The Margin of Evil! (25 page)

George Gardstein carried on.
He had also given it some thought. He agreed that it indeed made good sense for Peter to get a job, but this was not to interfere with his plans. Gardstein assured him that these plans, as regards the robberies, were now far advanced. He paused and told Peter, that it would be fine for him to do some work and maybe, if he was going to do some work, he might as well go through several jobs in quick succession. But once 'The Georgian' and Fritz Svaars got here it would stop with immediate effect. As far as he was concerned he could start work tomorrow. With that he bade Mrs Brown and Peter farewell and then got up and left.

After lunch Peter decided that he would reconnoitre the area.
He put on his clothes from the previous day and walked out into a sunny Mile End afternoon. He strode off in the direction of Hackney. It wasn't long until he came across what he was looking for.

It stood in front of him.
The building was four storeys high. The stonework was white and shiny. If you looked in through the front door you could see marble floors and pillars. But the building was by no means complete. Peter stood for a moment and took it all in.

A voice said,
' Can I help you mate?'

'
Yes you can.  Can you tell me where the 'Boss' is?'

The man laughed.
  'He, 'The Guv'nor', won't speak to you unless you got something he wants!  What is it that you want,' the man said.

Peter Piaktow explained to the man what he wanted.
  The man looked him up and down and said. 'You'd better come with me. Today could be your lucky day!'

They walked into the building.
Peter marvelled at the high vaulted ceilings. There was scaffolding and ladders everywhere. They went up the central staircase and then walked along the first floor balustrade.

'
Wait here,' the man said.

The man returned.
'He'll see you now. Follow me.'

Peter walked into an adjacent room.
Down the far end by the window a group of men were talking. Peter's guide signalled to a bowler hatted man dressed in dungarees. The man left the group and walked over. He eyed him up and down.

'
So you are a painter and decorator. Alf 'ere tells me that you're looking for work. You're in luck; today I had to let someone go. If its work you're looking for we'll see you at six in the morning?'  Peter nodded. 'Alf, do me a favour? Fill him in on do's and don'ts. I gotta get back and talk to the architect!'  With that the 'Bowler Hatted' man returned to the group of men.

Alf led Peter out of the building.
'The Foreman, that's 'The Geezer' that you just met doesn't like idleness, drinking or lateness. He wants you to do what the 'Charge hands' tell you to do. If you don't follow his instructions, he'll tell you to go and get your bicycle clips!'

'
Bicycle clips! I don't understand?'  Peter said.

'
You'll be fired,' Alf said. Peter nodded his head.

'
Do as he tells yer and you'll live to fight another day and you'll also be able to pick up your weekly bonus! See yah at six tomorrow ... Matey!'

With that Alf was gone; P
eter strolled on down the road.  His hangover had now receded and he now felt good about today. He walked up to a pub and went inside and ordered himself a pint of porter.

When he arrived home that evening Mrs Brown handed him a note.
He went up to his room and opened the envelope. It was a note from Trassjohnsky.  It said:

Pyotr, Fritz has arrived.

ST

So all he could do now was
to wait until 'The Georgian' arrived.  As far as Peter was concerned it had been a very constructive day, he was looking forward to working in this 'Mates' world. He washed and then went up to bed.

Unbeknownst to him,
'The Georgian' had already arrived!

Chapter Sixteen

Sara Trassjohnsky was utterly devoted to George Gardstein. If he had told her to jump over a cliff, she would have done it without a moment's hesitation. She loved him too distraction and, in her mind, there were no doubts about it. Indeed her love for him was so strong that she was prepared to share him, grudgingly, with others like that ... simpleton, Nina Milstein.

Sitting in the upstairs bedroom, she weighed up her many achievements.
Sara Trassjohnsky was sure of one immutable fact; behind every 'Revolutionary', there was one able woman and in this role she had proved to be the power behind the Gardstein throne.

It had been her idea to come to London.
George had been in favour of Paris; she had persuaded him that, over on the other side of the channel the orchard would be ripe for the picking. They could dictate the terms, and then play the game of 'fast and loose' with the English authorities.

It had also been at her suggestion that they lie low, bide their time, s
plit up and travel in groups and, when they arrived, to thoroughly reconnoitre the area. It had also been under her guiding hand that they had assembled the current team that would eventually run circles around and baffle the ''Jolly' British Coppers'; who, to be fair to them, were only, in the call of duty, following up on various lines of enquiry.

Gardstein had been putty in her hands; he would do whatever she suggested.
She was his 'little' Sarah and she doubted if it had even occurred to him that it was she, Sara Trassjohnsky, who was the real master, especially when it came to steering and manipulating conversations, whilst discreetly, whenever it was required, sowing the seeds of deception and planting the germ of ideas in others, whilst generously letting other people claim all the credit for her work. Sara Trassjohnsky was, and she knew herself only too well, was a master in the art of stage management, but that was all ephemera in her mind; it was she who was the criminal mastermind, or so she thought, of the soon to be notorious Gardstein gang!

As far as she was concerned it had been major stroke in prizing Nina Milstein out of Latvia.
Milstein would appeal to Gardstein's vanity, Nina Milstein, because she was pretty and weak and completely in love with him, would conduct an affair that would keep his ego permanently inflated and his mind distracted; whilst at the same time she, Milstein, would weaken his resolve to argue with any of her plans.

The others, she felt sure, would also fall under her spell.
Fritz Svaars was a Swedish weakling; she had rebuffed his, nauseating advances, back in Riga. Nina was besotted with Gardstein and he was besotted with himself. That left the other two Djugashvilli and Piaktow. Both were loners and both had killed before and the two of them gave her the creeps. It was common knowledge that both were dedicated to 'The Cause'. Let's face it; if there was one place where they all stood united, it was for 'The Cause'. But those two, especially 'The Georgian', she was never completely sure where his loyalties lay; she was also never sure how far she could push them. Both men were different.  Piaktow was impenetrable and Djugashvilli had a nasty streak; but it was when you were in the room with him, she had noticed that Djugashvilli was always watching, he never took his eyes off anything, Gardstein used to joke that he was so paranoid that he slept with one eye open.  When he got drunk, he boasted of gluing dog's eyelids together and throwing day old kittens into snake pits.

Svaars had now arrived, so that only left
'The Georgian'; but when all was considered both were pretty reliable and both men, no questions asked, would do the job.

She sat down and stared into the heart of the coal fire.
As far as she could see the entire spadework had already been done. They would start off in Farringdon, then they would move on up to Tottenham and then they would finish off in Houndsditch. Once the three jobs had been done, they would lie low; when the coast was clear they would leave the country or simply move onto another city and start all over again. In her mind the important thing was to leave no trace, no clues and no pattern. Gardstein called from downstairs.

'
Yes my love', she sarcastically muttered.

Downstairs Fritz Svaars was standing next to George.
Both men talked like long lost brothers. Though both men, and she knew this, were wary of each other.

She greeted Svaars,
'So good of you to come Fritz.'

'
How could I not come and be by your side.  George only this minute has told me of the plan he's just cooked up.' Turning around, grasping Gardstein by the shoulder, 'Pure genius! It's the work of pure genius.'  He turned to face Trassjohnsky. His eyes blazed at her.

She smiled; it was nice to see that, once again, George was taking all the credit for her ideas.
But, that was fine as far as she was concerned. As long as George followed her instructions to the letter everything would be fine!

'
How are things back home,' she said.

'
Well since the revolution, everything has been quiet. But I do detect that change is in the air and I'd say that it is a change that is not at all for the best!'

'
Why do you say that Comrade Svaars?' Gardstein said.

'
Well it's as if 'The Autocracy' is regaining its confidence again. And you know, my friend that it is a cold wind that blows in from St Petersburg these days.'

'
Cold Wind from St Petersburg!  What do you mean by that? It always has been a 'Cold Wind', that has blown in from St Petersburg,' she said mockingly.

'
It's like this, they have again started planting police informers into the universities; they are banning the speaking of Latvian in public places; they have closed down local newspapers and they have smashed up printing presses. Any suggestion that we secede from the empire is usually met by a heavy-handed response from the authorities. Take my word for it; 'The Autocracy' is getting arrogant again! It has not learnt from its past lessons! It's as simple as that, 'The Tsar', aims to crush us all and any hints of resistance to his rule is met by a 'High-handed' response.'

Peter got up at five.
He went down to the kitchen and ate some rye bread. Mrs Brown had left a note on the kitchen table; his sandwiches were in the larder. Peter set off for work; he was in good time and arrived 'Bang-On' five forty five for his first day in 'The Mates' world.

Alf greeted him.
'Morning mate, nice to see you got 'ere on time!'

Alf showed him what to do.
By six o' clock Peter was rubbing down a wall, getting it ready for its first layer of undercoat. Glad to be working, Peter kept his head down and got on with the job. Alf was never too far away and he got the idea that they were keeping an eye on him.  Peter had been through this all before, so he just got on with the job. As the morning progressed, Alf was not seen so much, by the afternoon the only time Peter saw him was when he gave him a new job to do.

It seemed to Peter that his,
'Head Down', strategy was working well. All around him the building seethed with life. Plumbers came and went, architects wandered around with their plans, assistants copiously took notes.  Scaffolding was erected and then moved slightly to the left and right. A group of Italians were down in the lobby erecting busts to god only knows whom. But Peter thought that when the building was finished, it would still astound anyone who came to visit and would still be impressing in a hundred years from now.

There was no doubt in Peter Piaktow
's mind, that the owners of this building were men of substance and standing. There was too much evidence to suggest otherwise. In the lobby, as you came in from the street, the floors were made of Italian marble. The pillars that supported the first floor were marble also. Everywhere you turned there seemed to be a plinth with a Julius Caesar or a Marcus Aurelius, a Plato or a Socrates. It was a source of great wonder to him as to whom, or who, were the owners of this magnificent building.

On the third day he found out.
Alf, whose full-name was Alfred J Horner, had taken a shine to this Russian lad. Of course every time he called Peter a Russian, the Latvian blushed at the charge hands ignorance.

He would correct his boss,
'I'm Latvian not Russian. We have our own separate culture and language.'

But this was lost on poor old Alf,
'No offence intended mate.'

'
None taken,' Peter replied.

They were sitting out the back eating their lunches when Peter said to Alf
, 'Who are the owners of this prestigious building?'

'
Well it's like this, the owners are a long established company of importers and exporters.  They have been in business for about ... let me see ... one hundred and fifty years. At any one time, they have shipped everything from 'Nigger' slaves from Africa to the Americas; they have shipped opium to the Chinese. Putting it politely lad, they have had their finger in about every pie there is. And, so legend has it, they had the 'Nouse' to survive the South Sea bubble'. Not bad eh! Is it, mate?'