Unfastening his gun, Bogoleev pressed it against the fleshy part of the prisoner’s chin. A low moan broke from the man’s lips. ‘Please, Comrade Commissar,’ he begged. ‘I promise to be a better citizen.’
Standing by the door, Ivanov shifted his weight to the other foot. He had slipped in unnoticed part way through the interrogation with some important news for Bogoleev. Watching the cruel game played out with the accused man made him wish he had waited outside. He was about to leave when Bogoleev, as if sensing his presence, looked up and saw him.
Ivanov could not understand the change that had come over Bogoleev since he had emerged from the coma. The doctors had deemed it too risky to remove the shrapnel embedded in his skull, so they had left it there, hoping Bogoleev was strong enough to pull through. Ivanov was fighting at the front again when he heard that Bogoleev, having survived his injuries, had been promoted by Trotsky. A month later, Ivanov received a telegram from Bogoleev inviting him to join his unit.
Lenin had established the Bolshevik secret police, Cheka, to hunt out opponents to the regime. Ruthless and unyielding, they were granted greater powers by Lenin after a failed assassination attempt on his life.
Invalided from the Red Army, Bogoleev now led one of the units and, free to choose his team, had asked Ivanov to join him. Despite having heard the rumours circulating about the group’s activities, Ivanov knew its members enjoyed privileges that were not available to the average citizen. Within weeks of joining, Ivanov had moved his family to a four-room apartment with increased rations for food, fuel and clothing. In return, Ivanov set up a network of spies who reported on individuals who spoke out against the revolution. The man before Bogoleev now was a low-ranking officer in the imperial army who had been found hiding in his dacha outside Petrograd. Denounced by a neighbour, he was overheard telling a friend that ‘it was a pity the bullet had not finished Lenin off’.
Watching the icy blue eyes, Ivanov questioned whether Bogoleev was still of sound mind. There was madness behind those eyes, a shiftiness that had not been there before. He suspected the commissar drank excessively. More than once, he had found Bogoleev sitting behind his desk, one hand supporting his head while the other was wrapped around the neck of an empty bottle.
Tears trickled down the accused man’s cheeks and he began to weep softly. Circling his victim, Bogoleev’s eyes shone with malice as he made him beg and plead.
Ivanov turned away, looking towards the door.
Bogoleev knew he had emerged from his injuries an altered man. The doctors had warned him the shrapnel lodged in his brain might lead to complications. The migraines had started almost immediately, drumming behind his temple, robbing him of any peace. The pain ate away at his brain, gnawing at his nerves. He began drinking to dull the ache.
The zeal with which he sought out traitors grew as the pain in his head increased. Confused at first by his growing lust for violence, he soon ceased to care about its source, but allowed it to guide his actions. His position in Cheka gave him the authority to act on his urges. He took particular pleasure in hunting men who had looked down on him in the past and had overlooked him for promotions because of his background.
Bogoleev smiled thinly at the accused man. ‘Is it true you were an officer in the imperial army?’
‘I was a second lieutenant with the Ninth Sibirski Regiment,’ the accused man cried. ‘Please, I swear to you, I have done nothing wrong.’
Looking at the snivelling, pathetic man begging for his life, Bogoleev felt nothing but contempt. ‘It is true, is it not, that your parents are landowners?’
Not raising his head, the accused nodded, his weeping growing louder.
Lifting his gun, Bogoleev rested the barrel above the man’s brow. ‘By the order of the Soviet people, you are found guilty of treason.’
‘No. Wait … Please.’ A dark patch spread across the front of the man’s trousers.
Bogoleev’s eyes hardened. As his fingers tightened over the trigger, an almost sexual pleasure filled him, and his face twisted in a grin. ‘And condemned to death.’
‘No!’
The room echoed with the sound of the gunshot. The man’s head slumped to one side, his open eye round with shock. A pool of blood slowly seeped and spread over his hair and clothes.
Bogoleev cleaned the specks of blood from his gun with a handkerchief. The adrenalin racing through his veins made his hands tremble. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a silver flask and, unscrewing the top, took a long pull, wincing at the sharp taste. After a moment, the deep creases lining his face relaxed.
‘What news have you for me?’ he asked Ivanov, who was standing behind him.
‘We’ve found him.’
Bogoleev turned sharply. ‘Serov? You’ve found him? Where is he?’
Ivanov referred to a page inside the folder he was carrying. ‘Tallinn.’
‘Estonia?’ Bogoleev grabbed the folder. ‘Let me see that report.’ His eyes scanned the contents. ‘Do we have people we can trust there?’
‘There is a strong Bolshevik presence among the workers,’ Ivanov said, ‘even with the Estonians fighting for their independence since last November.’
‘I want you to head this investigation.’ Bogoleev handed the folder back to Ivanov. ‘Keep a close eye on Serov and track his movements.’
‘What if he recognises me?’
‘Keep a low profile but find out everything you can about him: who he associates with and where he frequents. Find out who the Red sympathisers are and befriend them. Do not let him out of your sight.’
Ivanov hesitated for a moment. ‘You’ve been chasing Serov ever since you’ve left hospital. Is it really worth expending all these resources for just one man?’
Bogoleev gave Ivanov a long look. He liked Ivanov, trusted him, had offered him a position in his team, but despite all that, Bogoleev felt Ivanov had never appreciated the importance of this assignment. Out of all the men Bogoleev had hunted, Serov was the most important to him. He had given Serov a chance to redeem himself, to join the Reds, and had been betrayed by him.
Bogoleev stabbed a finger at the folder. ‘Serov made a fool of me. Twice he escaped and twice I let him go with a warning when, by law, I should have shot him. He must pay for his treachery. I’ll get him if it’s the last thing I do.’
55
Tallinn, September 1919
Alexei sat in a pool of light. Outside, the clouds turned indigo as light drained from the sky.
A package addressed in Emily’s handwriting had arrived with the morning post. Three crisp white envelopes sat on top of a bundle of old photos, held together with a velvet ribbon. Alexei placed the envelopes on the coffee table and eased out the photographs. A note from Emily read:
I found these and thought you might like them back. E
He undid the bow and the photos spilled across his lap.
Picking up each picture, he took a moment to study it before letting it drop. He paused at the photo of himself at the start of the mobilisation. Self-assured, he stood erect with one hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. His hair, oiled and parted in the middle, was already showing signs of thinning. Next to him Grigory, dressed in civilian clothes, looked straight at the camera, the flash from the bulb giving his eyes an eerie ghost-like look.
Opening the letters, he read each one in turn. The first two were from his younger daughters. A light smile touched his lips reading the frivolous carefree details. Opening Emily’s letter, he expected more of the same but, as he read, a knot tightened inside him.
Dear Alexei,
I trust this letter finds you well. The girls and I have finally settled in our new apartment in a quiet street in Saint-Germain.
I’m pleased to report that I have found an excellent school for Tonya. Irena and Vera are enrolled in a ladies’ college but I’m afraid they are more concerned with fashion and young men than their studies. They are seldom home and refuse chaperones. I am especially conc
erned for Irena, who has become increasingly secretive. To make matters worse, my sister came to see me yesterday with some disturbing news. She was having coffee with a friend who casually mentioned rumours of Irena walking arm in arm with a married man. When I confronted Irena, she laughed it off. I am at a loss as to what to do. I beg you, write to her and make her see sense.
Alexei frowned. In the past year, Irena had blossomed into a beautiful young woman. Still largely inexperienced with men, and without the protection of her father, she would be easy prey for those wishing to take advantage of her. At the thought of his daughter’s reputation being compromised, blood rushed to his temples.
He found a photo of his three daughters amongst the ones Emily had sent. Standing between her two sisters, Irena looked into the lens demurely. A weary sadness settled over Alexei. He missed his daughters.
Returning the photo to the pile, he checked his watch and was surprised to find it was past midnight. Ringing for his valet, he prepared for bed, his thoughts turning to Marie and her invitation to join her for a picnic the following day.
The past few months, he had been a regular visitor at the Kulbases’ apartment, spending long afternoons in Marie’s company. When he was with her, his heart felt light and he smiled warmly at all those with whom he came into contact. Even Madame Kulbas’s cold reception hadn’t dampened his spirits. Ultimately, even she had accepted him, on his last two visits inviting him to join the family for dinner.
The next morning, Alexei arrived at the Kulbas residence at the appointed hour. Marie flung the door open before he rang the bell.
‘I saw you from the upstairs window,’ she said. An attractive glow bloomed over her cheeks. ‘I have the perfect place in mind for our picnic. I hope you’re not averse to long walks.’
With a picnic basket packed with salted herrings, cheese, pickled cucumber and rye bread, they set off to a forest on the outskirts of Tallinn.
‘I love this time of year when the air is still warm, and no rain or grey skies spoil the day,’ Marie said happily as they walked along the path.
Reaching a clearing, she spread out their picnic blanket. Alexei lay beside her, his head resting on his hand, and watched her.
‘There’s something troubling you, Alexei. You seem a little distant today.’
Alexei sighed. ‘It’s Irena. I fear she may have a little too much of her father in her.’
Marie laughed. ‘Surely that can’t be a bad thing.’ She offered him a plate with a selection of herrings and dressed salad.
‘I fear she might be having …’ He paused, unsure how much to tell her.
‘You can trust me, Alexei.’ She placed a hand on his arm. ‘I won’t judge.’
‘Irena might be having an affair with a married man.’
‘I see.’ Her eyes dropped to her hands. ‘And you are worried about her reputation.’ Marie’s face grew reflective, leaving Alexei to speculate on whether she was still talking about Irena.
‘Marie, you know that’s not how it is between us.’
‘My position is not much different from Irena’s.’ A cloud passed over her eyes. ‘You were married when we first met.’
Alexei wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. ‘I don’t know how else I can assure you.’ Lifting her face, he kissed her, first lightly and then fully on the mouth. He felt the strong beat of her heart pulse through her shirt and held her tighter.
‘I love you, Marie,’ he whispered. ‘and will continue loving you till the end of my days.’ Shifting his weight, he knelt before her and, taking her hands between his own, kissed her fingers. ‘Marie,’ he said softly, ‘will you marry me?’
She stared at him with wide eyes, saying nothing, and Alexei felt his stomach hollowing. ‘I take it your silence means you do not accept me.’ He smiled weakly, the words burning a hole in him.
‘Alexei …’ She rested her gaze on his face. ‘These past months with you have been wonderful.’
Warmth returned to his skin. ‘I feel the same.’ He squeezed her hands. ‘When I’m with you, I feel as if everything is right with the world.’
She bowed her head and murmured, ‘I just don’t know if I’m ready to be married. The war has left its scars. And my memories are like heavy stones, difficult to move.’
‘The war has left its effects on all of us and there’s nothing anyone can do to change the past,’ Alexei said, taking her hand. ‘But, Marie, we have a chance to start afresh. Don’t throw away our happiness because of the war.’
Seeing tears spring to her eyes, the hollow feeling returned to his stomach. ‘Marie, will you accept me as your husband?’ He looked into her eyes, searching for the answer. ‘You said you loved me. Do you still feel the same way?’
‘I … I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘I mean, this is all so sudden.’
‘It’s a simple question, Marie. Do you love me?’ He uttered the last two words with difficulty, his voice becoming thick.
When she failed to answer, his gaze slipped away from her face and desolation clamped at his chest. Letting go of her hand he rose to his feet.
‘I will not embarrass you further by calling on you again. Please give my regards to your family.’
‘Where are you going?’ Her voice was panicked.
‘I can’t stay knowing you do not share my feelings.’
She grabbed his hand. ‘That’s not what I said.’
‘You don’t have to. That much is obvious. I will make immediate plans to leave for Paris.’
‘Paris?’
‘If nothing else, I must settle the situation with Irena.’ He gave her a clipped bow. ‘Good day, Mademoiselle.’
Jumping to her feet, she ran after him. ‘Alexei, wait! When will you come back?’
He continued walking with quick strides. ‘There’s nothing for me to come back to.’
‘No. Please don’t do this.’ Grabbing his arm, she pulled at his sleeve. ‘Please don’t go away.’
‘What do you want from me, Marie?’ he said forcefully. It was the first time he had raised his voice at her and the shock of it made them both freeze. ‘You’ve made it obvious you don’t love me,’ he said in a croaking voice. ‘I cannot stay in Tallinn while you are also here. Don’t you see? I cannot breathe knowing you are close but don’t care for me.’ He turned away from her, his heart tearing into pieces. ‘There’s no other way.’
‘No! Please, Alexei – wait!’
He stopped and turned to face her.
‘What?’ he snapped impatiently.
Her lips parted into a smile. Of course I accept you.’
‘What game are you playing now, Marie?’
‘I’m not playing any games.’ She stepped closer. ‘I love you,’ she said slowly. ‘And I cannot think of anything better than to spend the rest of my life by your side.’
Alexei’s mouth went dry. Not trusting his ears, he remained rooted to the spot, staring at her in disbelief.
‘Do you have nothing to say?’ she asked with a teasing smile.
Alexei studied her face, needing assurance she was speaking the truth.
‘Marie, please don’t say it unless you really mean it.’
She moved beside him, taking his hand. ‘I love you, Alexei. I love you with all my heart.’
Alexei was speechless. When he eventually spoke, the words fell from his lips so softly, she had to lean in to catch them.
‘You have made me the happiest man in the whole of Tallinn.’
Impulsively, he took her into his embrace and with his chest filling with joy, he held her against him and kissed her.
56
Tallinn, September 1919
Marie tapped the tip of her fountain pen against her lower lip impatiently as she scanned the catalogues.
‘I think I like the lace with the tiny white ribbon rosettes.’ She wrote down the order number, then promptly scratched it out. ‘Or maybe I should have the patterned lace with the bea
ding.’ She looked up at Anna, who returned her look with a calm smile.
‘You’re not being much help,’ Marie complained.
Anna laughed. ‘You should be helping your mother with the final arrangements for tonight’s dinner.’
Marie groaned. ‘Alexei and I wanted an intimate family dinner to announce our engagement; instead, Papa has invited everyone we know.’
‘Can you blame him? His only daughter is engaged.’ Anna pinched Marie’s arm good-naturedly. ‘To a major general, no less.’
Marie pouted and turned back to her catalogue. ‘You make me sound ungrateful.’
Anna shook her head and smiled. ‘Show me these laces you are talking about.’ She leant over the catalogue.
‘I prefer the rosettes,’ Anna said decisively. ‘They seem more … elegant.’
‘I think I’ll keep my veil simple with scalloped edgings and a garland of flowers.’ Marie clapped her hands in excitement.
The curtains moved gently in the light breeze coming through the open window. Marie heard the clattering sound of hooves come to a stop outside. Hoping it was Alexei, she rushed to the window. Craning her neck, she saw a stranger with dark curly hair climb off a chestnut horse.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked Anna, who had joined her at the window.
‘I’m not sure. I’ve never seen him before.’
The man ran lightly up the stairs, stopping briefly at the landing to straighten his jacket and run a hand through his hair.
‘I’ve seen him before,’ Marie said, ‘but I can’t think where.’
The stranger turned his face and Marie saw one side was deformed.
‘Pull your head back in,’ Anna urged, ‘before we’re caught spying.’
Marie frowned. ‘He looks familiar.’
‘He might be a business associate of your father’s,’ Anna suggested.
‘His clothes are far too modest for him to be one of Papa’s associates.’
Marie went back to the catalogues but her thoughts kept returning to the stranger.
The Russian Tapestry Page 33
