Blackstone and the Endgame (21 page)

The captain gave the signal, the Cossacks began to advance at a canter, and the lines of strikers tightened their grips on each other.

One Cossack hit the front line a couple of yards to Blackstone's left, another a couple of yards to his right. Both were already slashing out on both sides with their leaded whips.

People began to scream – some from pain, some simply from fear. Those strikers who attempted to pull the Cossacks from their mounts felt the full effect of the whips on their hands and wrists – and heard their own bones breaking.

It did not take more than a few seconds for the front line to break up, and the Cossacks ploughed on relentlessly into the second and third lines.

Blackstone had fought in enough battles to recognize a defeat when he saw one.

‘It's all over,' he shouted into Tanya's ear. ‘There's nothing more that we can do.'

‘Josef says that if we can only stand firm, we can win,' Tanya screamed back at him.

‘Look around you,' Blackstone said. ‘We're not standing firm – and that bastard Josef isn't even here.'

Some people had started to run, and what had once been a sea of strikers was rapidly being reduced to a small number of islands of desperate resistance, standing isolated in the swirling snow.

One group of five strikers had managed to pull a Cossack from his pony, and now that they had him on the ground, they were attempting to kick the life out of him. Then one of his comrades appeared on the scene, his whip whistled through the air in a series of blurs, and the five men were down.

The ground was littered with men and women. Some of them were lying perfectly still, some trying desperately to crawl away to safety. In several places, the grey slush was already deeply stained with red.

And now even the islands of resistance were breaking up, as strikers ran away in every direction and were swallowed up by the snow.

The Cossacks could have let them go – their own victory was beyond dispute – but this was not about breaking a strike, it was about breaking the labour movement, and the captain sent most of his men to hunt them down.

Tanya suddenly began to run towards the mill gates, to join a small group of men armed with bricks, who seemed determined to make their last stand there. And as she did so, one of the two Cossacks who had remained on the square began to bear down on her.

She was halfway between what had once been the front line and the mill gate when the Cossack caught up to her. His whip slashed through the air, and though she tried her best to dodge the blow, it still caught her across the back and she sank to her knees.

The Cossack slowed, wheeled his pony around her and got ready to finish the job.

And it was at that moment that Blackstone, flinging himself through the air, slammed into the Cossack's chest.

Blackstone fell back to the ground on the other side of the pony, but by twisting and grabbing as he did so, he managed to pull the Cossack with him.

They landed on the hard cobbles in a tangled heap, but – unlike the Cossack – Blackstone had been anticipating this and was the first of the two to recover and pull himself free.

Even so, the Cossack was only a second or two away from becoming dangerous again when Blackstone grabbed his head and began banging it against the cobblestones.

The first bang seemed merely to enrage the Cossack, but after the second his eyes began to glaze over and his hands dropped weakly to his sides. And with the third – when his blood began to form a gory halo around the back of his head – he was perfectly still.

Climbing to his feet, Blackstone saw that the second Cossack, who had been at the other end of the square, was galloping towards him.

He looked around for something that might save him and found it in the shape of the first Cossack's pony, which was used to battle and was calmly waiting to see what would happen next.

He ducked behind the pony, and the second Cossack, seeing the manoeuvre, changed course slightly.

Even at a distance – even in the snow – Blackstone could read the rage on the other man's face and recognized that while the Cossack undoubtedly wanted him dead, it was a slow and painful death he was intending to inflict.

It was perhaps two seconds before the Cossack realized that he had made a mistake – understood that, instead of planning how to exact his revenge, he should have been thinking about what his enemy was doing. But by the time he saw the rifle that Blackstone had taken from the other Cossack's saddle holster, it was already too late, and he had little time to curse his own foolishness before Blackstone shot him through the heart.

Tanya was no longer on her knees, but was lying on her stomach.

Blackstone turned her over. Her eyes were closed, but when Blackstone started to untie her headscarf, they quickly opened again.

‘Don't look at my face,' she groaned.

‘I need to check how badly you're hurt,' Blackstone said softly, ‘and for that I need to …'

‘Don't look at my face!' Tanya said again – and this time it was almost a scream.

‘All right,' Blackstone said soothingly. ‘I'm going to lift you to your feet. Do you understand?'

Tanya nodded. Blackstone put his hands under her armpits and raised her up. He could tell that it hurt, but she never made a sound.

‘Do you think you can stand on your own?' he asked.

‘I think so,' Tanya said.

But the moment that he slackened his hold on her, her legs began to buckle.

He picked her up in his arms and looked around him – at the two Cossacks he had killed and at the injured and dead workers who were fanned out beyond them. In the distance, he could hear screams, which told him that other Cossacks were still engaged in their bloody work. But soon they would return, and if he and Tanya were still there when they did, they were both as good as dead.

‘I have to take you away from here,' he told the girl. ‘It might hurt, but there's no choice.'

‘Then bloody well get on with it,' Tanya said through gritted teeth.

A
rchie Patterson slowly became aware of the gentle but persistent prodding and opened his eyes to find his wife standing over him.

‘I've brought you a nice cup of tea, sweetheart,' Maggie said. ‘But I don't want you to take too long over drinking it, because you need to get dressed before the doctor arrives.'

Patterson gave her a sleepy grin. ‘The doctor?' he repeated. ‘Is somebody sick?'

Maggie put both her hands on her substantial hips, something that she always did when displaying mock annoyance – and sometimes even when the annoyance was real.

‘You know very well that when I say the doctor's coming, I'm talking about Dr Carr,' she said.

Patterson's grin widened. It would be fair to say that the two women liked each other – that they were, in fact, firm friends. But even after all the years they had known each other – even after Maggie had conferred on Ellie the honour of entertaining her in the kitchen, rather than the parlour – his wife still refused to call Ellie anything but
Dr
Carr, because she
was
a doctor, and Maggie knew what was right.

‘How are your feet?' Maggie asked, with a hint of concern.

‘They're fine,' Patterson lied.

‘Stick them outside the bedclothes, and let's have a look at them,' Maggie said.

‘I've told you, they're all right,' Patterson said, trying to sound like the master of the house – and failing miserably.

‘Feet!' Maggie commanded.

With a heavy sigh, Patterson shrugged off the sheets and blankets, and held his feet out for inspection.

‘They're covered with blisters,' Maggie said.

‘Well, I've been doing a lot of walking these last few days,' Patterson replied weakly.

‘I'll boil up some water and you can give them a real good soaking,' Maggie said.

Patterson grinned again – but this time it was a forced grin. ‘The way you look after me, you're more like a girlfriend than a wife,' he said.

Maggie punched him playfully on the shoulder and then was instantly serious again.

‘It will be all right, won't it, Archie?' she asked.

‘Of course it will be all right,' Patterson told her.

He was not lying to her, he thought, as he listened to his wife's heavy footsteps on the stairs – at least, not
exactly
lying. It
could
be all right. They
might
find Max and get him to confess that Sam Blackstone had played no part in the swindle. And if all that happened, he himself might be given a light sentence for his part in the escape that he still couldn't even remember.

But even though he and Ellie Carr were spending sixteen hours a day tramping the streets of what had once been Little Germany – and had the blisters to prove it – they had not found a single person who would admit to ever having seen the man they so desperately needed to find.

And time was running out. In two days, he would have to surrender himself at his local police station, and from there it was only a short step to Southwark Crown Court.

How long a sentence would he get for rescuing his friend?

Ten years at least – and possibly even twenty!

He felt a tear run down his cheek.

‘What are you – a man or a mouse?' he asked himself angrily. ‘Because if you're a mouse, you're the biggest – fattest – bloody rodent that
I've
ever seen.'

He heard Maggie climbing the stairs again, and then she appeared in the doorway holding an enamel bowl full of steaming water.

‘I've put some liniment in it,' she said, walking over to the bed and placing the bowl on the floor. ‘Soak your feet in it for a few minutes, and it should make all the difference.'

‘I'm a very lucky man, you know,' Patterson said.

‘Are you?' Maggie asked.

‘There's no question about it. I've got the perfect wife and three wonderful kids – and if that's not lucky, then I don't know what is.'

‘I'm going to miss you so much,' Maggie said sadly. Then the sadness melted away, to be replaced by a look of sheer horror. ‘I … I didn't mean that,' she gabbled. ‘What I meant was … what I meant was …'

But they both knew what she'd meant.

Tanya was very pale and looked so tiny lying in the middle of the great feather bed – but even here she was wearing her headscarf.

‘I want to thank you for saving my life,' she said.

‘Think nothing of it,' Blackstone answered awkwardly. ‘That was what I was there for.'

‘You were very brave, and I was very foolish,' Tanya said. ‘Vladimir didn't send me there to make any heroic gestures, and yet … and yet …'

‘Go on,' Blackstone encouraged.

‘When I saw those workers standing in front of the mill gates – armed with nothing but rocks, yet willing to fight to the end – I had to try to join them. I just couldn't help myself.' A look of uncertainty came to her face. ‘Do you think I was being disloyal to Vladimir, Mr Blackstone?'

‘Call me Sam,' Blackstone said.

Tanya shook her head weakly. ‘No, I can't do that.
Do
you think I was being disloyal?'

‘A revolution is a very confusing thing,' Blackstone said. ‘There are bad people on both sides, and there are good people on both sides – and when you see some of the good people in trouble, it's hard to turn your back on them.'

Tanya smiled. ‘Thank you,' she said.

‘What has the doctor told you?' Blackstone asked.

‘He says that I have some very bad bruising, but he does not think anything is broken. He has ordered me to stay in bed for several more days.'

‘That's very wise of him,' Blackstone said. ‘Will your family be coming to see you?'

A wary look came into Tanya's eyes. ‘Vladimir has forbidden me to talk about my family,' she said.

‘Why would he have done that?'

‘If I told you the reason it must be kept secret, that would be almost the same as revealing the secret itself,' Tanya said enigmatically.

And perhaps that secret was why she was so torn in her loyalties, Blackstone thought.

‘Can't you talk about them because they're members of the aristocracy?' he asked. ‘Or is the secret that they're both revolutionaries?'

‘Please don't ask,' Tanya begged. ‘If Vladimir knew I had said even as much as I have, he would be very angry with me.'

Of course!
Blackstone thought.

That was it!

He was a fool not to have seen it before.

Vladimir had told him that her parents didn't know what she was doing, but that had been nothing but a blind. At least one parent
did
know – because that parent was Vladimir!

‘Let us talk about something else,' Tanya suggested. ‘Why don't you tell me about yourself?'

It was nothing but a ploy to get him off a dangerous subject, Blackstone thought.

‘You don't really want to hear about me,' he said.

‘I do,' Tanya replied earnestly. ‘I promise you, I do.'

Blackstone smiled. ‘All right,' he agreed. ‘Where would you like me to start?'

‘Vladimir always says that the best place to start a story is at the beginning,' Tanya said.

‘Vladimir says a lot of things, and if half of them are true, I'm a Chinaman,' Blackstone countered.

‘You don't think badly of him, do you?' Tanya asked, suddenly rather worried. ‘You like him, don't you?'

The father desperately wanted him to like the daughter, and now the daughter desperately wanted him to like the father, Blackstone thought. Well, the former of those two things was getting easier and easier, but he was still not quite sure about the latter.