Rag and Bone (41 page)

“Archie will be cross,” Flack said, a smile creeping up on his face. “What put you on to this?”

“I had a deal with Archie. I knew I’d need Chapman’s help, so I agreed to deliver a message. Topper told me to tell Vatutin ‘time and place,’ that he’d know what it meant. I thought it was only another supply shipment, and figured it was worth it to get in with them. I think I made a mistake, one that may have cost Vatutin his life. I said Topper wanted to know ‘time and place.’ ”

“How did that make any difference?” Bull asked.

“Vatutin was a trip wire. He worked for Sidorov, and Sidorov knew anything that was said to him would be reported. Sure enough, Vatutin ran right over to Sidorov when I delivered the message. I’m beginning to think mentioning Topper was not meant as part of the message, and that was too much information to let Vatutin live with.”

“ ‘Time and place’ alone might have done the same,” Flack said. “Vatutin might have put two and two together if the gold
shipment had been hit. I wouldn’t worry, Boyle. But I meant the whole scheme; how did you put all that together?”

“Chaucer and Joey Adamo,” I said. “Chaucer fled to Canterbury to get away from the Merciless Parliament. Joey Adamo was a Detroit hood who escaped the Mob by fleeing to Canada, where his death was likely faked. Last night, Sidorov said it was necessary for his government to be merciless, and that set me thinking.” I didn’t mention the thinking had gone on in my dreams. “And then I remembered what he had told me about Article 58 of the Soviet Criminal Code. It makes the nonreporting of counterrevolutionary activities by family members punishable by a stretch in a Siberian labor camp, at best.”

“Chaucer, as in
The Canterbury Tales
?” Flack asked.

“Yeah. He escaped to the country to save his neck.”

“I know about Chaucer, man! It’s a bit flimsy, don’t you think?”

“I’m not saying it’s evidence, but it fits. Sidorov has a wife and daughter. If he defected, they’d be punished.”

“How could they?” Big Mike said.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s how they control people.”

“Wait a minute,” Flack said, holding up his hand. “Sidorov couldn’t have known a German plane would be shot down last night. Are you claiming he killed one of the Germans, and put the body in the bunker? It’s too fantastic.”

“No, it’s not,” Bull said. “If Billy’s right, then we put a huge crimp in their plans by moving the Russian personnel down here. Except for controlled outings, they’ve been virtually incommunicado. Telephone calls are monitored; this is a highly sensitive installation.”

“Yeah,” chimed in Big Mike. “They were all ready to go. Sidorov set up the route for the gold shipment, and made sure the guard would be on the light side, under the guise of not attracting too much attention. Sheila got rid of Eddie and gave Mr. Brown the slip. Chapman arranged for an identity swap with a couple of dead bodies on ice. And then, out of the blue, Sidorov was sent down here.”

“Right. Archie was desperate to contact him. Sidorov was certainly feeling the same way. Archie followed me down here, and probably made contact.”

“Couldn’t Sidorov have left with Chapman?” Flack said.

“Would you trust Archie, after he paid you and got what he wanted?”

“Valid point,” Flack said. “So Sidorov sees his chance. He knows about the bunker from his Home Guard tour. He volunteers to join the search party, in hopes of finding a German from the downed aircraft. Intending to kill him, and change clothes.”

“Or one of the Home Guard, or even a constable. If any of them disappeared, and it looked like Sidorov’s body had been burned in the fire, suspicion would fall on them. It would be enough to allow Sidorov to disappear, and to get around Article 58. He’d be mourned as a hero back home.”

“You’re right, it would look like one of them murdered Sidorov, and fled. That would have bought him time and confusion.”

“The German could have been already dead, killed bailing out. Or he may have given himself up, and Sidorov led him to the bunker. You should have the body examined. There could be a bullet.”

“There is,” Flack said. “I had it looked at by a doctor here. I learned my lesson with the last dead Russian. But it could have been from the rounds going off in the fire.”

“OK,” Bull said. “I’m Sidorov. I’ve just changed clothes with a Kraut flier. That’s a problem right there. Big, heavy flight boots. Flight jacket and pants with big map pockets on the thighs. He’s going to have trouble getting around without being noticed.”

“Right. I’ll have the local constables canvas the area. If you’re not wrong, Boyle, we’ll find a report of missing laundry and a stolen bicycle close by,” Flack said, pulling a notebook from his pocket. That was a good sign. What he said next wasn’t. “You don’t know where this bunker is, do you?”

“Not exactly. Close?”

“About a twenty-minute walk north, set into the woods near a crossroad. Lieutenant Kazimierz could have followed Sidorov and the Home Guard, perhaps even caught him unawares when he was separated from the group. Then he takes him to the bunker, and stages it to look like an accident. He would have had ample time to make it back to the castle and bash Vatutin in the head. If you hadn’t come along, he might have gotten away with it.”

“We have to find Sidorov,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. If Scotland Yard got it in their mind that Kaz was the killer, and if that took off the political heat, then I knew what was likely to happen. If the killings stopped, Kaz was as good as convicted. And hanged.

“Or the fourth German crewman,” Flack said, rising from his chair. “Either will prove a point. I’ll have the Home Guard out again and alert the constables.”

Suddenly I felt exhausted, my failure to fully convince Flack weighing hard. I stared at the table, trying to think of what else to say. There was nothing left, my arguments as empty as my hands.

My hands. I had dreamed about my hands. What was it? Diana, or Dalenka, or whoever the hell it was, had asked me something. The pebbles.

Why are they in your hand?

Of course. This time, I did snap my fingers.

CHAPTER
•
TWENTY-NINE

F
AKING A LIMP
is hard. You can do it if you really focus on it, but if you slip up, you’re done for. To pull it off, try walking around with pebbles in your shoe. You limp. You have to. That’s what the mystery woman’s question meant. The pebbles went in a shoe, not a hand. They weren’t souvenirs of Poland; they were stones to put in Sidorov’s shoe, to establish his identity as a bandaged, crippled Polish pilot. He and Sheila had visited Shepherdswell several times, laying the groundwork for their getaway. They probably planned to hole up there for a while, after Sidorov pulled off the switch with whatever body Archie provided. After the gold shipment was knocked off, of course. Then, with phony identities established, they could move away when the heat died down, Sidorov healed and rich. Free of the Merciless Parliament.

Operation Frantic had thrown a monkey wrench into things. But both Archie and Sidorov were determined to get what they wanted, and were daring enough for the job. Archie and Topper setting me up with that message, and tailing us in a staff car, provided the perfect camouflage. As did Sidorov’s move, joining the Home Guard search, ready to kill again for a body to be consumed in flames.

We’d left Flack to organize the search. He was calling out the Home Guard, telling them they were after the remaining German, which worked for me, since Sidorov was wearing his clothes. Unless he’d already stolen other duds. That’s what I would have done, I thought, as Big Mike barreled the jeep north
on the open road. Lots of military traffic headed for the coast, but the left lane going north was clear.

I would’ve looked for a barn or outbuilding, hoping for some work clothes hung on a peg. One of those boilersuits, maybe. A commonplace blue one-piece outfit would be perfect to cover the Luftwaffe uniform, even the flying boots. Then a bicycle, on back roads, to Shepherdswell.

“But then what?” I said, not realizing I’d spoken out loud.

“Huh?” Big Mike said as he downshifted and passed a couple of trucks. I held onto my hat with one hand and onto the seat with the other. Even with the canvas top up, the wind whipped around inside and almost blew my service cap out. Big Mike’s driving threatened to do the same with the rest of me.

“If they don’t find Sidorov on the road, I don’t think they’ll find him at the house,” I said, shouting to be heard above the wind and road noise.

“Why not?”

“He’s most likely out of contact with Sheila. If anybody local saw him enter the house, they’d think he was a thief. Even if he got in, people would expect her to be there to care for him. If she’s not there, he probably has to hide out somewhere and wait. Somewhere close.”

“We broke in,” Big Mike said. “No one called the cops or came at us with a shotgun.”

“We didn’t have much at stake. We could’ve talked our way out of trouble, if it came to that. But Sidorov is wearing a German uniform, and he has everything to lose.”

“OK,” Big Mike said. “He needs to hide out somewhere safe, until they can meet up. Wonder if they have a contingency plan?”

“They’re both in the spy business. It would make sense.” I thought about it for a while. Big Mike was dead-on. Sidorov was NKVD, Sheila was MI5. Between them, they’d know the ins and outs of the trade. “There’d have to be two contingency plans, at least. One for getting together if something unexpected
happened to either of them, like the move to Dover. And another in case of total disaster, like one of them being found out. That would be a whole different kettle of fish.”

“Right now, they’re probably working under Plan A,” Big Mike said. “If they go to Plan B, we’ll never find them.”

“Jesus, I hope Flack doesn’t ring up the Shepherdswell constable and tell him to walk up and down Farrier Street until he sees a Russian dressed up as a German.”

“He didn’t strike me as thick-headed,” Big Mike said. “Stubborn, for sure. You know the type—arrest and conviction, that’s what counts. Some guys prefer a tidy closed case to a messy open one.” He laid on the horn, passing three trucks this time, and didn’t slow down.

W
E MADE IT
back to Norfolk House in record time, and found Cosgrove in with Colonel Harding. We gathered around his desk, bringing them up to speed.

“I’ve been in touch with Scotland Yard,” Cosgrove said. “They are skeptical of your theory, but have agreed to watch Shepherdswell carefully. Meanwhile, they have brought murder charges against Lieutenant Kazimierz. The death of Captain Sidorov, if that indeed is his body, tipped the scales against him, I’m afraid.”

“What exactly are they doing in Shepherdswell?” I asked, now very afraid for Kaz.

“They’ve sent a man down to stay at the pub, posing as a businessman. He has photos of both Sheila Carlson and Sidorov.”

“That’s it?”

“I’ve arranged for two WACs to visit Shepherdswell,” Harding said. “They have a three-day pass, and I figured they wouldn’t raise much suspicion. They can walk around like tourists. Mary Stevens, from the typing pool, and Estelle Gordon.”

“Estelle? She’s back?” Big Mike piped up. “Sir?”

“Yes, she came in after you two left for Dover. I figured it would give her something worthwhile to do.”

“Well, OK, I guess she can take care of herself,” Big Mike said grudgingly.

“Any other ideas, Boyle?” Harding said. “This whole thing is heating up. The Russians are screaming, accusing the Poles, the Poles are screaming about the Katyn cover-up, and both sides are screaming about postwar borders. We need to wrap this up, quickly and quietly.”

“The only thing I can think of is to try Archie Chapman, and see if he can tell us anything. It had to be his gang that supplied Sidorov and Sheila with false papers and maybe even a stolen car. He might save us a lot of time.”

“The same Chapman who you just cheated out of a truckload of Russian gold?” Cosgrove said. “I think he’d be more in the mood to slit your throat than to help you.”

“I agree,” I said. “That’s why I need you to do me a favor.” After I told Cosgrove what I needed, he left and Harding told Big Mike to grab some chow. He got no argument.

“Ike’s back,” Harding said, after everyone had left. “Came in from the States yesterday. He wants to see you.” He ushered me into Uncle Ike’s office, one floor up.

“William,” Uncle Ike said, setting down the telephone. “How are you?”

“Holding my own, General,” I said, unaware of how much Uncle Ike knew about what had been going on. “How was your visit home?”

“It was great to see Mamie again. She sends her best wishes, by the way. Unfortunately, I spent more time with politicians than I did on leave. Sit down, William.” Uncle Ike sat on a couch, and I took the armchair opposite. He nodded to Harding, who left the room. “I’m sorry to hear about this affair with Lieutenant Kazimierz. I wanted you to know I called the commissioner at Scotland Yard and asked for him to be released into my custody. He said no.”

“I’m not surprised. They seem to think Kaz is the answer to their prayers.”

“That’s dangerously close to the truth, William.” Uncle Ike lit a cigarette and blew smoke toward the ceiling. “This is a tightrope we’re walking. On one side is our moral obligation to our Polish allies. Not to mention millions of Polish-American voters; FDR isn’t one to forget that. On the other side, there are the hundreds of Red Army divisions fighting the Germans right now.”

“Did you discuss this with the president?”

“What would be the point, William? If we openly side with the Poles, we cause a break in relations with our Soviet allies, just as we are beginning to plan the invasion. Do you have any idea what our casualties would be if the Soviets halted their offensive, even for a few weeks? The Germans could move a dozen more divisions into France.”

“But we can’t side with the Russians on this, can we?” Uncle Ike smoked for a minute, staring at the carpet, the view out the window, anything but my gaze.

“No, you’re right. We can’t and won’t openly side with the Russians against the Poles.”