The Red Gods

by Christopher Nicole

  “I’m the only one Jennie is likely to listen to. Otherwise, it’ll be a case of kidnapping.”

  “You are not returning to Russia,” Priscilla said.

  Grishka had made up a bed for Colin on the settee in the drawing room, but he was not sleeping. He was waiting for the house to settle. Sure everyone was asleep, he got up, tiptoed to the corridor leading to the bedrooms, and checked at the sight of the white-clad figure standing there. Then she was in his arms again, while his hands roamed over her shoulder-blades. “I was coming to you,” he whispered.

  “And I to you. Oh, Colin...” He kissed her. She had always worshipped her brother, but the last time they had actually been brother and sister had been in 1915, before he had left to join the Tsar’s Army. She had been seven and had only remembered a tall, strong, handsome young man, afire with the desire to fight for his tsar and his country.

  Then she had not seen him for four years and now he was back, alive, and holding her in his arms. And she was no longer a child, she might be only fifteen, but she was a full-grown woman. His hands slid down her nightdress, reached her buttocks and passed over them lightly, before returning, hastily, to her shoulders. “Oh, Colin,” she whispered. “How I have missed you. When they told me you were dead...”

  He half-carried her to the settee, and sat beside her. “What did you do?”

  “I wanted to kill myself.” Their faces were only inches apart. “And when Priscilla began to call Alexei prince...Ugh!”

  “She is a hateful person,” Colin agreed. “To live, openly, with her cousin, a man younger than herself...”

  Anna understood that at least part of his emotion was jealousy. “Do you not desire her? All men are supposed to desire Priscilla.”

  “Well...I suppose I am not very different to all men. One can desire a woman and hate her at the same time. But it is better to love,” he said.

  She kissed him. “As we love.” She took his hand and placed it on her breast. The fingers closed and she shuddered with desire. Now the fingers moved across to the other, and she lifted her nightdress to her knees and then her thighs, but he caught her hand. “Not here. You’ll come back to Paris with me.”

  “They will not let me.”

  “I am Prince Bolugayevski. I am head of the family and you are my only sister. If I decide that you will live with me, then you will. No one can say no. But they might be able to cause trouble if there was any suggestion of impropriety here in England. So...you will be careful for the next few days. It will not be longer than that.”

  She pouted, and kissed him again. “I so want you to...oh, Colin!”

  He responded to her kiss. “I shall do everything you wish me to do,” he promised.

  “We shall be so happy,” she said.

  *

  “That is almost an insult,” Colin remarked, considering the cheque Joseph had offered him. “Is that all you can afford?”

  “That is an advance. I will pay you the balance when you bring Jennie back to England. Or have her brought.” Colin scowled. “Do you not trust me?”

  “I’m sorry, I was brought up to do business in a businesslike way.”

  “You regard saving your sister’s life as business?”

  Joseph flushed. “There may well be some more money available then, too,” Priscilla put in. “From America. We will do what we can.”

  “Ha!” Colin snorted. “It is a very sad thing, to be mistrusted by your own kith and kin.”

  “We do not mistrust you,” Joseph protested. “We merely feel that you may be over-optimistic about the size and efficiency of your organisation.”

  “You think so? Suppose I tell you something that is not known outside Russia?” Colin said. “Lenin is a dying man.”

  “It is not known,” Joseph said. “And you expect us to believe that?”

  “It happens to be true, discovered by my agents. He had a massive stroke a year ago, and has had several more minor strokes since. He is now, confined to a wheelchair.”

  “Government is still being carried on in his name.”

  “Because he is still alive, just. But he is not making the decisions. But you should bear in mind that Gosykin is Lenin’s creature. When Lenin falls, Gosykin will fall also. And so will his wife. That is the nature of the beast that is Soviet Russia.”

  Priscilla bit her lip. But Joseph remained impassive. “Then the sooner we get Jennie out the better.”

  Colin shrugged. “As you choose. I will return to Paris tomorrow, to consult with my associates. I shall take Anna with me.”

  He spoke so casually that for a moment what he had said did not actually sink in. Priscilla was the first to recover. “You mean to take Anna to Paris?”

  “That is what I said, Stepmama.”

  “She has her schooling to finish,” Joseph pointed out. “She will finish it in Paris,” Colin said.

  “With you?” Priscilla struggled to find the right words.

  “I am the Prince of Bolugayen,” Colin said. “And Anna is my sister. It is right that we should be together; we have been separated for too long. You cannot stop me taking her.”

  “I will write to her headmistress, and when term ends, in a couple of weeks...” Joseph said.

  “She will come with me, tomorrow,” Colin said.

  *

  They stood around the chair. Krupskaya of course never left her husband’s side; she slept on a sofa in the office. The various doctors were always present, in relays. And members of the Politburo attended the death-chair as often as their duties would allow, each afraid that in their absence one of their rivals would gain the advantage. Several attempts had been made to convey Lenin to bed, but he resisted them. His frame might be shattered, he might be unable to articulate properly, but his brain was still active, and he could still condemn and be sure that he would be obeyed. Yet something had to be done, perhaps today was the opportunity. Trotsky and Sonia knelt to either side of the chair, and Stalin, so omnipresent, was missing. “Andrei,” Lenin muttered. “Where is Andrei?”

  “I will send for him,” Krupskaya said. “You have something for him to do?”

  “I wish to congratulate him, and that lovely wife of his.”

  “Oh,” Krupskaya said, with some relief. “They will be honoured.”

  “I wish to see the child,” Lenin said. “She will be as lovely as her mother.”

  “I will have her brought to you.” Krupskaya went outside to give instructions to a secretary.

  “Vladimir,” Sonia said, leaning forward. “All Russia awaits your decision.”

  With a great effort Lenin turned his head. “I cannot dictate to the Party, Sonia. I can but offer my opinions on those who may be called upon to take my place.”

  “We should be most interested to hear them, Nicolai,” Trotsky said.

  “They are written down,” Lenin said. “Krupskaya has them.”

  They both turned their heads; Krupskaya had just re-entered the room. “Ilich does not wish his assessment made public until after his death,” she said. “So you will have to be patient.”

  “Comrade Gosykin.” Josef Stalin sat behind his big desk in the Secretariat and beamed at the young man. “It is good of you to come to see me.”

  “You asked me to do so, Comrade Secretary,” Andrei pointed out.

  “Sit down. Vodka?” Andrei raised his eyebrows, and glanced uneasily at the other man standing beside the desk. His name was Ivan Ligachev, and he was well known to be Stalin’s bodyguard — his relationship with the Party Secretary was roughly that of Andrei’s to Lenin. “You think champagne would be more appropriate. Well, champagne it shall be.” Stalin pressed a bell on his desk and a woman secretary hurried in, drably smart in white blouse and black skirt, low-heeled shoes. “Champagne,” Stalin ordered. “And three glasses. I have not yet seen the babe. A girl, I am told.”

  “That is correct, Comrade,” Andrei said. He had to be patient. This man was powerful, no one doubted that he would be the kingmaker
after Lenin died.

  “I have no doubt she will be as beautiful as her mother,” Stalin said. “Equally I have no doubt that she will soon have a baby brother. Ah!” The secretary set the tray on the desk, filled the three glasses, and withdrew. “I have been blessed with both a son and daughters.” Stalin raised his glass. “I drink to your prosperity, and that of your family, Comrade Gosykin.”

  “Your family,” Ligachev echoed.

  “Thank you, Comrades.” Gosykin drank.

  “Talking of your prosperity,” Stalin said, “I have been going through various accounts. You will understand that with Comrade Lenin so ill a great deal of extra work has fallen on my shoulders. It appears that you are not paid a salary, Comrade.” Andrei sat up. “There is no record of it,” Stalin explained. “On the other hand, I assume you do have an income? Otherwise you would starve, with your so-beautiful wife and lovely daughter. You know where it arises?” Stalin added, gently.

  “Money is paid to me every month, Comrade. By Comrade Krupskaya.”

  “Ah. I understand. You are in the personal employ of Comrade Lenin.”

  “I have always received my orders from Comrade Lenin, personally, yes.”

  “Then you must have been on holiday most of this past year. Able to enjoy your beautiful wife, is that not so?”

  “I have been waiting for orders, Comrade,” Andrei said. “My work is of a specialised nature, as perhaps you know. When Comrade Lenin wishes to call upon me again, I must be here.”

  Stalin leaned forward. “Andrei Vassilievich...you do not mind if I call you that? I do know what your work is, and therefore I am sure I am correct in assuming that you have learned always to look facts in the face, or you would not have survived. Therefore you must know that Comrade Lenin is never going to give you an order again. When Comrade Lenin dies, and sadly that cannot now be long delayed, you will cease to be employed. Comrade Krupskaya will not continue to pay you a vast salary for doing nothing, and what possible reason could she have for employing a professional assassin?”

  Andrei licked his lips. In this instance, he had actually refused to look facts in the face. The future without Lenin’s patronage was unthinkable. “I have been considering the matter,” Stalin went on. “I really am very fond of you, Andrei Vassilievich. I recognise in you a man dedicated to his work, and that is a sure recipe for success. I think it is a shame for successful men to have their careers come to a full stop. Because that is what is likely to happen to yours, Comrade.”

  “I am perfectly prepared to return to the Army, Comrade Stalin,” Andrei said. “Or, if there were an opening in the Cheka, the Security Police...”

  “I am sure that you would do very well, either as a soldier or as a policeman, Andrei Vassilievich. However, the fact is that once Comrade Lenin dies there is bound to be some investigation and, indeed, some criticism, of how he handled affairs, especially those areas which were handled in so much secrecy as yours. There will be those who will feel that he and his designated agent, you, exceeded your authority, and there will be those who will say that whether they did or not, Comrade Lenin’s agent knows too much about what was done, in such secrecy. You understand the difficulty. I may say that I do not agree with the first, but it is difficult not to agree with the second.” Again Andrei licked his lips. “As I have said,” Stalin went on. “I have determined to find a solution to your dilemma. But I am afraid I have only been able to think of one: that immediately upon Comrade Lenin’s death you become the employee of someone who would be able to protect you, and employ you.” Stalin gave a benevolent smile. “The alternative would be to flee the country with your so-beautiful wife and lovely daughter. But I doubt you would get very far.”

  “Do you think Comrade Lenin’s successor would provide such employment?” Andrei asked.

  “I am sure of it.”

  “And you already know who that successor will be.”

  “If you mean that I know who Comrade Lenin has designated his successor, the answer is no, because Comrade Lenin has not designated a successor as yet. Nor do I believe he intends to. The prize will go to the man who is most suited for the post. And equally, who is most determined to have it and who is most prepared to act ruthlessly in the pursuit of his goal. It will go to the man who most clearly defines what the future holds for Russia, and is most prepared to make that future turn out to the Motherland’s best advantage. Do you agree with me, Andrei Vassilievich?”

  “Absolutely, Comrade.” Andrei’s brain was tumbling. “I assume you are speaking of Comrade Trotsky?”

  “No,” Stalin said. “I am not speaking of Comrade Trotsky. I will concede that he has proved himself a brilliant soldier, and he has also revealed himself to be a ruthless man, at least when it comes to military matters. But I do not think he has the mental capacity to take the decisions which will be necessary if Russia is to resume its path to greatness. In addition, he holds beliefs which are unacceptable. He believes that state socialism cannot flourish in one country alone, but that the revolution needs to be endlessly exported. In a word, he believes in endless revolution, which means endless military conflict. Well, he is a soldier. But that is not a course Russia wants, or indeed can afford, for the immediate future.”

  Andrei considered. “Comrade Kamenev?”

  “A weakling.”

  “Comrade Zinoviev?”

  “An incompetent.”

  Andrei raised his head, and saw those magnetic eyes twinkling at him. “My God!” he muttered.

  “There is no God in Russia nowadays, Andrei Vassilievich,” Stalin reminded him. “State socialism has abolished God. There is only the Party, and total allegiance to the Party, and its leader. Such allegiance demands absolute confidence between Leader and agent. Are you prepared to give the next Party Chairman such allegiance, Andrei Vassilievich?”

  Andrei swallowed. “My pay?”

  “As now, will be a private matter between you and the Party Chairman. Or the Party Chairman designate. However, as my wife does not interest herself in state matters, it will be paid by Ivan here.”

  Ligachev gave a reassuring smile.

  “And my duties will be to assist you in becoming Chairman?”

  “No. Not at the moment. I wish to be chosen chairman, not to attempt something which might be thought of as a coup; these have a habit of backfiring.”

  “Comrade Trotsky will most certainly oppose you. He has the backing of the Army.”

  “I wonder,” Stalin said. “The Army has not fought anyone for two years now. I should not think Trotsky is as highly thought of now as he was in 1922. There is also the matter of that Jewish mistress of his. And most important, there is also the matter of whether he has the strength of character to oppose me, or anyone, who appears to command a majority in the Politburo. I think it will be sufficient for everyone to become aware, slowly, that you are now in my employ. That will concentrate everyone’s mind enormously. But first, there is a task I wish carried out, which will prove to me that you are as good as you ever were. You are aware that there are several emigre organisations dreaming of overthrowing our regime and restoring tsardom?”

  “I am aware of that.”

  “And are you aware that the most important of these organisations is that headed by the so-called Prince Colin Bolugayevski?”

  “I was not aware of that.”

  “I wish this group destroyed.”

  “The entire group?”

  “The entire group will collapse if this man Colin Bolugayevski is eliminated.”

  “We are speaking of my cousin-in-law.”

  “Is that a problem? If I asked you to eliminate your own wife, in the name of the good of the Party, would you find that a problem?”

  Andrei considered. Although he had married Jennie on instructions from Lenin, he had become very fond of her. However... “No, Comrade. It would not cause me a problem.”

  “Besides, were you not once before sent to eliminate this man?”

  Andrei n
odded. “When he was in Egypt, before he went to France. But he was not then my cousin-in-law.”

  “You failed to accomplish that mission.”

  “Circumstances were against me,” Andrei muttered.

  “I am sure they were. Now I am giving you a second chance. Prove your loyalty to me, and to the Party, by disposing of this upstart. As you know, he now lives in Paris. I will give you the address, and you will leave immediately.”

  *

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” Anna said, clinging to her brother’s arm as they strolled along the Champs Elysees. “I never thought Paris would be so beautiful.”

  She looked up, and he looked down, and they kissed. One could do that sort of thing in public, in Paris. “Your Highness!”

  “Alexander Nicolaievich!” Colin released Anna to embrace the young man. He was even younger than Colin, Anna realised, and was actually more handsome, but his suit was shabby and his shoes down at the heel. His dark hair was clean and tidy, and he had shaved that day, and his eyes sparkled. “You have not met my sister,” Colin said. “Anna Alexeivich, this is an old comrade-in-arms, Alexander Nicolaievich von Holzbach.”

  “I am charmed, Your Excellency.” Holzbach bent over Anna’s glove.

  She was intrigued. “Did you say, von Holzbach, sir?”

  Holzbach shrugged. “It is a title, Your Excellency, which does not compare with yours.”

  “But I do not understand. You are a German, but you fought with Colin?”

  “My father was German, Your Excellency. My mother was Russian. I was too young to fight in the Great War. But I volunteered to fight for General Denikin against the Reds. It was there I met the Prince.”

  “And now he serves with me again,” Colin said. “You’ll take a coffee? And maybe a cognac?”

  Alexander von Holzbach raised his eyebrows. “You have received a donation?”

  “Indeed I have.” Colin escorted them to one of the centre pavement cafés, ordered coffee and cognac.

  “It is strange that I have not met you before, Your Excellency,” Holzbach said.

  “That is because I have only just come to Paris,” Anna explained.