as we knew, there were no official Ministry of Information correspondents attached to the Soviet forces. We had been in Sweden since the fall of Norway. We took refuge there because we got cut off from the British forces operating round Trondheim. But how the hell did we get ourselves attached to the Legation?”
They both thought hard for a moment, then Gregory added: “I know. We’ll say that free-lance journalism is our normal profession, but it is a precarious existence and the war offered a chance of steady jobs; so we got ourselves taken on by the Ministry of Economic Warfare as temporary Civil Servants. As we had volunteered for service overseas we were attached to the British Legation in Oslo; but, after a bit, we got fed-up with office routine, so when the trouble started there, we went off free-lancing again. There’s nothing so terribly improbable about that.”
“No,” Kuporovitch agreed. “After all, Soviet officers and officials know practically nothing of how British wartime Ministries work and the conditions under which they issue diplomatic passports, so they’re not likely to question us much on that side of our story. It is our experiences in the U-boat which will interest them.”
“We’ll say nothing of Grauber, of course.”
“Why not? If we give his description they could send out an alert to all the Soviet forces on the Esthonian coast, and they might catch him.”
“No. Old man Grauber is as slippery as an eel, and a mighty fast worker. The Russian-held belt is only about thirty miles deep out there, and I wouldn’t mind betting that he’s reached the German lines by this time. In any case the hope of their picking him up is so slight that it isn’t worth the risk of the trouble we may land ourselves in if we mention him.”
“Why should we land ourselves in trouble?”
“Because we’d have such a frightful lot of explaining to do. If we were just a couple of strays picked up from a boat how would we know anything about Grauber? It’s a thousand to one that we’d have spent the whole of our three days in the lock-up, so we wouldn’t have even seen him. Even if we had we wouldn’t have known who or what he was. And we certainly wouldn’t know how or when he came aboard the ship or left it. We’d have to make up a whole new story to account for such knowledge and that might lead to all sorts of complications.”
Kuporovitch nodded. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that,” and Gregory went on:
“We’ve got to keep our story as simple as we possibly can. Such a hell of a lot hangs on our being believed. We’ve had a marvellous break but we’re very far
from being out of the wood yet.”
“Yes, I realise that.”
“Good! Our attitude is that we’re only too anxious to help but we know practically nothing, because we’ve spent the last three days in the U-boat’s cells. We don’t know anything about her having picked anyone up off Kronstadt or having put someone ashore further down the coast. If we can put that over we’re as good as free men, and with a little luck we’ll get back to London and complete our mission. But if we fail we’ll find ourselves back in the Lubianka; and we can’t expect Marshal Voroshilov to take any risk of our being taken out of Soviet hands again.”
The boat had hove to alongside a jetty while they had been talking, and they finished their conversation only as they were walking up it with their escort.
The scene on the water-front of the famous Russian naval base was one of great activity. Warships of all sizes lay at anchor in the bay and small craft of all kinds were continually going to and from them. On the quays scores of sailors were handling stores or passing to and fro along the street. There was only a sprinkling of civilians and women to be seen as Kronstadt was a purely naval port and entry to it could be obtained only by special permit. But Gregory and Stefan were not given long to observe their surroundings, as a few hundred yards from the jetty stood the big Soviet Admiralty building, and their guide took them into it.
Having shown his pass he led the way upstairs to the first floor, put them into a waiting-room and left them there. He was away for some time and during his absence Gregory could not help feeling distinctly uneasy. He recalled Mr. Micawber into whose mouth Dickens had put the admirable dictum: “Income twenty shillings a year, expenditure nineteen and sixpence—happiness. Income twenty shillings a year, expenditure twenty shillings and sixpence—misery.” He knew that the coming interview could result in no half measures. Just like having or not having the odd sixpence in hand at the end of the year, they would either get away with it completely and be free to use their wits in devising a good way to get home, or they would find themselves back in a Soviet prison, as suspects; be identified in due course, have to face the merciless wrath of the Marshal, who would certainly believe that they had been in league with the Germans the whole time and had somehow managed to arrange to be rescued by their pay-masters.
At last this period of anxious waiting came to an end. The officer returned, led them down several passages, and ushered them into a room where a bald, moon-faced naval captain with prawn-like eyebrows was sitting.
The captain greeted them pleasantly, asked them to sit down and listened intently to Kuporovitch’s story. Having looked carefully at their passports he handed them back and appeared quite satisfied. He then asked a number of questions about the U-boat and their activities in Esthonia. About the three days they were supposed to have spent in the cells there was little to be said, and as the Esthonian battle front had been much like any other Kuporovitch was able to bluff quite convincingly about experiences they might well have met with there.
Gregory could not understand what was being said, but he sensed that things seemed to be going quite well, and felt considerably more cheerful.
Having talked to Kuporovitch for some time, their interrogator picked up a telephone on his desk and spoke briefly into it. A few minutes later another officer came into the room, evidently having been sent for, and it transpired that he not only spoke English but had at one time been a junior naval attaché at the Soviet Embassy in London. He questioned the two of them, and particularly Gregory, about the city, and after a little reported to the bald man that, whether they were British or not, they certainly must have lived in the British capital, as they knew it well.
The bald captain murmured something and the other officer said, “Will you please both to remove your collars and ties?”
Gregory wondered what on earth could be the reason for this strange and apparently ominous request; but there was no alternative but to obey; so he took the articles off and handed them over. Kuporovitch did the same and the English-speaking officer looked inside the collars at their markings, and at the labels in the ties.
In a flash Gregory realised what the game was. The ex-naval attaché was checking up on where they had been bought A glow of delighted satisfaction ran through him. He knew that on his return from France Kuporovitch had got himself a new outfit at Harrods, and for many years he had always bought his own shirtings at Beale and Inman’s in Bond Street.
The officer handed the things back with a smile and spoke to the captain. The captain smiled too, and said to Kuporovitch in Russian: “I had an idea that you might be two Nazi agents who had taken the opportunity offered by the sinking of the U-boat to try to plant yourselves on us. But if that had been the case you would have had no chance to make such careful preparations as getting your clothes in London, so it is now quite clear that you are not. I take it you now wish to get home as soon as possible so I must see what arrangements we can make for you.”
Kuporovitch translated to Gregory and they both laughed heartily at the idea that they might have been Nazi spies. The captain then took some forms from a drawer in his desk and began to fill them up.
When he had finished, the English-speaking officer handed the papers to Kuporovitch and said: “There is a liberty boat. She leaves the main pier for Oranienbaum at twelve midday. You show these passes and take her. These other papers here; they are railway vouchers from Oranienbaum to Leningrad. You take the train. You arrive and you report to the Leningrad Central Travel Bureau. For them it is to arrange your journey to Moscow and next home, if that is possible.”
Taking the papers from him, Kuporovitch expressed his thanks and stood up. Gregory followed suit. There was a general bowing, smiling and shaking of hands. Then Dakov, who had remained silent all this time, accompanied them out of the room, saying that he would show them the pier at which the liberty boat lay.
The three of them went downstairs and out into the street. Gregory felt almost like singing with happiness and Kuporovitch was feeling equally gay. They had made the grade and the cream of the jest was that they owed their liberty, their freedom from the promise they had made to Marshal Voroshilov, and an excellent chance to get home safely with the results of their mission in the bag, all to the machinations of their old enemy Gruppenführer Grauber.
As they walked down the crowded quay, Gregory asked Stefan: “What is this liberty boat we’re going on? I thought naval people sent liberty boats off only from ships.”
“Kronstadt is entirely a naval station,” Kuporovitch explained. “No wives are allowed to live here. They all have homes or lodgings across the water in Oranienbaum. In a way the two places are like your Portsmouth and Southampton. Although Oranienbaum is much smaller, of course, and as far as I know there is no ban against sailors’ wives and sweethearts living in Portsmouth. Still, there is a certain similarity, and that is the reason for the liberty boat, which goes to and fro several times a day.”
“Ah well,” murmured Gregory happily. “Anyway, it’s the first stage on our way back to England, Home and Beauty.”
Kuporovitch did not reply. He was staring in fascinated horror at two men who were approaching along the pavement, directly in front of him. One was a short, fat, middle-aged man in a dark uniform; the other was some twenty years younger and a Soviet naval rating. They resembled one another so strongly that anyone could have guessed them to be a father who had come to Kronstadt on a visit to his sailor son. Both had the yellowish skins, almond eyes and high cheekbones of Mongolians. The elder was the Ogpu officer who, four nights before, had on Colonel Gudarniev’s orders booked them into the Lubianka.
Recognition was mutual. Jerking up his arm and pointing, the fat Mongolian began to shout:
“Help, Comrades! Seize those two men! Seize them! They are the prisoners who escaped last night in the missing Black Maria!”
Chapter XVI
Warrant For Arrest
Once more, Gregory could not understand the words, but h
e, too, had now recognised the fat Mongolian-featured Ogpu officer, and instantly guessed what he was shouting about.
Within twenty seconds his loud cries had caused a score of heads to turn; within sixty a crowd of half a hundred people was milling round Gregory, Kuporovitch, Dakov, the Ogpu man and his sailor son; and from all directions another hundred were running up to find out the cause of the commotion. Except for a few longshoremen and two Soviet Wrens the crowd was mainly composed of fine healthy-looking young fellows with flattish faces and shaven heads, all wearing the uniform of the Soviet Navy.
Nothing short of being possessed of wings could have enabled the two friends to get away. Even if they had taken to their heels at the very first shout they could not have covered twenty yards along the busy quay without being surrounded. They could only stand there, stricken silent by the overwhelming disaster which, in one brief second, had brought their hopes and plans crashing like a house of cards about their ears.
Brief, excited explanations followed, punctuated by the angry shouts of the milling crowd. The Ogpu man insisted that they were the escaped prisoners and vouched for having booked them into the Lubianka himself four nights before. Dakov told how they had been rescued only a few hours previously from a German submarine. Just as Gregory had only too rightly feared, in the case of such a misfortune, it was immediately assumed that they must be German agents and that a daring coup had been staged by their Nazi friends to rescue them.
As scraps of the conversation drifted to the nearest onlookers and a garbled version of these were passed back to those behind the crowd became angrier and angrier. Shouts of, “They’re German! Hitlerite bandits! Spies! Nazi spies!” began to go up in increasing volume, and it looked as if the two friends were in grave danger of being lynched.
In vain Kuporovitch strove to drown the uproar by yelling: “We’re British! We’re British, I tell you! We were captured by the Germans and taken aboard the U-boat against our will.”
Come into my Parlour Page 34
