Laugh of the Hyenas

by Ivan Roussetzki

  Milev said nothing as he tried to comprehend the real meaning behind Belevski’s threat. Had Lupus already got to Belevski and forced him to confess? Was the doctor now trying to save his skin by connecting the police chief with Lopié and Noverman? Or was Belevski telling the truth and being used as a pawn by Lopié to test his commitment to the West?

  If Milev said the wrong thing, then his double-agent strategy would be over, and in all probability, so would his life. Milev stalled for time. He had to find out what the doctor really knew. He lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke.

  “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Dr. Belevski. I think you are very confused, or maybe just overtired. Perhaps you need to go home and get some rest.”

  Milev wrinkled his chin, arched one of his eyebrows, and blew out a long stream of smoke. “Anyway, the truth about me and who?”

  Belevski stood up and pointed his finger at the police chief. “The truth about you helping Jean Lopié and Helen Noverman escape Sofia!”

  If this was a Lupus trap, Milev had to act insulted and reassert his authority. He slammed his fist down on the desk and stood up.

  “That is utter nonsense, Dr. Belevski. I think what the Gestapo will believe, sir—because it is true—is that you are a spy, and you work for a foreign intelligence service. I know that you have sent them many radio reports from Sofia detailing German military secrets. I now finally have my proof.”

  Belevski and Milev stared at one another, each waiting for the other to blink.

  “Jean Lopié told me one more thing, General Milev,” Belevski finally said. “That would convince you that I was telling you the truth.”

  “And what was that?” he asked.

  “That you had placed secrets about German operations in Bulgaria in a locker at the Academic Sports Club.”

  A tense silence filled the room. Milev was sure that Lupus couldn’t have known that. The police chief sat down, tilted his head to one side, rubbed his chin, and then crushed the butt of his cigarette into a crystal ashtray.

  “Well then, Dr. Belevski, let’s just suppose for a moment that you are right,” Milev said.

  Belevski dropped back into the chair and let his chin fall to his chest. He sat motionless for a moment. After he cursed Noverman and Lopié out loud, he quietly wept.

  Dear God, thought Milev. If Lupus got to this frightened bird, it would take him less than five minutes to get him to sing the whole story, and by this time tomorrow Milev would be donkey fodder. How could he have been so damn stupid and cursed himself again for spilling his guts to Noverman. It had been the biggest mistake he had ever made.

  Oh well, that was history, and the die had been cast. What mattered now was the present situation and what Milev was going to do about it. One thing was absolutely certain. There was no way he could let Lupus get a hold of Belevski alive. Ironically, Lopié had signed Belevski’s death warrant by telling him about Milev.

  Dr. Belevski knew enough about George Milev to get him hung by his balls, and Lupus’s bloodhounds were breathing down the doctor’s neck. Milev had to take immediate action. At the same time, he couldn’t do anything that would suggest to the British that he was responsible for the death of one of their agents. Milev had to think, but he didn’t have much time to decide what to do.

  The police chief walked over to the doctor and put his hand on the man’s shaking shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, Dr. Belevski,” Milev said, “It’s true, I am your friend and I’ll help you. I just had to be sure you were telling me the truth. But first tell me, how did you get here?”

  “I took the tramway at Levski’s Square.”

  “Were you followed?” If Lupus knew Belevski had come here, the game was over for both Milev and the doctor.

  “No, at least I don’t think so. The Gestapo agents who came to the hospital were just coming up the stairs to my office when I slipped away.”

  “Good, then.” Milev said. “Now another question. Who did you tell that you were coming to see me?”

  “No one except for the young officer who brought me in to see you.”

  “Excellent. I will help you, but only if you promise me one thing, Dr. Belevski.”

  “Anything! I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t let them hurt my family. You know what the Gestapo is capable of.”

  “Calm down, my friend.” Milev cradled the doctor’s trembling hands in his. “No one is going to hurt your wife and children if you do as I say. Now listen carefully. I want you to forget from this moment everything that anyone told you about my connection with Helen Noverman or Jean Lopié. The lives of your family hinge on this promise. Even if the Gestapo threatens to tear you to pieces, you have to keep this secret to the grave, or your family is as good as dead. Do you swear to that?”

  “Yes, I swear on my wife and my daughters’ lives,” he wept.

  “Good. I’ll find you a place to hide where no one will find you until I can get the papers to help you escape the country.”

  “Thank you, General Milev. I swear I’ll take your secret to my grave. But what will happen to my family if I disappear? The Gestapo will surely arrest and torture them but they know nothing about what I’ve been doing for Noverman and Lopié, I swear!”

  Milev thought that perhaps he should kill this frightened man instantly, right here in his office. He could have thrown him into the Iskâr River, and no one would have been the wiser. It wouldn’t have been the first problem that Milev had solved that way. Then again, perhaps that was not the best use of the doctor. Besides, Milev figured that if the doctor were found dead, then Lupus would surely suspect that Milev was trying to cover something up, which of course was true. Also, it was worth keeping Belevski alive for a while, hopefully to catch up to and eliminate Noverman and Lopié.

  “Call your brother-in-law, General Stankov, in Pleven right now. Tell him you have to go away, and ask him to take care of your wife and children. Certainly he is powerful enough to protect his sister and her children from the Gestapo, is he not?”

  Of course Belevski would say that his wife was completely innocent, but who could be sure how much she actually knew about her husband’s spying? If she suspected him of some secret dealings, she might have confided in her brother, the General. That could prove fatal to Milev if the General Stankov put two and two together and figured out that his brother-in-law was an enemy agent and that Milev had provided him with a visa to get out of the country.

  However, if the Belevski family was under General Stankov’s protection, the Gestapo would have a difficult time arresting and interrogating them. General Stankov, one of the Czar’s favorite soldiers, was a force that even the Gestapo respected and avoided interfering with. Belevski’s family would be safe and would also become Milev’s insurance policy that the doctor would not break his promise to remain silent about Milev’s double dealings with Noverman and Lopié.

  “Yes, of course, I’ll call my brother-in-law!” Belevski’s eyes filled with hope. “He is the answer, and you are my savior, General Milev. Thank you! Thank you!”

  Milev smiled at the man who knelt at his feet. He was a saint who held the power of life over death.

  “Yes, Dr. Belevski, I am your savior,” Milev said. “And don’t you forget it.”

  CHAPTER 34

  After hiding the doctor for hours in an airless room the size of a broom closet at the police station, Milev drove Dr. Belevski to an abandoned hunting lodge nestled deep within the Plana Hills west of Sofia.

  “Dr. Belevski, don’t go outside in front, not even to piss! The villagers don’t like strangers, and there’s no telling who might be poking his nose around here. Don’t even light a candle. Someone might see the light and call the police to investigate. I’ll be back tomorrow evening.”

  Dr. Belevski stood on the rickety porch and watched Milev’s car slip away quickly down the muddy road and disappear into the dark woods. Faint beams of moonlight reflected on the wet grass and trees that surrou
nded the lodge, making it seem like part of a serene dream.

  He stepped inside the lodge and closed the screen door behind him. The large room was damp and cool. Two sagging overstuffed brown chairs and a tired brown couch sat in front of a large fireplace filled with ashes. Rodent droppings littered the grimy plank floors and a faded and frayed Turkish rug. It was clear that no one had been here for some time.

  Dr. Belevski sniffed the air. There was a faint foul odor, like something—or someone—had died a while ago. “If a person wanted to kill someone, this would be a good place to do it,” he thought.

  Belevski used the sleeve of his coat to wipe a thick layer of dust off a rickety wooden table and chair that sat beside a small dirty window. He put the bag of food and drink that Milev had given him on the table, pulled the special blackjack Lopié gave him from out of his pocket, and held it tightly in his hand. For the first time in hours, Belevski was alone and felt safe—at least for the time being.

  He stared out the window into the woods and prayed that by this time his wife and daughters were safely out of Sofia. Before leaving police headquarters earlier with Milev, Dr. Belevski called his brother-in-law, General Atanas Stankov.

  “Atanas, I have a serious problem and need your help right away.”

  “The famous Dr. Manol Belevski has a problem?” he laughed. “What possible problem could you have that I can help you with?”

  “I need you to look after Spasia and the girls in Pleven for a while. The Bulgarian Secret Police and Gestapo might want to talk to me and I don’t want them around when they do.”

  When General Stankov heard the words Bulgarian Secret Police and Gestapo, he burst out, “God damn you, Manol, for whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into with those bastards.”

  “Please Atanas, just do this for me!” Manol begged.

  “I’ll fetch Spasia and the girls myself and bring them here. But I swear, if anyone harms one hair on any of their heads …”

  Angry words were a small price for Belevski to pay for his family’s safety. Belevski knew that his brother-in-law would protect them with his life, and so for the time being, he put his concerns for their safety aside. Now he had to focus his attention on the immediate problem—getting away from the Gestapo or whomever else wanted to find and hurt him.

  For the moment, the doctor felt relatively secure in Milev’s hidden lair, but for how long? He doubted that German agents would think to search for him at the lodge owned by the Chief of the Bulgarian Secret Police, but his gut instinct told him that to trust the smiling, friendly and aristocratic General Milev could also prove fatal.

  Was Milev really an ally, or did he have some other reason for bringing the doctor to this hideaway? He had helped him escape Sofia and the Gestapo, but why did he deny his connection with Lopié, Noverman and British Intelligence? Aiding and abetting a fugitive from the Gestapo was extremely dangerous, even for someone in Milev’s position, so he had to have a good reason to do it.

  Belevski wondered if Milev had another secret arrangement that Noverman and Lopié were unaware of. Lopié hadn’t told Milev of Belevski’s mission in Sofia, and he promised to signal the doctor by radio if he was going to inform Milev about their connection. So how had Milev figured out that he was the person who was sending the radio transmissions? The doctor wondered if Milev knew the real reason for his second trip to Istanbul. Why did Milev really come to his clinic? Was it for his back pain or something else? Why did Milev invite—no, order—him to come to his office for his visa? He was sure it was for more than a cup of coffee and a chat.

  All these questions made Dr. Belevski’s blood run cold.

  Then he remembered Helen’s warning, “Manol, I beg you, don’t contact George Milev unless it is absolutely necessary. I don’t trust him.”

  For the first time since Helen betrayed him in Istanbul, Belevski believed her. But then again, who could he really trust?

  Belevski also worried about what Jean Lopié had told him during his training in Istanbul. He warned the doctor over and over how handlers set traps for spies whom they distrust or suspect of being double agents. Maybe the doctor was the bait for such a trap, or maybe Jean Lopié thought Dr. Belevski had jumped ship and was now working for the Germans.

  On the other hand, was it not strange that George Milev had not grilled him for more details about his contacts and his reason for visiting Istanbul again? People in the police chief’s position didn’t even believe the Bible without double-checking with God first! Just trying to guess what George Milev was up to made Belevski shiver with fear.

  Belevski wondered if Milev was hiding him from the Gestapo because he knew too much about the police chief. But if that were the case, why didn’t Milev just kill him and be done with it? He was sure that Milev could have made up some plausible excuse to explain his disappearance to the Gestapo.

  Dr. Belevski didn’t know what Milev was up to, but at least one thing was clear—he was stuck between the hammer and the anvil, and he was about to get smashed.

  Belevski looked into the darkness that surrounded the hunting lodge. The moon darted out from behind large, slow-moving clouds, spreading its precious light. He watched the forest shadows wax and wane as his mind struggled to figure out what was really happening, as well as a way to escape what appeared to be his certain demise.

  “What is he waiting for? What does Milev want with me? Why would he risk crossing the Gestapo?”

  The moonlight filled the sky, and Belevski’s mind started to work. As the tiles of this life-and-death mosaic fell into place, one piece after another, the doctor saw the frightening picture. At that moment, for the first time since his nightmare began, Belevski realized the possible reasons behind his situation.

  “What if George Milev was playing for both the Allies and the Axis?” he asked aloud. “Perhaps Milev agreed to help the Gestapo break the Allied spy network in Bulgaria. Perhaps that meant finding and arresting a person like me. But why, if Milev knew that I was transmitting radio messages to the Allies, didn’t he turn me over to the Germans?”

  Belevski could only come up with one logical answer: Milev was afraid that Dr. Belevski would tell the Gestapo about the police chief working for the Allies, too. But why would that butcher keep him alive if he was such a threat? Maybe if he turned up dead, people might ask Milev too many questions.

  “Maybe Milev is just waiting for the right time to kill me. Oh, Jesus, all I want is to see my wife and children and get my life back to normal.” Belevski cried.

  Like the changing sky, his mind clouded over again. Belevski shook his head, and tears welled up in his eyes. He was tired, confused and famished, having eaten nothing since early morning. The doctor saw in a shaft of moonlight the bag of food sitting on the partially lit table. He pulled salami, bread, and tomatoes from the bag and, using a rusty fishing knife he had found in a drawer, ate a cold meal in the half-darkened room. With a sigh, he fell asleep in one of the filthy, overstuffed chairs.

  

  Click! Click! The gun barrel pointed at the side of my head. Shoot me, Milev, you bastard, and get it over with! Damn gun, I should be dead. Knock, knock. Spasia? Girls? What are you doing here? It’s good to see you so … Bang! Bang! Bang! Oh no! You son of a bitch! Who’s that? No, please don’t!

  

  Belevski awoke to the incessant banging of the screen door and the rattling of the ancient windows. The sky had cleared, allowing the moonlight to cast eerie shadows into the stone cold room. Belevski’s heart raced as he heard another round of clanging from the front of the lodge.

  “Someone’s coming to kill me,” he whispered.

  Belevski grabbed the blackjack and peeked out the window, seeing nothing but the jagged black shadow of a broken wooden fence. Despite Milev’s warning not to leave the house, Belevski slipped into one of the small rooms at the back of the lodge and climbed out the window.

  The doctor froze beside the lodge inside a shadow. He waited to get a glimpse of
the assassin sent to kill him. “What does it matter who wants me dead?” he thought. His heart pounded as he crouched close to the ground. “I won’t go easily.” He would fight if he had to and clinched the blackjack. Then there came a gust of wind and the clanging again. It sounded like metal banging on metal. No assassin could be that loud and still surprise his prey.

  With every bit of courage that he had left, Belevski crept forward to peer around the front of the lodge. As the wind rose again, so did the sound from down near where the fence met the road. He gripped the blackjack even tighter. Along with the clanging, in the moonlight the doctor saw something flapping like a wounded bird’s wing with every gust of wind. Sensing now that he was alone, his courage rose, and he crawled closer toward the fence to investigate.

  “A stupid God damn mail box,” he laughed. “Really, General Milev, you ought to fix this broken hinge. It nearly gave me heart failure.”

  Belevski walked back up to the hunting lodge with the blackjack in one hand and the mailbox in the other when he remembered something that made him stop.

  “Jesus Christ! Mailbox!” he practically shouted. “Why didn’t I think of it before? Tomorrow is Saturday, and she’ll be there to pick up my weekly message for Lopié. She is my only chance, but if I stay here until tomorrow it’ll be too …

  Out of nowhere someone grabbed Belevski from behind by the neck. He dropped the broken mailbox and reached for his attacker’s bony fingers as they clutched at the doctor’s windpipe. The attacker squeezed Belevski’s throat tighter as he gasped for air. He clawed at the man’s hands, desperately trying to pry them away from his neck.

  Dr. Belevski was close to losing the battle and his life when he yanked the metal ring at the end of the blackjack tube and pulled out the long thin garrote wire. He flipped the wire over his own head and around the back of his attacker’s neck. Just as Jean Lopié had taught him, Belevski jerked the wire with all his might.