The Margin of Evil! (13 page)

But there was mor
e; the more he thought about it.  He realised that Auguste Gerhardt had been leading him along, on a merry song and dance. Yes that was it, all the time, Gerhardt had been priming him, egging him along, for the real task in hand. As to what that was, Georgii was beginning to get a sketchy idea, there were 'Bigger Fish to fry' here.  Not only that, it was beginning to look like the early summer of nineteen fourteen again. Christ ... Who was it that said that history is always repeating itself? that person needed to be strung right up.

Chapter Seven

The tall man greeted him at the gates of Lefortovo prison. Georgii could smell alcohol on the man's breath.

'
Radetzky!  Did not expect to see you back here so soon; what do we owe the pleasure!'  He turned towards his guardroom assistant, after taking an unnecessarily long time checking and shuffling Georgii's papers. 'Papers appear to be in order,' the tall man said. The assistant nodded. 'My assistant comrade here will take you to see Comrades Azarov and Sobolev.'  The tall man said.

The assistant led him across the courtyard.
The tall man shouted back to him, 'Good news travels fast! By the way you're not first person to visit those reprobates this morning.'

The journey to Azarov and Sobolev
's cell was uneventful. Georgii was preoccupied with how he was going to break the good news that the death sentence had been commuted to ten years hard labour. If he'd been them, he'd probably have preferred the death sentence. On they went along smelly, rat infested corridors, up and down stairs. Still locked in thought, and not really concentrating on what he was doing, Georgii was not that alarmed when someone barged past him shoving him into the wall. The man looked back at him and then started to break into a hard run.

Instinct told Georgii Radetzky that something was wrong.
They were nearing the cell. The cell door was slightly ajar, Georgii pushed the door open. The sight that confronted him was another one he wouldn't forget in a long time.

The two boys were slumped one on
top of the other.  The cell was smokey and still stank of the cordite discharge. Sobolev lay across Azarov his hands outstretched; they had both been shot between the eyes. A pool of blood ran from both bodies and was slowly working its way across the cell floor. Georgii's escort was out in the corridor leaning against the cell door clutching his guts and gasping for air.

No time to think, Georgii pushed past him, and ran off down the corridor.
He was shouting unintelligibly, but in this part of the prison, even though it had not been immediately obvious, was now strangely silent. Off he ran, back the way he had come and back across the yard. There in front of him, in the distance, was his quarry running towards the gate like a bat out of hell. Like Georgii he was running for his life.  He was now through the gates and out into the crowded street.  Georgii was in hot pursuit and was steadily making up ground. Onwards he ran, he felt that there was a real chance that he might catch up with the murderer, but there was always someone or something that got in the way. Still he ran on, now Georgii had his Broomstick Mauser out and he was frantically waving at people to get the 'Fuck-out' of the way. Men, women and children moved out of the way once they realised what the commotion was. Mothers grabbed their children and dived for cover. Georgii came to a clearing in the street; the assassin had stopped and was now turning to face him. He was slowly aiming his pistol at him. Even from this distance he could see his adversary's finger squeezing on the trigger. Georgii pulled his, and the firing mechanism went 'CLICK.'  Nothing happened! There was a deafening silence. 'Fuck-it', he thought, 'I'm a goner.' The barrel he was looking down was like none he'd ever seen before. It had a long attachment fixed onto the end of it. He could almost reach out and touch it. There was a loud 'BANG.' Georgii froze, everything was in slow motion. He just stood and stared at the man facing him. Then something odd happened, the man seemed to slowly crumple up. First he fell down onto his knees and then just knelt there for what seemed like an eternity. After that the gunman fell flat upon his face. Georgii managed to get a grip on himself when he realised, that he had not been shot.  Then running, as fast as his legs would carry him, up to his, only a moment before, would-be assassin.

He turned the man over; there was a hole in the side of the man
's left temple. The assassin was definitely dead. Georgii looked around him; onlookers walked up to take a good look at the corpse. He instructed a young boy to return to the prison to get help. Georgii stood there and tried to take it all in.  He rewound the last twenty minutes, back through his mind, starting with the tall man's sarcastic comments, right to the moment, before he arrived at this spot.

Things definitely did not add up.
Previous visits to Lefortovo had seen the place heaving with prisoners and guards. Not this morning. The murderer's entrance and exit had been all too convenient. Doors left open etcetera ... No, maybe Georgii's mind was playing tricks on him. Maybe he was now falling victim to Bolshevik paranoia! But his gut feeling told him one thing; this morning's killing of the two boys had been utterly pointless, they were not a threat to anyone, they had already told him what he needed to know; and on top of it all, whoever killed the killer; maybe it was the master of apparent disguise, the man with the bowler hat! Georgii looked back down the road and the tall man was walking briskly towards him from the direction of the prison. Georgii thought; let's see what this jerk has got to say for himself.

'
Radetzky!  Anything I can do to help!'  The tall man said.

'
I think you've done enough for one morning! Give me one reason why I should not have you arrested?'  Georgii said.

The tall man paused.
  He looked down at the assassin and then, back up towards Radetzky. 'This is ... not ... what you think!'

'
What is it that I think?' Georgii irritably replied fixing the man with a hard stare, 'Look! Go back to the gatehouse! I'll speak to you there. Don't go anywhere! Otherwise you will become your own guest! Is that clear!'

The tall man nodded
and walked hastily off in the direction of the prison. In the meantime a Militsya man had shown up with a detachment of Red Guards. Georgii thanked the boy, but told him to hang around; he might have a use for him later. He then turned and instructed the Red Guards on what he wanted them to do. The Militsya man, assisted by the boy, was to go around and take statements from witnesses. Assuming that is, that anybody had seen anything worth reporting. It took some time, but eventually he got everybody organised.

Georgii looked at the body; the impact of the bullet had completely caved in the left temple.
The blood was beginning to congeal around the edges of the entry wound. The man's lips were slowly turning blue. There was something else that struck Georgii as strange. The man was definitely not a local, and by local, he was not your usual European looking Caucasian. The man looked Turkic, he had dark swarthy features. The face was covered in stubble, the skin was tanned.  The killers clothing was dark and he wore the trademark cap. Georgii knew where he had seen his type before. It was when he had accompanied Gerhardt to the Black-Market a few nights before. The market had been crawling with people that looked just like him.

He knelt down and went through the man
's pockets. There was nothing in there to identify the man. He stood up and thought. While he was thinking, the Militsya man told him that there was a man that had agreed to take the corpse, on his cart, down to the city mortuary. Georgii told him to get the corpse loaded. When he had done this he was to accompany the body. He was not to leave it under any circumstances. Georgii would join him later. But there was one thing that he wanted to do before the corpse was taken away. He pulled his Swiss army knife from out of his trench coat pocket. He selected the right blade and knelt down. Georgii then turned the corpse over on to its side. He made sure that the right side was facing upward. Then he started cutting the man's clothing away from the right armpit. When he had finished cutting, he removed the clothing; and there it was, his hunch had been confirmed. There in the armpit was a tattoo of a cross sandwiched between two shields. He stood up and thought for a moment and then helped the Militsya man to get the corpse loaded onto the cart.

He stood in the street and watched the cart idle off. Then he gave further instructions to the remaining Red Guards. He told them that when they had finished taking statements they were to meet him in the gatehouse of Lefortovo. With that he walked off in the direction of the prison. It was time to have another chat with the tall man.

At the guardhouse, Georgii found the tall man sitting head in hand at the table. 'I never did catch your name?'

'
That's right I never told you! Did I! Andronikov ... Count Nicolai Andronikov.'

'
Look, I don't mean to sound antagonistic, but all of this has happened on your watch ... People are soon going to start asking questions. If it's not me, it's going to be someone else. So you might as well tell me what you know Comrade Andronikov? Some of my other colleagues might not be so understanding!'

Andronikov sneered,
'You're like all the rest Radetzky. You and your kind have used the Revolution to climb the greasy pole.  'He paused, and was about to carry on his rant.

'
Yes well, we've all been affected by recent events,' Georgii interjected. He carried on, 'Some more recent than others.'

'
What's that supposed to mean!?' Andronikov replied.

'
I think it's fair to say that you've got some talking to do. Because, if I don't leave here with some answers, I am going to contact my colleagues in 'The Cheka'. I think it goes beyond saying, but say it I will, you will be in the Lubianka by nightfall! So what do you say, 'Former Count', Andronikov?'

Whilst Georgii had been talking to Andronikov he had noticed that the man was becoming increasingly agitated. Andronikov
, when he was not talking was mumbling unintelligibly to himself. To Georgii, and he had seen this many times before, Andronikov's mind seemed to be drifting into a detached state of reality. Anyway Georgii thought, time permitting, he would have another go at getting something out of Andronikov.

'
Just tell me what happened before I got here? No one's accusing you of anything ... yet! So what's the problem?'

At that moment a Red Guard stuck his head around the door.
'Comrade, can I have a word with you outside please?'

'
O.K.' Georgii said. He got up and went out of the guardroom.

'
Comrade, we have done everything you've requested. I will send the statements down to your Militsya station.'

'
Did you find anything of interest?'

'
Only that everybody's story tied in with your brief version of the facts.'

'
O.K. thank you very much Comrade for taking the trou ...'

There was an almighty
'BANG' and it came from inside the guardroom. Georgii never got to finish his sentence. The shot was so loud that his ears were still ringing by the time that he and the Red Guard had entered the guardroom. The place was full of smoke.  'Not another fucking corpse', on today of all days he thought. Andronikov was lying on the ground Georgii looked down at the corpse. It was only then that he thought that he heard the sound of sobbing.  Or was it laughter, Georgii looked over to the guard and then back to where Andronikov lay. They both kneeled down and turned him over. Nikolai Andronikov, face was screwed up in a ball, he was sobbing quietly to himself.

Georgii stood up and said tersely,
'Get him out of here!'

The guard called for help.
Andronikov was taken away. Georgii went out in to the yard and lit up a cigarette. His brain had been completely frazzled by the morning's events, and the day was not even halfway through.

As he drew on his cigarette, he thought about events leading up to the tall man
`s botched, suicide. Maybe it was the classic set up! Wrong place at the wrong time; but who else could have known, in so short a time, about Sobolev's and Azarov's commuted death sentence? Only Trotsky and Gerhardt, and a handful of others knew of the commuted sentence. Not for the first time, since Auguste Gerhardt had asked him to covertly investigate the disappearance of Goldstein had Georgii begun to question the motives of his erstwhile mentor. No, Georgii thought, his mind was making him paranoid. He lit up another cigarette; this was more than sheer coincidence. Someone at all times always appeared to be one step ahead of him. Who was this person and who was supplying him with the information? Maybe he was going around in circles; maybe it was time to see Gerhardt and this time try to pump him for more information. One thing that Georgii knew, and he had learned this from painful experience, was that in a poker game Auguste Gerhardt never ever played his full hand, he always had one ace up his sleeve. It was a quality that Georgii had always admired, but had never managed to perfect him-self. There was so much that his suave urbane mentor had taught him and there was so much that he still had to master. Before he headed back to the 'Militsya' station, he wrote a note and then handed it to the street urchin whom had done his bidding earlier.