The Margin of Evil! (39 page)

Your remit had been solely to investigate t
he activities of Comrade Stalin and find out if there was any truth in the allegations made against him. It became clear during the course of the investigation that others, with vested interests, could only benefit from the 'Good Comrades' removal.  I hope that you find the fruits of my labours to be of some value. My original aim was to deliver this to you in person, but I find myself ill in Orel, so I will deliver this to you in person at the first opportunity.

Your obedient servant

Yakov Sverdlov.

Joseph Stalin laid the contents of the file down on his desk. He thought of Georgii Radetzky. In his estimation, the young man’s star was definitely on the rise. Nice work he thought; he then thought of the other 'Goons' that worked for him, useless all of them, but as 'The Commissar for The Nationalities' knew only too well, their ineptitude was what he valued most. He opened the bottom draw and reached for the rosary beads. The Georgian closed his eyes, and concentrated. The voice of God was coming through loud and clear.

'
I told you the 'Young Man' would not let you down. Now ... ,' it said.

Twenty minut
es later, he put the beads away and then dialled through to the main Kremlin, switchboard. A moment later he had made the appointment with the General Secretary's office. He was to meet Lenin at three that afternoon. He looked at the other folder the one he was going to incinerate. That file had said the complete opposite; it had found him guilty on all counts and he was in it, right up to his neck. As well he knew, any reference to that, the original folder, and anyone who knew of its existence, had to be eliminated. Then a thought flicked across his mind. He reached for his phone.

'
Can you send Georgii Radetzky to me at once?' He put the phone down and waited.

Ten minutes passed and then the phone rang.
'Comrade Georgii Radetzky left for an undisclosed destination about an hour ago.'

Stalin hung
up. 'Bastard,' he thought, 'I'll bet the 'Fuckers' made a copy!'It was now two o'clock. He had a meeting with Vladimir Iilyvich pencilled in for three. 'The Bastard', had two hours head start on him. He would deal with him later.

Chapter Thirty

Peter Piaktow had not been idle. In the weeks and months following his arrival in Moscow, he had started meticulously putting a plan together after discretely making enquiries via sympathetic second and third parties and befriending a Georgian 'Nut', Aslan Rustaveli, in the process. Peter carefully bided his time, only announcing himself to the local 'Soviet' authorities when he felt the time was right. After telling them a selective version of his story. Peter easily managed to win over the local Soviet he'd chosen with relative ease, and through them gained membership to the Bolshevik party. Now a card carrying 'Party Member' his new employers were particularly impressed by the fact, that the 'The Bogus' Lithuanian had at times, actually passed himself off as a bogus Estonian named Toomas.  'Fuck them', he thought. 'Now it's down to business!'

Peter
'The Painter' also knew that, if he was to exact his revenge on 'Koba', he had to gain access to the Kremlin. This, as it turned out was not so easy but by June he felt that more than enough progress in this direction had been made. He was drafted into a 'Red' detachment of Lithuanian guards
[26]
.

For him it was fortuitous that, by the very
'Paranoid' nature of the times that 'Comrades' from his 'bogus' country of birth were considered to be, at this volatile time especially by his new 'Red Masters', in the very vanguard of the whole 'Socialist' movement.  Not only this, the Lithuanians were deemed by their 'Red Masters' to be both honest and reliable; two valuable commodities, in their thinking, far in short supply during that winter of 1918/9.

By his reckoning, if his masters could not trust their fellow Russian Comrades; and were t
urning to their Baltic brethren, then all the better for him.  Comrade Piaktow duly made a mental note of this fact and decided he would do everything in his power to promote this, point of view amongst 'The Party Faithful'.

So orders were, at the expense of his Russian colleagues, slightly tampered with.
The upshot of all his petty tinkering was that the Lithuanians, namely himself, were seen in a good light and the Russians were not. They were seen as clumsy fools.

Comrade Piaktow
, proved to be ever the willing impressed his 'New' masters and moved on from boring sentry tasks to escorting visiting Commissars and Dignitaries.  And from chaperoning them he was moved into the motor pool. Peter had the good knowledge to realise that this was exactly the place to be. He soon realised that the pool itself was the very hub of the Kremlin. If the cars were not running nothing much got done and, certainly after the failed assassination attempt on Lenin the previous summer, nobody of any importance dared go out for a stroll.

Also, it would help him to execu
te his plan and even though he had never thought much further than the death of Comrade Stalin, the pool would provide him with a necessary avenue of escape. All he had to do was bide his time, as his mother had once told him,' Peter dearest, all things come to those that wait!'  So he rested his head on the head rest and waited. As well Comrade Peter knew, he would not have long to wait, but the timing had to be perfect so all he had to do was wait for the right break to present itself. So keeping an ever watchful 'weather eye' open and, constantly rubbing his hand up and down the length of the leather holster, that always housed the deadly 'Dreyse' automatic, Peter Piaktow bided his time and waited for that 'perfect' occasion to arrive.

One time he had only been feet a
way from his quarry, on another he had driven the Georgian to a meeting in Orel. Not once did anyone ever think that he was anything other than another driver from the motor pool. As it happened, in light of opportunity, a second opportunity was about to present itself.

It was early afternoon and he had been doing some work under the bonnet.
Peter heard a furore coming from the office. He turned over and from where he was lying he could see a group of men arguing with the motor pool commissar. Instinctively Peter knew that this might be the opportunity that he had been waiting for. He pulled himself out from under the car and walked over to where the men were having their heated conversation.

'
Look Comrade Commissar, I have no cars available at the moment! My cars are either all in use or, to put it bluntly, they are out of commission; or they are waiting to be used! What do you expect me to do,' the 'Motor Pool' Commissar said.

'
I expect you to give me a car and give it to me right now! Do you know who I am,' Stalin said.

Of course the
'Soviet Functionary' knew exactly who he was dealing with. But he was of the opinion that by using careful reasoned argument he could persuade the Georgian to come back later. So it came as a bit of a surprise when the Commissar for the Nationalities pulled a gun on him and then demanded that, if he wanted to see 'Old age', he was to furnish him with a car and do it right now. Timing it perfectly Peter walked over, and threw his two roubles worth into the now rapidly overheating row.

'
Comrade, car number forty four is now roadworthy. With all due respect, could I make a suggestion? Now that forty four is back on the road, maybe I could chauffeur these 'Comrades' too their destination,' he said.

The Motor Pool commissar seeing Peter
's timely intervention as a way out for all parties said, 'My apologies Comrade, it seems that I have overlooked that car. 'Wiping his brow he said, 'Car Forty four is now at your disposal!'

Stalin put his revolver away
and turned around to face this bringer of good news and, for a moment, 'The Commissar' had the feeling that he had met this man somewhere before. But no it could not be. He turned around and faced the petty bureaucrat that ran the motor pool, and slapped him across the face and said. 'Don't you ever do that to me again!  When I ask for something, you give it to me, and you give it to me immediately!'

The car rumbled out of the Kremlin compound and headed off into the late Moscow afternoon.
In every sense 'The Bogus' Lithuanian was now firmly behind the wheel.

Chapter Thirty One

Rezhnikov sat behind his makeshift desk. As usual he was in one of his mid to late afternoon stupors. He was just drifting off when Radetzky burst through the door and rushed off up the stairs. His slurred, 'Good afternoon Comrade', went unanswered. He drifted off again ...

The next thing he knew he was being prodde
d awake. Yuri Rezhnikov blinked and then focused his sore eyes. In front of him were four men, he could see that the sixth was waiting outside in the car. The short one wearing a cap spoke first. The others glowered at him.

'
Hey you, take us up to Radetzky's room!'

'
Why? Who are you? On whose authority?'  He felt something round poke into his back. He did not need an explanation as to what was making the impression. The fifth man was behind him and was digging a Beretta into his back.

'
I tell you on whose authority,' the little man wearing the oversized trench coat and cap said. 'Comrade Lenin's ... Ha, ha.'

Rezhnikov looked a
nd started to feel sick as the men around him laughed. He thought to himself, these men were not to be trifled with.

'
When was the last time you saw him,' the short man said.

Rezhnikov replied.
'Thirty minutes since!' The 'midget' sized man went out to the waiting car, a moment later he returned with its occupant.

'
Go to his room,' said the man in the cap to the other men.  'I've been here before, so I'll take a good look around!'  Turning to face Rezhnikov 'The Georgian' said. 'You can stay here! I've got some questions for you ...'

Yuri Rezhnikov was now sitting bolt upright in
his chair. Four of the six men were now upstairs; he could hear them throwing their weight around.

The man in the trench coat wearing the cap faced him.
Rezhnikov thought to himself that his interrogator did not look or sound Russian. He looked as though he was from one of those southern 'Turkic' states. Nosey as he was, he didn't dare ask. The man in front of him lit his pipe. The midget was now standing behind him, drilling a hole in his back with the barrel of his gun.

'
Tell me, what, do you, know about Georgii Radetzky,' the man facing him said.

'
I don't know that much about him since he was billeted here last year,'  the concierge replied.

'
Let's put it another way! I'll bet that a man like your goodself, gets to know what goes on in a place like this! Doesn't he? So let's start again! What do you know about Georgii Radetzky?'

The moment he said it
Rezhnikov noticed that the man facing him, the southerner wearing a cap, nod his head to the left; at the same time the barrel in his back slacked off. The blow that clouted him on the side of the temple was totally unexpected.

'
So, we start again,' the voice said. 'What do you know about Comrade Radetzky?

'
I tell you what you want,' the old drunk said. 'Promise to leave me alone?'

There was no answer to his question.

So the 'Party' stooge slowly spilled the beans. By the time he had finished the other four had come down from upstairs. They then all walked over to the far side of the foyer, and huddled around deep in conversation.

The man in the cap with the acc
ent walked over to him and said. 'We'll be back to ask you a few more questions! Next time ... I strongly advise you to cooperate and do yourself a favour; cooperate a little sooner!'

A second blow on the other temple impacted.
In the following daze, Comrade Rezhnikov did not get to see the Lithuanian midget walk out from behind his chair. Within moments his visitors were all gone. That is to say all but one who had arrived as the other`s drove off.

Minutes later
Rezhnikov came to.  First he smelt smelling salts and was aware that his face was being pinched, by a person or persons unknown. When his eyes focused he found himself staring into the face of a very articulate looking, middle aged man.

'
Come on, come on ... wake up you 'filthy' old bastard,' the voice said

'
Who, why ... what,' the receptionist said. 'Who are you?'Rezhnikov was still lost in a fog of alcohol and pain.

'
Come on ... you know me you silly old fool,' the voice said, adding, 'I was only here forty five minutes ago!'

'
You fucking lousy bastard Radetzky,' the old man said.

But before he said anymore, Radetzky had already placed his
hand over the concierges mouth and had firmly sealed it shut.  'Listen old man and listen good! Your visitors will be back in a few minutes; this is what I want you to do ... '