The Margin of Evil! (40 page)

The old man
listened to the Radetzky. Even though he had never really taken a great shining to Georgii Radetzky; what the young man was saying seemed to add up and make perfect sense. So he agreed to comply with the young man's wishes.

Chapter Thirty Two

The 'Bogus' Lithuanian was really enjoying himself. He felt that he was totally in charge of the situation. He felt like a cat playing with a mouse, his quarries life was held in the palm of his hand. Not only that there was a twist. The Georgian was entirely clueless, except for that worrying moment in the motor pool. Comrade Koba did not have the slightest notion of what was to come. Peter Piaktow thought, well he would just sit back and wait for fate to present him with the golden opportunity. The voice at his back caught him slightly off guard.

'
Turn round! Drive back to that doss house!'

Piaktow did a U-turn
and drove back in the direction that he'd just come from. As they drove across the square the Latvian thought he saw movement at the first floor window.

'
Get down,' he shouted.

Ge
orgii was waiting at the window and had aimed his 'Broomstick Mauser' at the approaching cars radiator.

'
Don't do it ... there will be another time,' the voice said in, almost perfect, English, adding 'There will be another opportunity and, take it from me, a much better occasion will present itself. Besides, with all that movement you`re making, they've got to have seen you by now!'

Georgii
turned round and faced the man. 'Who the fuck, are you?'

'
Don't worry about who I am! Just you worry about how you're going to get yourself out of here,' the man said.

'
Who 'the devil' are you and what are you doing here,' Radetzky said.

'
A mutual friend thought you might be in need of some assistance! He was not wrong was he? That's all you need to know,' the man said. 'Now Radetzky, just get out of here and, if you want to give me the file, I suggest you give it to me right now! I'll look after it and make sure it finds its way into the right hands!'

'
How do you know about that,' he said completely caught off guard. 'Besides, what file?' Georgii said indignantly realising his error.

'
Look you haven't got much time,' the Agent Provocateur said. 'They'll be in here inside of a minute! Think about it; think about what I have just said to you. How do I know? Well isn't it obvious that a man of your standing and, a former Intelligence officer at that, is going to take out some sort of insurance. In this changeable, political climate anyone with a bit of savvy would ... Am I right, or wrong? C'mon, any intelligence officer would do as you've done, it would  make perfect sense to do so!'

Events moved quickly.
The agent had gone down stairs and was toadying up to the concierge, whilst Georgii Radetzky was climbing out of the back window, used on so many previous occasions by Pyotr and Anna when leaving and entering the building. Georgii heard a voice bark out. 'Nobody in or out, and you get round the back!'  He turned around in the direction of the footsteps already hurrying around the side of the building.

'
Who are you,' Stalin said to the man in the foyer.

'
My name is not really of any consequence. But if you insist, here are my papers!'

The Commissar For The National
ities took them and then, resisting the urge to crumple them up, handed them back. Deuxieme Bureau
[27]
he thought. Things were definitely going from bad to worse!

'
Arrest this man,' the Georgian shouted.

'
I don't think that that is a good idea. I am a French national and I am covered by Swiss diplomatic status!'  The foreigner waved his papers back at him. 'So, if you want to start an International Incident, go ahead and arrest me,' the agent said and then added, 'but something tells me that you won't do that!'  And he was right.

Georgii was out of the
back window and had lowered himself down to the ground. He looked around him and made for the back wall adjacent to the alley.

Back in the house he could hear raised voices.
That he thought must be the agent delaying his would be captors. Over the wall he went, when suddenly he felt something holding him back. Peevishly he looked back; what was it? It was a large rusty nail jutting out from the wall, it had caught onto his coat and it had firmly attached itself to the lower button hole.

So
, in the time that it took Georgii Radetzky to manoeuvre around and work himself free, one of Stalin's thugs had run around the building, and was alerting the others inside the house to his presence on the wall. Whilst a second man from inside the house, had already discharged a shot in his direction.

Slipping out of view, Georgii touched dow
n on the other side of the wall and ran as fast as his long legs could carry him.

It was now getting dark
but, as well he knew, that would not deter or slow down his pursuers for one minute. They had a car! He ran on and on in the direction of the river.

On and on he ran.
The annoying thing was that he could feel the sole of his boot beginning to work its way loose. When it rains it pours he thought, but on and on he ran.

Then
in one of those surreal moments that he thought only happened to others, a voice said. 'Get in! Quick now!'

Sidney Riley rapped the inside fron
t window with his walking stick and the car drove off at speed.

At first they sat in silence, then the British agent said,
' Radetzky it seems to me that you are running out of life choices. It also seems to me that your pursuers are not the kind to give up in a hurry. If I was in your shoes, old boy, I would get out of here before the net closes in too tight!'  He hesitated and then said. 'Where do you want me to take you?'

'
The Docks,' Georgii curtly replied. 'Drop me off at the Negatinskiy docks!'

The agent did as asked
but, during the course of the journey, he impressed upon Georgii that there were not too many privately owned cars running around on the streets of Moscow and it would not take his pursuers, (walls have eyes and ears you know) to work out where he had gone. The agent said that he could do no more for him and he hoped that there would be someone there to pick him up. So did Georgii.

The outside evenings of early October were now pitch-black.
Even though they could still be balmy, Georgii Radetzky was beginning to detect a chill in the night air. Long gone were the days when Moscow had had any form of street lighting. He picked his way down to the water's edge. He knew that the British agent had been exactly right, it was only a matter of time before Stalin and his cronies found out which direction he'd gone. Then they would ring fence the area and close in on their quarry. By that time Georgii Radetzky hoped to be long gone. Everything now hinged on Royston O'Reilly. He sat down and waited. Leaning against a bollard, he took in everything around him. Inland a bit, there were some lights twinkling in the distance. The occasional sound could be heard but, apart from that, it was silent most of the time. Turning around, as his eyes became more accustomed to the darkness, he looked out across the water way. The river still moved like a never ending black snake through the quiet landscape. Every now and then it would throw in an eddy and out a gurgle, but the sound, and this was one of the attractions from childhood, the river seemed to make its own sounds, and speak its own soft language. It amazed him, in so much as you could see everything else going on around you, the river punctuated all things with its 'Majestic' semi silence. From this vantage point, he mused, you could still hear a pin drop over on the far bank.

There was movement on the city end of the dock.
Maybe this was it; maybe his time was up. Totally absorbed by this new development, he looked over in the direction where it had come from. There was a distant voice; he could not quite make it out. Georgii Radetzky froze; was this some kind of ruse to draw him out into the open? He sat there absolutely still, staring out into the night. The voice was clearer now, he could just make out 'Georgii' being called and also the caller's voice seemed to be a friendly one. He stared out along the river; a dark object was manoeuvring itself along the quay. He heard it again, this time he recognised the voice. It was Royston O'Reilly calling to him from the boat.

'
Here! Over here,' Georgii shouted. By now he was on his feet and frantically waving his hands towards the boat. At the same time the boat was trying to find a place to berth. Now it was closer and he could make out the silhouette of a tiny tug boat as it tried to moor up. Georgii didn't wait for that.  As soon as the tug came within range he leapt off of the wharf, and out into space, a moment later he landed, on all fours, on the deck of the tug.

The feeling of the wooden deck had never ev
er felt so good as it did now and once he was down below and tucking into a good meal, Georgii regaled Royston, Yulia, Pyotr and Anna, as always clutching her Teddy Bear, with the day's strange events.

As it later transpired, there were still many other questions to be answered, but by no means was he the only one to have had a
trying day.

They all took it in turns recounting to Georgii how their day
had gone. But in Georgii Radetzky's book, all that mattered now was getting safely out of Russia and, if he had planned things in the right way, even if they all got caught, he still had the power with the files to negotiate his way out of corner. They were still there, the two files, he'd painstakingly concealed inside the lining of his newly torn trench coat.

Chapter Thirty Three

Understandably, Stalin was in a foul mood. Radetzky had given him the slip. Not only that he was sure that he had been aided and abetted by that French mystery man, whom just seemingly turned up at the right, or wrong, place at the wrong time, depending on whichever way you looked at it.

He had reckoned that Comrade Radetzky wa
s going to try to pull off some rearguard, delaying action. That was why he'd instructed the Latvian to do an about turn. If he had been in Radetzky's shoes he would have done exactly that. But he had not banked on this Frenchman being there at all. The delay had cost him his prize. So he unlocked the drawer and reached down for the beads. He turned off the light and looked out across Red Square. The question he repeatedly asked himself was, 'What would you do now, if you were Georgii Radetzky? He asked himself the same question again and again. Each time he drew a blank. Never mind, if he could not anticipate the next move of Comrade Radetzky; he would have to rely on tried and tested policing methods. Maybe they would throw up something. Joseph Stalin went to bed, but not before he had issued instructions to various Kevshor operatives in and around the Moscow area.

Next morning he got
some of the answers he was waiting for. In his apartment whilst he ate his breakfast, it came to light that a car, similar to the one that was transporting the Frenchman, had been seen on several occasions driving around the south eastern part of the city. At one point it was seen near the docks. Later in the evening it was seen and indeed stopped at various road blocks heading into the centre of town. On each stop, they had been waved through. Apparently this Frenchman and his driver were driving around with Swiss Government diplomatic immunity.

This stuck in Stalin
's craw. Who on earth was he; and what was this man doing driving around Moscow, carrying Swiss papers, at that time of night? It also seemed strange, that this so called Frenchman seemed to be deliberately making himself highly visible to all and sundry. The 'Bastard' was doing it on purpose. Once safely inside the confines of his Kremlin office, he drew a map on a sheet of paper and, by each place, he put the times of each stop or sighting. 'Silly me', he thought. The answer had been staring him in the face all the time.

They escaped by river!
So much for the successful decoy. He reached for the phone, when the call had been made, and the business discussed, 'The Boss' put the receiver down. Lighting up his pipe, he thought for a moment. The moment was somewhat intense but, by the end of it, he had already decided what they were going to do. A little trip now seemed to be the order of the day. The 'They' in question would be Sergo Ordzhonikidze and that Latvian driver. A little trip, field research, into the Ukrainian hinterland would be made.  Satisfied with his plan, he drew heavily on his pipe.

Now d
own to business. The phone rang and a voice he detested said, 'Lenin wants to see you, and he wants to see you now!'  The caller hung up.

Chapter Thirty Four

So far, the escape plan seemed to be working. In those first few hours Georgii Radetzky soon found himself warming to life on the tug boat. Everybody was where they should be, and that was on this boat, the tug boat that was going to take them to a new and better life beyond Russia's frontier, or so he thought. But right now, in the here and now, and within the cramped confines of this boat everything looked, especially from where he was sitting, quite rosy.