‘Oh…’
‘May not find him until some time after they get the boat back. But to be worth doing at all it had to look as if whoever did it really meant business. In any case he was there – poor bastard…’ They were rumbling through the village now. ‘Stop the other side, shall I – d’you still want to take over?’
‘Yes.’ Shifting in his seat, looking at a group of men standing on a corner. The local soviet, maybe… ‘Yes, Bob. Surely.’
‘We might change back again after Seitovka. Fifty miles, roughly – if that suits you… Are you feeling better about all this, Nick?’
‘Not really.’ He let out a long, hard breath. ‘But it’s happening, isn’t it.’
* * *
At the second stop – south of Seitovka, for Bob to take over the driving again – they’d been on the road about four hours. He climbed out and went to the back to tell Krebst to open up. The sergeant had a piece of wood that he could hold in place to jam the door mechanism, and the arrangement was that he’d hold it there until he knew it was all right, no emergency.
‘Not even a flat tyre. Incredible – if you had a close look at them. How are you two? All bruises?’
‘Oh, we’ll survive…’
Irina said, ‘I’m black and blue… Hello, Nikki.’
The Czechs helped Bob to get the petrol drum out of the back and top up the van’s tank. Without a funnel it was a tricky job in the dark, the moon having gone down hours ago.
The orang-utan asked him while they were doing it – Bob himself and the sergeant doing most of it – ‘Will it be much longer?’
‘About fifteen miles – twenty-five kilometres, say – to the village of Krasni-Yar, and then three or four more. I’d guess another hour.’
The Czechs were both armed now, with the pistols taken from dead Bolsheviks. Bob had given these to them this afternoon, when he’d also outlined the plan for tonight and sketched out his idea of the inlet’s shape and a possible layout of harbour installations. Having only a visual memory of the little he’d seen from the CMB – some lights, a crane, masts and funnels. And of course the location of the chain boom – which, depending on how Dherjakin reacted, might well be a major problem… At the same time, having the Czechs to himself for a while, he’d elicited – mostly from Krebst – that they were deserters from their Czech Legion, had been captured by Kirghizi tribesmen and transferred to Krasnaya Dacha for interrogation, but hadn’t been tortured for the simple reason that they’d answered every question that had been put to them. Krebst had been guided entirely by the orang-utan, who’d told him that their war was over, so what the hell… Neither of them had guessed that having been pumped of all useful intelligence they were to have been shot.
Bob told Krebst now, ‘Remember – and tell him – that from now on you – and he – will take orders directly from me. In other words, when I give you an order you don’t have to refer it to him. Translate that to him now, please.’
He left them to it. The girls had been on the other side of the van, and coming back now they were talking more loudly than was necessary, doubtless as a warning to the men. Bob looking round at the dark, flat, featureless landscape. Thinking of this and that: including his feeling that he could probably rely on Krebst’s reactions in a tight corner, but much less so on the orang-utan’s. So – watch your back… The wind had come up a bit, he thought; there’d have been no question of using the skiff.
He turned back towards the others. ‘We ready?’
Four into the back… The Count helped the girls up – having embraced them both, murmuring farewells of which the details weren’t audible from where Bob stood. He walked round to his side of the cab, heaved himself in behind the wheel. Waiting for Nick to do the cranking; wondering suddenly, This time, will it start?
It did. For better, or for worse. Or – putting that another way – for want of anything better. This was – he knew it as well as Nick did – a hell of a gamble.
* * *
They passed the military camp which they’d seen when they’d been following the new railway line towards Seitovka. There was an entrance to it from this road, and two – three lights burning, in that quite large acreage of hutments.
‘Someone’s in residence, Nick.’
‘Yes. Caretakers. Remember we thought those soldiers on the railway line might have been visiting here. Women, maybe.’
‘Could be.’
The camp fell away behind them. Empty road, flat and empty-seeming land, Krasni-Yar about ten miles ahead.
‘Nick, one thing. Precautionary, only. Assuming we get some suitable craft – and assuming that between you you can drive it – Nadia knows a bit about boats, I gather.’
‘So does Irina and so do I. We’ve all sailed. But you’re the—’
‘What I’m saying, Nick, is if I happened to get knocked off in the process, would you know which way to steer?’
‘Only – away from the land, I suppose. And anyway, none of us knows anything about – well, engines, for instance. You’d just better not get – knocked off.’
‘I’ll try not to be. But your course to steer would be south-south-east. Assuming there’ll be a compass in whatever you’re in. Due south would take you across the approaches to Astrakhan – likely to be patrolled, even if ships aren’t out hunting for you – and if your course was too westerly you’d hit the Mangyshlak Peninsula. Whereas south-south-east takes you clear of Fort Aleksandrovsk, and across our flotilla’s patrol line. Better than evens you’d be spotted and picked up.’
‘Fifty-fifty, uh?’
‘Well – if the weather’s a bit murky…’
‘You’d better be with us, Bob.’
* * *
Krasni-Yar coming up ahead. This was high ground now – comparatively speaking – the delta as such all to the west, between here and Astrakhan. But you could smell the sea.
One dim light, in one cottage window. Midnight oil being burned. The local Cheka man, it could be, on duty beside the village’s only telephone. There’d surely be a telephone here, because the line from Astrakhan to Dherjakin’s base – where there had to be one – would pass through here, and they’d surely take advantage of that. Telephones and telegraphs being few and far between, confined mostly to the larger centres and railway stations.
There wasn’t much of Krasni-Yar. A dozen cottages, probably a general store and traktir. He guessed that fishermen would live here: and/or the odd shepherd or goatherd. About as odd as you’d find anywhere, probably…
‘There.’ A left fork, still new-looking, earthworks still visible. He was having to slow down, anyway, as the headlights washed over a shawled, stooped figure crossing the road at snail’s pace, near the house that had a light in it. He muttered, ‘Past your bedtime, grandma.’ Easing the wheel over, taking the corner gently for the sake of the girls in the back. Irina had said something about being flung around, on bends. That smooth metal floor, and nothing to hold on to… The old woman had stopped in the middle of the road, was shuffling round to get a look at the van as it turned, a few yards short of her.
Heading west now, and picking up speed again… ‘Any telephone wires visible that side?’
‘Yes. Strung along on beanpoles… I hope I’m not going to let you down, Bob.’
‘We’ll put about a mile between us and the village, then stop and I’ll cut it.’ He caught on to what Nick had said then, told him sharply ‘Of course you aren’t!’ And then softened it: ‘Nick – stop worrying. Once you’re so to speak on stage…’
As if he was going to be the only one on stage, for God’s sake!
Cutting the wire took only a minute. He did it himself, and used a short piece of twine to link the two severed ends, so that at any rate in the dark and without close inspection the break wouldn’t be noticeable.
Driving on again now. Despite being of recent construction, the road-surface was of the washboard, bone-shaking type.
‘This base will have a wireless, of cou
rse. For talking to ships at sea – including the guardship, if there’s still one out there, we’d better remember that…’
Any minute now, they’d be there. There was a wire fence on the right: beyond it, invisible in the dark and at varying distances, would be numerous inlets such as they’d nosed in and out of in the CMB. Probably the biggest and deepest of them being Dherjakin’s.
Another half-mile… Then a glimpse of lights: hidden immediately by a rise. But – lights, glittering on water. And this was a high fence, now.
‘There it is – guardhouse…’
* * *
‘Papers!’
‘Here you are. But let’s not waste time, comrade, I have to see your commander – Comrade Captain Dherjakin. It’s urgent – send word that I’m here, would you?’
‘This time of night? Why should he—’ squinting at Anton Vetrov’s papers, shrugging, pushing them back at him – ‘want you waking him up?’
‘Tell him I’m here on the orders of Comrade Vasilii Bugayev. And that it’s urgent, damn it!’
‘Who’s Bugayev?’
‘God help us… Vasilii Bugayev – chairman of the Military Revolutionary Committee, Astrakhan District. And you could add for good measure the name of Commandant Aleksei Karasyov – who commands you and this base, comrade! Your commander can verify it for himself by telephone, if he cares to. But now, not in an hour’s time!’
‘Wait.’
Bob murmured, ‘Marvellous. You’re back on form.’
‘Hell I am…’
There were two other sentries out now, one in the guardhouse entrance and one on Bob’s side of the van. The first one had pushed in past his colleague, who was slouching this way with one hand on a holstered revolver. Behind him, the first one was cranking the handle of a field telephone.
‘Come far, comrade?’
Bob glanced at him. Keeping the engine running: even idling, it was noisy. The aim was to have it understood that they weren’t expecting to be kept waiting here for long. He told him casually, ‘Far enough.’
‘Where from, then?’
He shouted, over the engine-noise, ‘Confidential business, comrade. We’ve orders to speak only to your CO.’
‘That so.’ Moving his head to spit. Then turning, strolling towards the back of the van. ‘What’s inside there?’
‘Communications equipment.’ He opened his own door so he could lean out and keep him in sight. To get out would be a mistake, a first step towards losing the initiative. ‘That’s secret too. And the doors are locked. All right?’
Rather like liar dice – declaring a full house when you didn’t even have a pair. Except that playing liars didn’t make one sweat. The sentry was near the back now, gazing at the double doors; inside them, Krebst would be holding his two-foot piece of four-by-two jammed under the rod that secured one door to the other. It would feel as if it was locked, if the handle was tried from the outside, but you’d also know from the feel of it that one good wrench would have it open.
He’d gone out of sight, around the back. Bob pulled his driving door shut. Wishing to God the other one would get a move on. Then Nick was leaning out on his side: ‘You’ve been warned, comrade!’
‘Yah. And you can stuff it.’ He’d circled round the back: was strolling towards the guardhouse when the first one finished his call and came out.
‘You two – you’re to escort these comrades to the CO’s office. Wait there until he comes out to you.’ He stopped at the window, and told Nick, ‘He’s not pleased.’
‘Never mind. He will be.’
Bob muttered, ‘Well done, Nick.’ He blipped the engine and pushed the old contraption into gear. One of those two, slinging his rifle, stepped on to the running-board on Nick’s side, while the one who’d expressed interest in the van’s contents came back to this side and got up beside Bob. Number one was meanwhile pushing up the barrier. The man at Bob’s elbow told him, ‘Drive through and fork right.’
Water ahead – after about fifty yards of roadway – with reflected lights flashing on its wind-ruffled surface. And across the water – about the same distance again – this was the head of the inlet – tugs lay alongside a wooden pier. There was a lamp-post on the quay near the pier, and a long two-storied building backing the quay.
‘Left at the corner here.’
You’d have had to take the right fork to get to that pier where the tugs were berthed. Four of them, two each side of it. Then a dark conglomeration low on the water in the angle between pier and quayside: barges, or lighters. Couldn’t look that way any longer, had to make this turn – with the water ahead and a brick building on the left, the corner. Turning now… There was another building beyond this corner one, and a lamp-post between them lighting the fronts of both buildings and this part of the waterfront. Then farther along – a hundred yards, roughly, but there was a bend before it, road and waterfront angling about thirty degrees right – beyond that bend was a long straight quayside backed by sheds. Cargo sheds. And that was where the crane was, on that long quay: also three more lamp-posts. He remembered those three lights: from the entrance, the angle of view he’d had that night, the line of them would be almost end-on, so they’d seemed a lot closer to each other than in fact they were.
‘Stop there.’ Pointing, with a hand outside the windscreen. ‘That doorway, see?’
‘Right.’
There was a light in one first-floor window: it went out of his sight as he slowed, pulling in where he’d been told. Guessing that Dherjakin might be in that lit room, getting dressed… The external light – the lamp-post between the two buildings – threw the van’s shadow forward along the roadway, the shadow of the man on Nick’s side separating from it as he jumped off, running a few steps as the van came to a halt. The one this side got off too then, and walked round to join his colleague.
Sitting, waiting, scanning as much of the inlet and the quays as was visible from here. And a sense of disaster growing. With no sight of any ship or boat that could be any damn use at all…
The girls would be sitting or lying behind the crates, so that if the door was wrenched open they wouldn’t be immediately in sight. The Czechs, with guns in their hands, would be between the crates and whoever had forced the door. The idea being that if this happened, the shooting would have to start there and then: because it would mean the initiative had been taken by the Bolsheviks, you’d have lost any chance of making a quiet departure, with or without Dherjakin. Shooting would have to start, therefore, but by that time – this had been the theory – you’d have decided on whichever tug or other craft you were going to take. You’d take it – with Dherjakin possibly as hostage – and land somewhere near the chain-boom to get it open – fighting off however much opposition there might be by then – which might not be much, if you’d killed a few of them in the first few minutes and there weren’t many of them anyway.
One knew the way out, of course – where the guardship had been last week and where a guardship presumably would be tonight: and the way past it – the way Pope had brought the CMB in.
But the reality didn’t match the theory. The one essential, which one had taken for granted, was – well, conspicuous by its absence. The tugs on the other side, at that pier, were lying quiet and dark, obviously didn’t have steam up. And nearer at hand – on that long quay – from here the view of it was across water again, because of the elbow-bend in the shoreline between here and there – there was a boat of some kind – unlit and in the shadow of the quay, but only small – in terms of present requirements no more use than the skiff would have been. And that was all there was. Last week there’d been a lot of stuff afloat: he’d seen dozens of masts and funnels, and this had remained as his mental picture of the place – ships coming and going, some with steam up and ready to go – if necessary with pistols at the engineers’ or stokers’ heads, as well as at Dherjakin’s…
But this place was dead. Dead-end – again. No improvement on the skiff. Nick had b
een right, with his ‘There’s no chance…’
Hold on, now. Steady…
One of those tugs. Two hours, say, to get steam up. Starting out, then – if it all went, well, reasonably smoothly – at about dawn, instead of having several hours of dark, in which to get well clear of the coast. One would have to accept this: longer exposure both here and after departure…
If there was going to be any departure anyway. This wasn’t panic – despite the cold sweat – unfortunately it was a matter of facing facts. Main fact being that it wasn’t going to be at all easy – especially with the girls to look after while you were at it. You might even say – facing it squarely – that it was probably impossible.
He felt sick. He’d brought them all here, forced his own optimism on Nick, and—
‘Now what the devil’s this about?’
Nick muttered. ‘Come on’ and pushed his door open, slid out. ‘Comrade Engineer Captain Dherjakin? My name’s Vetrov. I’m here on the orders of the Military Revolutionary Committee – a matter of extreme urgency, and—’
‘Of what nature, comrade?’
Bob came round the front of the van. Getting his first look at Irina’s hero, Nadia’s villain. He was in the doorway – on the step, giving himself a bit of extra height: a short, stocky figure in naval reefer, baggy trousers tucked into boots. No stripes or other insignia. An aggressive, cocky stance, hands thrust into the reefer’s pockets: it was an attitude that reminded one of photographs of Admiral David Beatty, C-in-C of the Grand Fleet… The jutting jaw was aimed at him now. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Technical adviser, sir.’ Nick indicated the van. ‘We’ve special equipment in there. But if we could have a word with you – in private, please, my orders are that it’s strictly for your ears only, at this stage.’
‘Well. God knows why it has to be in the middle of the night. But – I suppose…’ He’d begun to turn away, then glanced back at his own men. ‘One of you comrades can go back to the gate. The other stay and guard this thing.’ He seemed to notice the van’s decrepit state for the first time. ‘My God. Where did you find it – on a rubbish tip?’
Bloody Sunset Page 30
