Road of Bones

by James R Benn

“General Belov was not aware of and did not countenance any such order,” Maiya said, following up breathlessly with a request for details of the attack. I gave them the full story, Stalin and all, including the crash of the burning Po-2 and the medal on my jacket. Maiya seemed entranced at the exploits of the vaunted Night Witches. Belov nodded his quiet approval, while Drozdov watched me with hooded eyes. No one gave anything away.

  Finally, I came to Zolynia and finding out that Vanya Nikolin was not there, but at the front with a penal company. Belov looked surprised. He and Drozdov exchanged glances that might have displayed guilt or perhaps real astonishment.

  “Is Lieutenant Nikolin alive?” Maiya asked, translating the general’s urgent question.

  “He was when I spoke with him,” I said. “He said that on the night of the murders, he was sent a note signed by General Belov, ordering him to report to this very office. He left his post as ordered but found no one here. He told me Major Drozdov found him and placed him under arrest, demoting him on the spot.”

  Belov and Drozdov exchanged a few quick words. Sidorov raised his eyebrows and Kaz gave me a look as they wrapped up. I didn’t understand what was said, but neither of them was in the best of moods.

  “General Belov did not order the lieutenant to leave his post at any time,” Maiya said, boiling down the conversation to basics. “Major Drozdov did transfer Lieutenant Nikolin that night, but it was not to a penal detachment.”

  “That is true,” Drozdov said, looking to Belov for permission to speak, which was granted by a curt nod. “I did order his transfer, but to an NKVD regiment, not a penal unit. I thought it best to get Nikolin away from here. You see, his father is an important official within the Kremlin. I did not wish to embarrass him by his son’s involvement in this affair.”

  “But he’s not in a regular regiment. I saw him with the 18th Penal Detachment Company at the front,” I said.

  “I do not know what happened,” Drozdov said. “A mistake, some clerical error? Or perhaps his father is no longer a favored member of the nomenklatura.”

  I must have wrinkled my brow because Kaz broke in to explain the nomenklatura was the name given to the administrators who ran things in the Soviet Union, under the watchful eye of the Communist Party.

  “General Belov, I would like to officially request that Vanya Nikolin be returned to your jurisdiction here so he can aid in our joint investigation,” Bull said. “I am sure that between you and your NKVD comrade this can be accomplished.” Belov and Drozdov put their heads together, called Maiya over, and gave her the party line.

  “The general agrees,” she said. “General Belov wishes you to know that personnel transfers are normally the business of the Soviet state and no one else. But in this case, because of an unfortunate mistake obviously due to allies of the enemy and disorganizers of the rear, he will relent and order Lieutenant Nikolin reinstated to his rank and returned here. Major Drozdov will issue the paperwork immediately.”

  “If Nikolin is still alive,” I said.

  “The general relents,” she answered. “No further discussion on this topic is called for. Now, Captain Boyle, you must return the travel orders you were given. It is standard procedure.”

  I handed the folded papers to Maiya, wondering if it was a normal thing. Or was there something in those orders Belov didn’t want revealed?

  “Thank you, General. I’m sure you must be busy, so we’ll take our leave. Unless there is anything else, Captain Boyle?” Bull said, in a way that told me it was time to shut up and get out.

  “Only one thing, sir. Unless Captain Sidorov has already requested it, may we have permission to visit the Goskomizdat bookstore in Poltava today?”

  “What for?” Drozdov broke in, forgetting about the translation. Maiya filled in Belov quickly.

  “A small matter concerning a book Lieutenant Kopelev had in his room. Probably nothing,” I said.

  “You will have a pass within the hour,” Maiya said, gesturing for us to take our leave. As she ushered us out, she and Black exchanged the briefest of smiles. They were the only two happy about anything.

  “Let’s check on Big Mike before we leave,” I said to Kaz, eager to get clear of the Operations building and think about what was going on. “I want to find Max and have him bring Big Mike lunch, so he stays put.”

  “I’ve got a couple of Stars and Stripes that aren’t too old,” Bull said. “Come on, I’ll see what else I have to keep him entertained.”

  “I will wait for Major Drozdov to draft the orders to release Nikolin,” Sidorov said. “It may go faster that way.”

  “Good idea,” I said, checking my watch. “We’ll meet out front at ten o’clock.”

  Bull came up with the newspapers and a couple of paperbacks. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain and a Rex Stout, Not Quite Dead Enough. Both were Armed Services Editions, well-worn paperbacks that fit neatly into a pocket. He also had a collection of short stories by Ernest Hemingway. I told him to leave that one behind. We’d encountered Hemingway in France not too long ago, and that had been enough of the guy.

  “I always enjoy a visit to a bookstore,” Kaz said as we walked to the barracks. “But why are we really going to a government store? I doubt they will have anything for Big Mike.”

  “One thing I forgot to mention. When we searched Kopelev’s room, we went through the books he had. Some Mark Twain, and a lot of Marx and Engels and stuff by Stalin. But he also had an atlas of the Soviet Union.”

  “You found that suspicious? The atlas, I mean.”

  “It was second-hand, purchased recently at the bookstore in Poltava. It had one section on the Black Sea marked up. Some of the ports along the Turkish border were circled. I kept the book because something didn’t seem right. I had a feeling Kopelev bought it for some specific purpose. Then it was stolen out of my jeep.”

  “That is a very thin thread, my friend,” Kaz said. “A Communist ideologue who also reads Mark Twain buys an atlas. A conclusion as to why he was murdered does not jump to mind. Perhaps he simply liked maps.”

  “Sidorov didn’t mention the book?” I asked.

  “No. He did recount your search of Kopelev’s quarters, but said you found nothing of interest. This one time, I will choose to believe he is telling the truth,” Kaz said.

  “I know, it’s not much to go on. But there isn’t much else to do until Nikolin gets back,” I said. “And one other thing. I do have the order Nikolin was given.” I patted my shirt pocket.

  “Interesting,” Kaz said. “Who else have you told?”

  “No one. Just you.”

  “Even more interesting. You do not trust Sidorov either, it seems.”

  “I didn’t feel like blabbing it to the whole mess hall last night, that’s all. I figured it would be worth holding this piece of information back,” I said. “But you’re right. The advice I left for you with Bull still holds. Trust no one.”

  We found Big Mike snoozing in his bunk, the plate I’d brought him from the mess on his bedstand, hardly a crumb left on it.

  “Hey guys,” he said, propping himself up. “What’s the news?”

  “Old news,” I said, setting down the newspapers along with the paperbacks. “We’re headed to town to check on a bookstore.”

  “Don’t bring Kaz with you, for crying out loud. He takes forever in a bookstore. Why you goin’, anyway?” I gave him the lowdown on Kopelev’s atlas.

  “Do not worry, a Soviet state bookstore will have little to interest me, or any Pole, for that matter,” Kaz said. “Where is Max? We wanted to be sure he brought you food.”

  “I haven’t seen the guy at all,” Big Mike said.

  “Little wiry fellow, jailbird look, lot of tattoos?” I said. Big Mike shook his head.

  I checked in Max’s room. The bed was stripped and there was no trace of him. It was as if Max had
never been there at all.

  “Max brought the order to Nikolin telling him to leave his post,” Kaz said as soon as I returned and gave them the news. “Now that General Belov has agreed to recall Nikolin, Max disappears. Most convenient.”

  “Here, keep this hidden,” I said to Big Mike, giving him the crumpled paper with Belov’s order to Nikolin and explaining what it was.

  “Ah, you kept an ace up your sleeve,” he said, stashing it inside Tom Sawyer.

  “Yeah, and I compared the signature to the ones on my travel orders. They match, or they’re a well-practiced forgery,” I said.

  “Okay, enjoy your sightseeing. I’ll be spending time with Archie and Nero Wolfe,” Big Mike said. “But before you go, any other dope you’re holding back on?”

  “No. I think you have everything now,” I said. “Oh wait, I do have some maps. Got ’em from the navigator on my B-17. See if you can piece together what these locations have in common, if anything.”

  I grabbed the two maps from my room and marked the places that were important. Poltava, Zolynia, Jedlicze, Kozova. Then the ports that I remembered from Kopelev’s atlas. Batumi and Poti plus Samsun and Trabzon in Turkey. Also, Tabriz in Iran. I’d seen that on the shipping crates in the warehouse. Maybe it meant something, maybe it didn’t. Maybe Nero Wolfe could figure it out.

  We made arrangements at the mess hall to have lunch delivered to Big Mike. Kaz made sure the guy in the kitchen understood we needed two meals delivered, figuring that would hold Big Mike for a while.

  At the Operations building, I found Sidorov in Major Drozdov’s office.

  “The order has been radioed to the 18th Detached Penal Company,” Sidorov announced with a smile. “We are awaiting word on Lieutenant Nikolin now.”

  “Great. But where’s Max? His room is cleared out.”

  “Please be calm, Captain Boyle,” Drozdov said, signing a sheet of paper. “Private Maxim Bogomozov has been reassigned to other duties. I will provide you with another orderly soon.”

  “Will Max be joining the tramplers?” Kaz asked.

  “That is an insult!” Drozdov yelled, jumping to his feet. “Private Bogomozov has been officially reassigned to where his language skills can be best put to use. And it is an air force matter. It has nothing to do with the NKVD. Only cowards and traitors are sent to the penal detachments.”

  “Except for Nikolin,” I said.

  “An obvious mistake,” Drozdov said. “But that does not entitle foreigners wearing the English uniform to slander our government. I know you are one of the London Poles, Lieutenant Kazimierz. And an aristocrat as well.”

  “Well, you certainly avoided making any mistake about my identity,” Kaz said. “It is a shame you were not that careful with Lieutenant Nikolin’s destination. Or were you?”

  “Get out,” Drozdov said, thrusting the paper at Sidorov. “Now.”

  “You can be such a charming fellow, Baron, when you wish to be,” Sidorov said as we walked down the main corridor. “Apparently you felt otherwise this morning. Did you wish to provoke the major?”

  “Yes. It is an investigative technique I learned from Billy when we first began to work together,” Kaz said, taking the passenger’s seat in the jeep. “It involves turning over a rock and seeing what lurks beneath. Or was it poking a sleeping dog? I get those confused.”

  “Let’s hope you didn’t poke a sleeping bear,” I said. “I would have liked to know where they sent Max. If Drozdov was telling the truth, it sounds like he was sent someplace where there are Americans. Maybe one of the other airbases?”

  “Let us ask Maiya,” Sidorov suggested, spotting her outside of Black’s office, not surprisingly. We did.

  “Yes, Max left last night, Captain,” Maiya told us. “I am sorry he did not have a chance to say goodbye, but a spot opened up on a flight to Tehran.”

  “Why Tehran?” I asked.

  “The airbase, I should have said. Tehran and the nearby airfield are within the Soviet northern occupation zone, as I am sure you know. Private Bogomozov was assigned there due to a need for English speaking personnel.”

  “Max is hardly a translator,” Sidorov said. “His English is eccentric, at best.”

  “No, he will not be an official translator, but very few Americans speak Russian, so it will help to have Max to work with them. He has been assigned to your railway service. Much of the supplies coming in through Iran are brought to us by rail, only a small amount by air.”

  “Can we get in touch with Max if we need to?” Kaz asked.

  “We can send a message,” Maiya said. “But he may be on the trains at any time. The railway goes from Tehran to Tabriz and then north into the USSR through Armenia. I have no idea where he may be today or tomorrow. Or any day.”

  “We’ll let you know if we need anything,” I said. “Was he glad to go?”

  “He obeyed his orders, as all good Red army soldiers do. Now, I must get back to work,” Maiya said, clutching a stack of files and walking off, giving a nod to Black at his desk.

  “What do you think, Major Black,” I asked. “Was Max all that happy to get sent to Tehran?”

  “I wouldn’t know, Captain,” Black said, barely looking up from a map he’d spread out over his desk. “Enjoy your trip to the bookstore. And close the door, will you?”

  “Nobody’s in a very good mood today,” I said as we exited the building.

  “Someone is,” Sidorov said. “Our friend Max. Trains full of supplies are a vor’s paradise. He may pass out when he sees the mountains of supplies coming through the Persian Corridor.”

  “Vor means thief,” I said to Kaz.

  “Vor v zakone, a thief in law, to be exact,” Kaz said. I should have known. “His prison tattoos were quite interesting. I had not heard of the Bitch War before. From what Capitan Sidorov told me, Max could expect retaliation if he is sent back. He should be careful.”

  “A vor cannot be careful,” Sidorov said as we got into the jeep. “It is in his nature to steal. Max will take what he can and then suffer the consequences.”

  “Maybe he’ll run,” I said, starting the jeep and heading to the main gate.

  “What would a Russian do in Iran?” Sidorov asked. “After the war, I mean. It is a thief’s dream now with mountains of riches flowing in from the West. But once the war is over, Iran will be left poor again. With no vodka. Hardly home for a vor.”

  “Regardless of what Max is stuffing his pockets with right now, do you think the story of his transfer is real? Right when we need him to confirm Nikolin’s claim about the order, he vanishes,” I said.

  “It makes sense,” Sidorov said as we neared the gate. “There is probably a greater need for language skills with all the Americans and British in Iran. Having Max work with your enlisted personnel would help things run smoothly.”

  “I can see that, Billy,” Kaz said. “I know you feel you were sent away under false pretenses, and Lieutenant Nikolin’s case is certainly cause for concern, but that does not mean every military transfer is part of a plot.”

  “You’re starting to think like a Russian,” Sidorov said. “Or perhaps like Comrade Stalin, who sees conspiracies at every turn.”

  “Speaking of conspiracies, was it true what Maiya told us about turning in orders? That it’s standard procedure?”

  “Yes, since travel orders could be altered. It is especially worrisome when it comes to Westerners who possess them,” Sidorov said. “You may be trusted to carry orders for a specific task, but you will never really be trusted.”

  I stopped at the gate. Guards surrounded us, their PPSh-41 submachine guns trained on our chests. Sidorov handed over our travel papers, and the lieutenant in charge gave them a careful read. Finally, he nodded and handed them back to Sidorov as they exchanged a few words. His men lowered their weapons and raised the gate.

  “
Whew,” I said, as we left the base behind. “They didn’t act friendly at all. Did they think we were kidnapping you?”

  “That is exactly what the officer asked,” Sidorov said. “He apologized but said you can never be too careful around foreigners. He also said his daddy was ready to protect a fellow Russian from these Westerners.”

  “Daddy?” I asked.

  “The Russian nickname for the PPSh-41 is papasha,” Kaz said. “Daddy.”

  “We Russians stick together,” Sidorov said, although coming from him it lacked a certain punch. After all, he’d betrayed his country and then it threw him to the wolves, almost literally. But, here he was, back in the Communist fold, at least for now.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Poltava was a small city with big piles of rubble. Red brick cascaded from two-story piles, spilling out into the street despite the efforts of workers to carry away and stack the bricks that could be salvaged. As we drove closer, I saw they weren’t exactly workers. They were German POWs, their uniforms tattered and caked with dust. Russians stood guard, each with their daddy at the ready.

  “It is all the fascists are good for,” Sidorov said, practically spitting the words out.

  “They should remain after the war until every town and village is rebuilt.”

  “Yes, I agree,” Kaz said. “An invading army should rebuild the nation it conquers. And then leave.”

  “Ha, yes, I see what you mean,” Sidorov said. “But this time we are liberating Poland, not invading it.”

  “Whatever you call it, the question is, will you leave?” Kaz said.

  “You would have to ask Comrade Stalin,” Sidorov said, since we all knew the answer. Invading and liberating were one and the same to Uncle Joe. “Go left at this next intersection.”

  I drove down a wide street that hadn’t seen as much destruction as the neighborhood we’d just been through. A few large three-story buildings were faced in pink stone, and one granite structure sported double columns on either side of the entrance. A few shops were open, and people walked the streets dressed in clothing that was worn but only slightly shabby. The neighborhood almost looked normal, except for the military vehicles that were the only transportation in sight. Sidorov pointed to a storefront ahead, and I pulled over.