The Frozen Circle

by Peter Watt

  ‘It was the interview I did with that journalist, Sarah Sakharov that made me think of my place in this world,’ Monique said. ‘If I am the direct descendant of the Princess Maria what is my relevance to the world of the 21st century other than as a five-minute item on a television current affairs program? What other relevance do I have to anyone?’

  Morgan thought about what she’d said. Who would want to harm her, and why? He sensed that the answer might solve the mystery. It was time to widen his search to net anyone who was not a citizen of the town, let alone Australia. He already had Olev in his sights but were there others? After all, the couple that had attempted to steal the Larkin journal had English accents. There had been many tourists in town during the festival and it could have been someone now long gone from the district although Olev still remained in town.

  The telephone rang and Monique answered it. A girlfriend calling, Morgan guessed from the way Monique spoke. He could see that she was caught up in the call and he rose from the couch. With a wave to Monique he let himself out. The storm had been short and sharp and passed on to drench dry paddocks elsewhere. Morgan continued his run back to the police station, Monique’s statements echoing in his mind.

  A day would pass before Morgan would get an answer. When he did all hell broke out in the sleepy little village.

  MI6 HQ

  London

  Present day

  Harry Stanton knew that a request for the background checks on Sarah Locksley aka Sakharov would raise a red flag. So he called in a favour from the records section to lift her file. It lay open on his desk and what Stanton read in her psych evaluation alarmed him. He was not a psychologist but he had an understanding of the term ‘borderline sociopath’. Such an evaluation should have excluded her from recruitment but somehow with her skills and charm she had been considered too valuable to let go. She had been attached to Harry’s section without his knowledge of her psych evaluation, which by strict privacy laws was classified information, even in the intelligence service. In her capacity of infiltrating an ultra-right Russian nationalist movement she had proved extremely effective and so all else about her background seemed irrelevant for the intelligence she was able to provide to MI6 – until now.

  So Harry had a sociopath loose in Australia – and tangled in a very delicate mission. His instincts told him that it was no coincidence that she was in some Aussie village called Valley View. She was a loose cannon, capable of bringing the British government into the international spotlight in a way that was extremely damaging.

  And there was another worry. Daniel Kildare had not reported in to him at the prescribed time. A day had passed and when Harry opted to call his agent in Australia the mobile phone simply rang out. Needless to say, Sarah Locksley’s mobile phone recorded a disconnected number. In an act of desperation Harry pulled the file on what they knew about the demographics and topography of the little Australian town. There was a police station and a telephone number. Harry glanced up at the clock on his wall. He calculated that it would be night in the eastern states of Australia but knew police were on call 24/7. Harry commenced pushing the buttons on his phone.

  THIRTY

  West of Riga, Latvia

  September 1919

  The bullets punched holes in the canvas fuselage above Joshua’s head. He screamed over the roar of engines and howling wind for Maria to remain on her stomach on the floor of the cockpit, although he knew that would do little good once he was able to raise his head to peer over the rim from his position at the nose of the aircraft. In the grey sky he could see two fighter aircraft circling for an angle to attack the lumbering former bomber and knew that their machine guns could reach into every part of the canvas and wood giant. Joshua recognised the stubby yet streamlined biplanes as Albatross fighters. He had seen the German aircraft over the frontlines in France and Belgium and had heard from flyers in the fledgling Australian air force that the fighter aircraft were very good. When one of the aircraft turned he could see the black crosses marking them as belonging to the German air force. He was not aware that international politics deemed that the Germans fight on the side of the Latvians to resist the onslaught of the Bolsheviks in their country.

  Joshua could see that Jan was forcing his ungainly former bomber into a climb. The twin Mercedes engines roared and one of the attacking aircraft peeled off to slide down below them, while the second made a great sweep to position itself on their tail. Joshua crouched and grasped the pistol grip on his machine gun. Cocking the weapon, he tucked the butt into his shoulder and tried to recall all that he had been taught about defending against aerial attack. He was to aim in front of the aircraft, he remembered, so that the enemy would fly into a spray of machine gun bullets. But he also realised that the aircraft he lined up was well out of range and sliding behind the climbing bomber. Then he heard Grigor open up behind the pilot, firing down a tunnel that ran from the top of the fuselage to underneath. German designers had long realised the Gotha’s weakness to attack from below in the hole for the rear gunner to fire through.

  Captain Jan Novak knew the only hope he had of avoiding being shot down by the well-armed German fighters was to use the only advantage he had over the smaller fighter aircraft. His bomber could fly higher and he attempted to reach the maximum ceiling of 21 000 feet compared to that of 17 000 feet of the pursuing aircraft.

  But the fighter plane attacking from below continued its own climb, firing the twin machine guns mounted on the nose in front of the enemy pilot. Joshua watched helplessly as the second enemy plane pulled into a position on the bomber’s tail and the twinkle of fire coming from the twin machine guns became apparent. Both enemy had synchronised their attack to concentrate their firepower on the rear of the vulnerable bomber.

  Behind his controls, the Polish flyer simultaneously cursed and prayed for height as the machine gun bullets raked his plane from stem to stern. From his position in the nose there was nothing Joshua could do but watch helplessly as canvas ripped and plywood splintered under the impact of the bullets hosing their aircraft. All depended on a Polish pilot and a Russian soldier to keep them alive.

  Maria, ashen with terror, reached out to hold Joshua’s hand. Then suddenly, the ripping, tearing around them stopped and when Joshua glanced over the rim of his cockpit he could see the two enemy aircraft peel away to fall earth-wards before rolling over to resume their flight. Jan had succeeded in reaching an altitude beyond that of the lighter enemy aircraft. Levelling off, he piloted his plane towards a cloud bank. It was then that Joshua noticed Grigor slumped on the deck of his firing position. Scrambling over Maria, Joshua crawled rearward to where Grigor lay in a rapidly spreading pool of blood. He was still alive – but barely. Joshua attempted to speak to him but over the noise of the wind and engines around them he had to shout. Grigor simply returned a weak smile and nodded. Joshua could not see where the Russian had been wounded and tore open his leather jacket. He saw the widening splotches of blood on Grigor’s heavy woollen jumper. There was more than one wound and Joshua guessed that Grigor had taken at least two bullets in the chest. Even as he examined the dying soldier Grigor’s eyes closed and with a rattling sound in his throat he spewed up a fountain of blood. Grigor’s head fell to one side and Joshua knew that he was dead. He let go of the body and crawled back to his position at the nose of the aircraft. Marie saw the blood covering his leather jacket and hands. Her eyes widened in fear but Joshua simply shook his head to reassure her.

  The flight droned on as Jan navigated towards his first landing point west of Riga. After about an hour, the Polish pilot began his descent until they were skimming the tops of trees and open fields. The weather was overcast and a fine drizzle stung the occupants of the exposed cockpits. Eventually, Jan spotted his landmarks and followed a winding dirt road until he came to a wide, cleared field which adjoined an ancient farm house.

  Expertly throttling back, Jan brought the big aircraft down to bounce along the paddock. As he taxied towa
rds the farm house Joshua could see a man and woman standing by a great wagon drawn by two draught horses. In the wagon, were drums, of what he presumed was aviation fuel.

  The aircraft came to a halt and when the twin engines sputtered to a stop the ensuring silence was eerie. Only the sound of farm animals settling down after being disturbed drifted across the field.

  ‘We leave our Russian friend here to bury,’ Jan said, removing his goggles and heavy fur-lined gloves. ‘He died like a brave Pole would.’

  Joshua could forgive the Polish aviator’s apparent callous attitude. What else could one do when death had been a constant companion for so many years to them both?

  The farmer and his wife urged the big horses forward, bringing up the drums of badly needed fuel. Jan greeted them and spoke in a language Joshua had not heard before. He helped Maria down from the aircraft while Jan strode around his aircraft, examining it for damage.

  ‘Grigor is dead,’ Maria said.

  Joshua nodded. ‘We will leave him with the people here to bury. I doubt that we will have time to hang around. The air around here is lousy with Hun aircraft.’

  Maria understood but shed tears when Joshua and Jan removed the stiffening body from the aircraft with the farmer’s help and lowered it to the ground. They carefully carried his body to a part of the field well away from the aircraft.

  Once Jan was satisfied that the German machine guns had not damaged anything vital to the flying of his aircraft the refuelling went ahead without incident. They were invited inside the farm house to partake of a hot soup of minced beetroot and sour cream, spiced with herbs. The soup was accompanied with hot, crusty bread rolls spread with rich butter. Joshua could not remember the last time that he had eaten such good food and thanked the middle-aged farmer and his much younger wife. Jan had explained that the farmer was a Latvian who also worked for Lev Federov and himself.

  When the meal was finished, Jan led them back to his aircraft. They boarded, leaving the burial of Grigor’s body to the farmer. Jan fired up the engines and the big aircraft lumbered down the field until he was able to swing it into the gentle breeze. With a roar, the Gotha picked up speed until it floated off the field and into the air. Jan swung the nose around and put his aeroplane on a heading west. He had calculated that they would arrive in Riga within a few hours, just before nightfall.

  As the aircraft climbed Joshua settled at his post manning the forward machine gun. After speaking with the farmer, Jan said that they did not expect to see any more German aircraft before Riga. It seemed that the Germans assisting the Latvians retain their newfound national status had pulled back to the city before the advancing Red Army. The latest news from the Latvian Russian front was that the Bolsheviks were being defeated by the combined German Latvian ground forces. Riga could be considered safe for Jan although his own country was at war with the Germans over disputed territory. He had explained that he was in contact with a high-ranking German officer of the Freikorps who had become a kind of partner to the Polish adventurer.

  ‘What is the Freikorps?’ Joshua had asked over the meal.

  ‘They are German volunteers, mostly former combat soldiers, who have raised their own unit to fight the Bolsheviks anywhere they find them,’ Jan had answered, dipping his bread roll in his soup. ‘Tough bunch – best to steer clear of them when we are in Riga. Don’t hesitate to kill anyone they suspect of being a Bolshie back in Germany. No trial – just a bullet in the head.’

  On the flight west they hit some turbulence and Joshua held Maria’s hand to reassure her. She had settled herself in the open nose of the aircraft and sat close to him to keep warm in the biting cold. Both dozed despite the turbulence and when they came out of their sleep they realised that they were descending.

  Joshua peered over the aircraft’s nose to see another green field by a rutted dirt road. This time there was a truck parked at the end of the field Jan was lining up to land on. Joshua and Maria braced for the impact with the earth but the Pole was a superb pilot and feathered the German bomber onto the field, bouncing a couple of times before roaring back on the power and settling down to a gentle taxi towards the truck. The engines coughed into silence and Joshua could hear the crack of hot metal contracting in the cold air as the engines cooled.

  ‘We will get lift to Riga,’ Jan said, leaping from the wing of the aeroplane and helping Maria down. ‘I have business there and can give you place to stay for night. Then we go to Hamburg.’

  Joshua could not help but like the Polish giant. He was obviously a renegade mercenary who intended to make money out of the turmoil of 1919 Europe. Joshua wondered how Jan had acquired a former German bomber but felt that if he asked he would not get a straight answer.

  They walked side by side across the field towards the truck where a thin, slight man stood cradling a rifle Joshua recognised as a German Mauser.

  ‘One day, big plane like mine fly all over the world taking passengers and mail from city to city. Country to country,’ Jan said unexpectedly. ‘I make money and buy many passenger aeroplane.’

  Joshua was impressed by the man’s vision and wondered if the passenger planes would need to be armed, considering what they had gone through.

  Jan stopped and spoke in German with the man waiting for them. Then he turned to Joshua. ‘You get in back of truck,’ he said. ‘We go Riga. Eat, drink.’

  Joshua and Maria clambered onto the open tray of the truck and it set out along the road to the city which they could see in the distance. At least they were now out of Russia if not out of danger, Joshua thought, holding Maria to him. Just on dark they entered the outer suburbs of the beautiful old city built in Medieval times. To Joshua it was like so many of the cities of Europe he had seen since becoming a soldier. The streets were cobblestoned and wide. Monuments sat on pedestals all around the city centre, and Maria nudged him to point out a statue as if they were simply a couple of tourists rather than refugees on the run from just about everyone. Joshua missed the name but could see how being in Riga had sparked Maria’s spirit.

  ‘This was once part of the Czar’s realm,’ she said and then fell into silence.

  Joshua could not get used to the fact that her father had once been one of the most powerful men on earth and that the young woman in his arms was a true princess with a lineage dating back centuries.

  They drove through Riga passing detachments of heavily armed military men manning barricades, reminding Joshua that Europe was still at war despite the Armistice signed in France. Their driver had no problems passing through the roadblocks, waving some papers at the soldiers and receiving clear passage. Joshua guessed that the Pole had every angle worked out from his operations of smuggling blackmarket goods. Joshua also noticed tough-looking soldiers wearing German uniforms and the sight brought back bitter memories. Freikorps, Jan had said through the opening to the truck’s tray. The confident-looking Germans did not have the look of defeated men on their faces, Joshua thought.

  Eventually they turned off into a narrower, cobbled street bordered by elegant old three-storeyed houses of ornately carved stone. Stopping in front of one Jan indicated that they should dismount, and led them into a house.

  ‘My place here,’ he said, leading them down a corridor. Joshua was impressed by the house’s elegance. Paintings adorned the walls and many rooms led off either side of the wide hallway.

  ‘You have rooms upstairs,’ Jan said, waving to a broad staircase of finely carved timber. ‘Even have hot water for bath. All house is your house. I go see German officer my man in Riga. You can eat at café around corner but be careful. Many patrols and you not have papers. Now I go.’

  Joshua accepted the Pole’s invitation to explore the house and found two well set out bedrooms. He offered Maria first choice and then went in search of the bathroom. He found a small room with a cast-iron tub. Next to it was a wood burner with a large enamel basin on it. Joshua lit the fire to warm the water and found a straight-edge razor to shave away many days o
f grime. When the water was hot enough he stripped, and lowered himself into the water and washed away the remaining traces of Grigor’s blood and accumulated dirt from his body. Lying back in the tub Joshua luxuriated in the feeling of cleanliness. A knock at the door disturbed his moment of peace.

  ‘You have found the bath, Joshua?’ he heard Maria ask from the other side of the door. ‘I would like to have a bath also.’

  ‘One moment,’ Joshua said, climbing out of the tub to dry himself with a clean towel he found. ‘I will change the water and pour you a bath.’

  He dressed back into his dirty clothes, gave his newly acquired leather jacket a wipe and was fully dressed when he allowed Maria to enter the room.

  ‘You smell better,’ she said with a mischievous smile, brushing past him with a set of clean clothes over her arm. ‘Now I will feel better.’

  Joshua closed the door behind him and made his way downstairs. When Maria appeared at the top of the staircase some time later she was wearing a colourful peasant dress and blouse.

  Joshua immediately complimented her on her new appearance, which brought a girlish blush to her pretty face.

  ‘Now we can go to dinner,’ she said, impulsively taking Joshua’s arm in her own.

  They found the restaurant around the corner of the street just as Jan had said they would. Joshua was impressed by its elegance in a city beset by war. He felt almost under-dressed when he saw the smartly dressed patrons inside but Maria tugged him through the door where they were met by a young man whose clothes had been patched many times. Beneath the elegant exterior there was poverty, as Joshua could see.

  The smiling waiter understood Russian and led them to a table lit by large candles. Cigar and pipe smoke choked the room and when Joshua glanced around he could see many of the patrons were uniformed officers of the German and Latvian army. They paid him little attention although Maria’s entrance did turn a few male heads.