Faked Passports gs-3

by Dennis Wheatley

  "Why not get in touch by wireless?" Gregory suggested at once.

  The interpreter shrugged. "Kandalaksha is only a backwoods town. There is no radio station there."

  "What would the Marshal do, then, if he had urgent orders for the Governor of Kandalaksha?" Gregory asked.

  "Send a plane. But the Governor does not control our fighting forces up there, which are many miles further west on the Finnish frontier, so there are never any urgent orders to be sent to him,"

  "Cannot the Marshal send me up there in a plane on this occasion?"

  The request was transmitted to Voroshilov and the reply came back. "The Marshal regrets, but that is impossible. The war with Finland is not yet over and every plane we have is required for military purposes. He begs that you will not think that he has been made cynical by the sight of so much death, but he points out that this is a purely private matter and willing as he would be to oblige you in other circumstances he cannot divert a military plane from its duties for your use at such a time."

  "Could he have me flown to Leningrad?" asked Gregory desperately. "There must be planes constantly returning there from their advance bases. If he could, I should arrive in time to catch a train leaving this evening; perhaps the same one on which the Gestapo men will travel or, anyway, one that leaves a few hours after theirs; in which case I might manage to reach Kandalaksha before the Frau Gräfin is actually led out for execution."

  Von Geisenheim put this up to the Marshal and they had a brief discussion in Russian as to how long it would take Gregory to reach the nearest airfield, get to Leningrad by plane, and from the airport there to the Northern Railway terminus; after which they decided that it was a hundred to one on the Gestapo agents having at least several hours' lead of him, so that the Frau Gräfin would almost certainly be dead by the time he arrived at Kandalaksha. But at the end of the discussion Voroshilov stood up, looked at Gregory and said something which the interpreter translated as:

  "Are you a brave man and are you prepared to undertake a most hazardous journey? If so the Marshal can suggest a way which will give you a much better chance of saving the Frau Gräfin than any you would have if he sent you in to Leningrad by plane or car."

  "I am prepared to undertake any journey," Gregory replied firmly.

  Voroshilov moved over to a large map of Western Russia and Finland that was nailed up on the wall. Speaking swiftly he touched Viborg, Lake Ladoga and the great bend in the Leningrad Murmansk railway. His Staff Major then interpreted for him.

  "The Marshal says that while he cannot spare you a plane he will willingly place at your disposal cars, sleighs and horses. He suggests that you should cross the Karelian Isthmus to the south western shore of Lake Ladoga, cross the ice of the Lake to Rabaly, on its north eastern shore, and proceed from there to Petrozavodsk, on Lake Onega. Cars and racing sleighs move as fast as trains in Russia. From here to Petrozavodsk by the normal route is over 560 versts; but by following the tangent across the arc it is barely 300. The Marshal warns you that in crossing the Lake you will risk capture by the Finns and that, in any case, it will be a most terrible journey; but if you decide to adopt this plan it will give you a real chance actually to get ahead of the Gestapo men and catch a train at Petrazavodsk before any train which left Leningrad this afternoon can reach it

  "If the Marshal will provide me with facilities for such an attempt I shall be eternally grateful," Gregory replied eagerly, "and I cannot thank him enough for his brilliant suggestion."

  There was another short conference, then the Major sat down to a typewriter. He tapped out two documents which the Marshal signed. Picking them up the Major handed one of them to Gregory.

  "This," he said, "is an order for the release of your friends. It is addressed to the Governor of Kandalaksha or any other military authority who may be holding them in custody, so that it will still be operative should they have been transferred to any other place during your absence. Now, about your journey. The Marshal will place a car at your disposal to take you across the Isthmus to the Headquarters of the division that is holding

  the south western shore of Lake Ladoga. I will telephone them at once, instructing them to provide you with a racing sleigh and guides for crossing the Lake to Rabaly. From thereon you will have to make your own arrangements, as communications with the north western shore of the Lake are difficult and unreliable."

  Handing over the second paper he went on: "However, this is an open order to all officers and officials of the Soviet Union within the Zone des Armees to assist the Colonel Baron von Lutz, by every means in their power, to travel, either alone or with his companions, with the utmost speed wherever he may wish to go. Since it is signed by Marshal Voroshilov as Supreme Commander and Commissar for Defence, you may be sure that you will have no difficulty whatever in obtaining the quickest possible means of transport. When will you be ready to start?"

  "In a quarter of an hour," Gregory replied, placing the papers carefully in his pocket. He would have said 'at once', but he knew that to keep up his vitality he ought to snatch a quick meal before leaving, and he wanted to collect the few belongings that he had acquired in Leningrad.

  "Very good," said the Major. "In a quarter of an hour I will have a car waiting for you outside this office."

  The Marshal wished him good luck, asked to be remembered to his old comrade in arms, Kuporovitch, and shook hands again. Gregory expressed his most grateful thanks and, with von Geisenheim, withdrew.

  "Two hundred miles across country over snow sounds a most ghastly trip," the General said gloomily, as they walked back to the Mess together. "Do you think you'll be able to make it?"

  "God knows " Gregory muttered. "Every moment will be precious, as we can be certain that the Gestapo men won't give Erika even an hour's grace once they get there, so it will be a neck to neck race. But I may just beat them to it if I don't meet with any unforeseen delays."

  In the Mess he made a hasty meal of soup, brodchen and coffee substitute, then having had a large flask filled with vodka he repaired to his own hut to collect his things.

  The light was on when he opened the door and he saw a broad, uniformed back bent over a suitcase. The man turned at that moment and he found himself staring into the solitary eye of Gestapo Chief Grauber.

  Chapter XXXI

  Grauber Intervenes

  FOR a moment the two men stared at each other, speechless with surprise, but it took Gregory only a fraction of that time to guess how it had come about that he found Grauber unpacking a suitcase in his room.

  He had been so preoccupied over lunch with the thought of his coming interview with Voroshilov that at the time he had hardly taken in something Major Woltat had said to him. It had been to the effect that he had received a wireless message from Berlin that a number of other officers were on their way by plane to join the German Military Mission; mainly engineers who were coming out to examine the undamaged forts in the Mannerheim Line when the Finns surrendered and the Russians took them over. The Major had gone on to say that as accommodation was limited he would have to put one of the new arrivals in Gregory's room. Evidently Grauber had come in on the plane that afternoon and an evil fate had decreed that he should be chosen as Gregory's stable companion.

  It took Gregory barely a second to realize what had happened and in another he had answered his own question as to why Grauber should have accompanied a group of engineer officers to the Russian front. As the Chief of the Gestapo Foreign Department U.A. 1 that bird of ill omen appeared almost automatically at each point outside Germany to which the main interest of the war shifted. The surrender of the Finns appeared imminent, so what was more natural than that the Gestapo Chief should pay a flying visit to the Soviet General Headquarters, where the military side of the negotiations would be conducted?

  The instant Grauber swung round from unpacking his suitcase he recognized Gregory. The black patch still hid his left eye socket but his good eye flashed amazement then deadly hatred. His g
un was lying on a camp table just out of reach and he did not make the mistake of trying to grab it. As Gregory thrust his hand into his furs to draw his pistol the sixteen stone Gestapo Chief hurled himself at him. The weight and suddenness of the attack carried Gregory right off his feet. They went down together with a frightful crash, Gregory underneath. With a speed which would have done credit to an all in wrestler Grauber got his hands on the Englishman's throat. Next moment Gregory was fighting for his life.

  Wriggling like an eel he twisted himself partly from under the German and bringing up his knee thrust it into his adversary's groin. Grauber let out a harsh grunt and for a second his hold on Gregory's throat slackened. Their faces were within a few inches of each other. As the grip on Gregory's throat relaxed he jerked his head forward and buried his teeth in Grauber's chin.

  For two minutes the Gestapo man bore the intense agony, his blood streaming over Gregory's face while they fought with silent ferocity, then Grauber could bear the pain no longer. Withdrawing his right hand he clenched it and lifted it for a sideways blow that would smash Gregory's face away from his own. As the blow came Gregory let go his bulldog grip and flung his head aside so that the German's fist lost most of its force, and only hit him a glancing blow on the left ear. But, twist as he would, he could not get out from under the heavy body.

  Having freed his chin Grauber jerked himself up and holding Gregory down with his left hand bashed at his face with his right. Gregory dodged two of the blows but the third caught him full in the left eye. The pain was excruciating and for a moment he thought that he was blinded. Gathering all his force he kneed Grauber in the groin again. The German gave another awful grunt and tried to retaliate, but as his body shifted Gregory crossed his legs and stiffened the muscles of his stomach. At the same instant he brought up his right fist with a short arm hook to the side of Grauber's chin. Grauber's face, as he straddled Gregory, was almost out of reach so the blow was not a heavy one; but it was just sufficient to tip him off his balance and, straining every muscle, Gregory forced him over on to his side.

  Grauber kicked out and his heavy boot landed on Gregory's shin, but thrusting the German away from him he managed to wriggle to his knees. Rolling right over, Grauber jumped to his feet with the agility of a huge cat; but Gregory was as quick.

  Flinging himself at the Gestapo Chief's knees he embraced his legs and pitched him right over his left shoulder to crash, face foremost, spread eagled on the floor.

  The fall gave Gregory just time to stagger to his feet. He was puffing like a grampus, sweat and blood were streaming down his face, his heart was pounding as though it would burst through his ribs, but he dared not let up for a second. It was no time for Queensberry rules but a matter of life and death, and much more than his own life depended upon his getting out of that room a free man. As Grauber rolled over and came up on his knees again Gregory hit him full in the face.

  He swayed there for' an instant, rocking on his knees, yet such were his enormous powers of resistance that in spite of the blow he jerked up to his feet and came charging at Gregory like a thunderbolt.

  Gregory managed to keep his balance but was forced back against the wall. He landed a right on his enemy's ear just as Grauber drew back his right and swung a terrific punch on his opponent's body. The blow left Gregory gasping and he sagged a little. Half blinded and sick with pain he lurched sideways; but his right hand brushed the top of the small table and its fingers encountered Grauber's automatic. There was no time to grasp it properly, as Grauber had drawn back and was coming at him again with a hail of blows. Raising his left arm to protect his face Gregory dodged aside and lifting the clubbed automatic struck Grauber with all his remaining force upon the temple. The German collapsed like a pole axed ox and lay, a limp, still, huddled lump, on the floor.

  It was three minutes before Gregory could get back his breath or concentrate his thoughts. Once he could do so he listened for any sound in the passage or the adjoining rooms. It seemed certain that someone must have heard the racket caused by that frightful struggle and come to find out what it was all about; but in spite of its intensity it had occupied only a few moments and at this hour all the other occupants of the line of huts would be gathered in the Mess for their usual afternoon Kafe trinken. As Gregory realized that he breathed a little more easily, locked the door and set about examining Grauber.

  Blood was trickling from the German's temple as well as from his chin, but he was not dead, For a moment Gregory toyed with the idea of killing him. He was a murderer many times over and worse a blackmailer and a torturer, who had climbed to high office in the Nazi State upon the blood, the misery and the tears of innumerable victims. With Hitler, Himmler, Heidrich, Streicher and all their crew, he deserved a more agonizing end than the human brain has power to devise; yet, while Gregory would have emptied the contents of an automatic into Grauber's stomach with the greatest possible pleasure if he had been conscious, he could not bring himself to crack the man's skull with one more blow from the pistol now that he lay there helpless.

  A great thermos containing two quarts of hot water was kept filled in each hut by the soldier servants for their officers to wash with when they came off duty. Gregory emptied his into the canvas basin and, having cleansed his face and hands of blood, began to bathe his eye; it was horribly inflamed but had not yet started to colour up. lie felt extremely shaky but, using all the speed he could command, he collected everything of Grauber's that he thought might be of use to him and rammed the articles into the suitcase. Next he lashed Grauber hand and foot, lifted him on to his camp bed and drew the blankets over him; so that if anybody looked in they would think that, tired after his journey, he had turned in at once and was sound asleep. With luck he would not be discovered until the soldier servant came to rouse them the following morning.

  Gregory had just started to tidy the hut and remove all traces of the struggle when he caught the sound of footsteps. Next moment there came a sharp knock on the door.

  For a second his heart stood still but he controlled his breathing and asked in a steady voice: "Who is it?"

  "Von Geisenheim," the reply came back. "You said you would be only a quarter of an hour and over half an hour has gone already."

  "I'm so sorry. I'll be with you now in one moment," Gregory called out. He felt certain that although yon Geisenheim might be secretly anti Nazi he would never dare to condone a murderous attack upon a Gestapo Chief who had been attached to his Mission. Swiftly righting the remaining things he snatched up the suitcase and opening the door slipped through it before the General had time to get a glimpse of more than a section of the room.

  There was a bright, unshaded light in the passage; by it van Geisenheim immediately noticed Gregory's chalk white face and damaged eye. Before he had time to speak Gregory said:

  "I've just had a nasty accident. While I was packing I tripped over my suitcase and fell against the corner of the table. I was darned lucky not to lose the sight of my left eye and it hurts abominably. That's what delayed me."

  "Hum It looks as though you've caught it an awful smack," von Geisenheim agreed sympathetically as they stepped out of the hut into the darkness together, but he made no other comment.

  Five minutes later they were outside Voroshilov's office. A powerful car was waiting in the roadway with a military chauffeur at its wheel and beside it stood the Staff Major. In the half light which came from the headlamps of the car he did not notice the state of Gregory's face as he said that he had made arrangements for a racing sleigh to be in readiness on the south western shore of the Lake and wished him good luck.

  Gregory murmured his thanks, shook hands with him and von Geisenheim, saw from a glance at his watch that it was a quarter past five, and got into the car. The chauffeur spoke German but had already been given his instructions. Next moment they were off.

  Directly they left the cover of the wood it was much easier to see their surroundings. No moon could be hoped for later that night
, as it was the dark quarter, but for several days past it had been what had become known as "Molotov weather"; clear, almost cloudless, blue skies from which the Soviet planes were easily able to pick up their objectives without having to come right down low as an easy target for the Finnish antiaircraft gunners. The nights had been equally fine, with a million stars gleaming in a frosty sky, and now that the early darkness had fallen again they were just beginning to twinkle.

  Gregory's head was splitting and his body was one mass of aching bruises, but as they turned on to the main road towards Nykyrka he rallied himself to ask the chauffeur what he thought he could get out of the car. The man gave a figure in versts, which Gregory calculated as about eighty miles an hour; but the chauffeur went on to add that he meant `given a clear stretch of good road', and they would be lucky if they could average a quarter of that speed at night through cross country lanes only a few miles from the firing line where masses of troops were in constant motion. Gregory knew the journey across the Isthmus to be nearly sixty miles. If the chauffeur was right it would take them at least two and a half hours whereas he had hoped to do it in under two; but they were soon out of the snow mounds which were all that was left of the Finnish town and making good going along a road that led almost due east.

  Their route lay practically parallel to the battle front as although the Soviet Armies had forced the south western end of the Mannerheim Line and made an advance of nearly seventy miles there they had made hardly any impression upon its north eastern end at all, and the Finns still held Taipale, which lies on Lake Ladoga. That was the nearest point from which to cross the Lake, but to remain within the Soviet lines they would have to keep a little to the south of it.