The Margin of Evil! (44 page)

'
That doesn't leave us much time,' Georgii said.

'
You're going to have to manage in whatever time is left. I want to be gone from here by tomorrow. Don't worry Georgii, I will take you to the people that will take you on to safety.'

They shook hands.
The burly Greek slapped Georgii on the shoulder and then walked off. Georgii watched him go. He was still standing on the river bank long after the Greek had disappeared from view. He turned and faced the river. It was always the same; he thought, just when things were going well, something or someone comes along and takes it all away. In fact Georgii could not remember when he had last felt as deflated as he did on that cold day by the river. Before the war he had been a career agent in the Okhrana feted by Politicians and Royalty alike. He had worked closely with Auguste Gerhardt and the latter had steered his career or, as it later transpired, manipulated it or so he thought, in the right direction. Then July nineteen fourteen came and everything, the whole world, and Georgii Radetzky along with it, changed. As he watched the ice flowing down the river on its long journey towards the Caspian Sea, he continued to reminisce. Then full-on war. Because of his position, in the table of ranks, he had joined up as an officer. Georgii felt that he had done 'his bit' for 'Mother Russia' and his efforts had even been recognised by 'The Stavka'. They sent him to work for Alexei Brusilov. As he watched the pieces of broken ice smashing into each other; he thought that they might as well serve as a metaphor for his own insignificant life. In his mind he went back to the events of nineteen fifteen-sixteen; the bout of Malaria, and then his thoughts returned to the previous year's conversation, when the 'Old Cavalry Man' had inadvertently turned up at his lodgings.  'We could have won Georgii, we could have won!'  'If 'Bloody Only'', he thought.

As the voice in his head faded away, he became aware that someone was calling his name.
He turned around and looked up the river path. The one that led back to the old city of Tver; his eyes fixed upon Yulia; Pyotr and Anna, they were walking towards him. They were waiving their hands, trying to attract his attention.

'
Sometimes Georgii I'd swear that you drift off into another world,' Yulia said.

'
Now, you won't be the first, or the last person, to say that,' Georgii joked.

They were all standing there, laughing on the river bank.
Curiously, and Georgii was to recall this, many years later, their laughter seemed to echo all around them. Laughter was complete anathema, these days, in the Socialist Soviet Peoples Republic, or whatever it was called.

Georgii chatted with the
m and then told them about his frank chat with Captain Constantinou. Surprisingly, and all through his life he had been guilty of this, wanting things to stay the same for a little longer.  They seemed to expect and, not only that sympathise with what he had to say. Furthermore he was surprised to find out that Pyotr and Anna had also got wind that a new Commissar was coming to town. But the two little urchins fell about laughing when they heard and, as Anna said, 'not 'The Granite faced Old Slag!'

'
Trofimov eh, Georgii; you sure you don't want to stay,' Yulia said jokingly, nudging him in the rib, and giving him a wink at the same time. She took him by the arm. 'Look! We can't stay here forever. There's no way 'The Bolshies' were going to let the 'Good' citizens of Tver off the hook. We've both worked for them and we both know what they're like! They are nasty and cruel ... you know it, and I know it,' she said.

Georgii looked into her eyes and said.
  'Sometimes I just wish things could last a little bit longer. Yes I know we have to go, but life and good times are like a 'Good' bottle of wine. You want to savour it for as long as possible.'

'
Are you saying Georgii Radetzky… that as far as
we
are concerned,' patting her stomach, and then drawing Pyotr and Anna close to her. 'We are nothing more to you, than a good old bottle of wine!'

'
No, no, no! I didn't mean it to sound like that.'  Georgii was facing Yulia full on and Yulia was doing her damndest trying to keep her face straight. In the end she couldn't hold out any longer. Again they fell into each other's arms laughing. They walked back to the tug.

Chapter Forty One

Joseph Stalin had not been idle.  Whilst Georgii was laughing on the river bank, 'The Commissar for Nationalities' had managed to get himself posted back to Moscow.

It had annoy
ed him greatly, all the touring.  It had been an unrelenting round of meetings with local soviets and he had felt that he had, unnecessarily, been sidelined to the Caucasus. As far as he was concerned, and he was an ambitious man, he needed to be at the political centre. The Caucasus, as far as Comrade Djugasvilli, nee Joseph Stalin, was concerned, might as well be Ulan Bator. Could be worse he thought, he could be in the Ukraine. He had to get back, and, with war brewing with Poland, war would be his ticket back. This time he was determined to worm his way back into favour. Even if it did mean toning down - a tad - his attitude and kissing Trotsky's arse. Fortunately for him he did not have to wait long for the summons.

Arriving back in Moscow, he was relieved to find a different
, more conciliatory, Lenin. War with Poland now preoccupied 'The Central Committee'. Into this, Stalin resolved to play the game, whilst at the same time, seeking out an opportunity to further his own political ambitions. The goal was to centralise, by any means possible, all power into his hands.

At a meeting of
'The Committee' he was told that he going to be sent to the Western Ukraine. The place he was going to be sent to was Lvov. There he was going to organise the cities defence, in the face of Ukrainian Nationalists, helped out by the rapidly advancing Polish Army.

But
, whilst in the Ukraine, a telephone call from Tver changed everything. 'The Bitch' Trofimov had some news which she thought he would like to hear. Suddenly the ball was in his court. An opportunity to disrupt had presented itself. Also the trail on Radetzky had suddenly gone from cold to hot. After he had replaced the receiver; he pondered on the fact, amazing what a difference a phone call makes. This time he felt the advantage was all his. 'Fuck' their war, he thought socialism can only be achieved in one country, and that is here in, 'backward', Russia. Yes if need be, he would go along with those zealots of the 'Central Committee', who desperately wanted to spread the revolution Westward.

But now he
saw a chance to weaken Trotsky and, at the same time, catch Radetzky. And he was going to do it by using Radetzky's old 'Comrade in Arms' Brusilov as the bait. It was as the English liked to say, 'He was going to kill two birds with one stone.'  This time, 'The Granite Faced Old Slag', had come up trumps. She could live a little bit longer, he thought.

Comrade Trofimov had always felt that Moscow was too stifling.
She had always loved the country, especially as she was descended from, so she said, minor, country nobility. But that was in the past, the future now lay in Tver. The very place her parents often used to stop off at on their way to St Petersburg. That was in the old days. She stared out of the window. She looked at the endless lines of refugees that now seemed to line every road. Trofimov studied their dirty faces.

'
How long, till we get to Tver,' she said.

'
Soon, the cities coming into view now,' the driver said.

She thought about her brief.
That was to deal with all dissenters harshly and to 'Sovietise' the city's inhabitants by using any means at her disposal. Comrade Trofimov pulled out her predecessors file out of her brief case and read through it. These bastards would pay and pay, they dearly would, for his death. She looked out of the window, it had now begun to drizzle. The car was crawling down the road. Trofimov's eyes fixed on a group of people sitting by the side of the road. It was a man wearing a thick set beard, and a tall, not unattractive woman. The man and the woman were accompanied by two children. She looked back at the man, somehow the face seemed familiar, but from where? But, try as she could, she could not place the face and yet, as the drizzle turned to rain, she could not get the man's face out of her mind.

Hours later at a meeting of local soviet dignitaries, and long after Giorgii
's party had disappeared into the forest, did she recognise the face, Comrade Trofimov then excused herself from the soiree and spent the next three hours trying to get a call placed to Moscow. There was someone who would like to know what she knew.

'
Yes,' the accented voice on the other end of the phone said.

Chapter F
orty Two

As good as his word captain Constantinou turned up the next morning. He had quite a busy day in front of him. First he had to get his tugboat back into the water. Secondly he had to take Georgii's party to rendezvous with their 'Green' guides.

The Greek, even though he had initially
been wary of him, had grown to really like Georgii Radetzky, Yulia and young Pyotr and Anna, O'Reilly was a 'Dick', but then, he reasoned, you couldn't have it all, could you.

Once the tug had been refloated and the boiler primed,
Captain Constantinou took the party, now rejoined by Royston O'Reilly to meet their guides from the forest. Tearful farewells were said by the main road as the party waited for them to show up. No one noticed the face in the car staring at them, but then, the members of Georgii's party, by now, had only one thing on their mind and that was to 'Escape'.

There was a whistle and it came from inside of the forest.
The whistler whistled again. Constantinou replied with a similar whistle and signalled for the party to move towards the forest wall. Once inside, and he'd handed them over to their guides Constantinou beat a hasty retreat back to the tug.  Steam was up and it was time to go. The skipper would never see Georgii, Yulia, O'Reilly and the kids again.

The guide, whom Pyotr later described as a cross between Rasputin and Jesus Christ, led them down a path flanked by tall trees surrounded by thickets.
At intervals down the track the party was joined by others keen to get out of 'The Socialist Utopia'. By nightfall, and now deep inside the forest, the guides led them to a makeshift 'Shanty' encampment. Talking to them, Georgii discovered that, over the previous eighteen months, people had just abandoned everything and had moved into the forest. The guide explained that people felt safe here.  'The Reds' seldom made forays into the forest, especially after what had happened in Tver and Tambov
[31]
. Here they stayed the night.

Next morning they moved deeper into the forest.
Georgii enquired whether anyone was afraid of the wolves. The guides reply was, they would rather take their chances with the 'Wolves' than 'The Reds'.  Yulia complained of back ache but, apart from that they made good progress. When Georgii enquired how they would cross the frontline, he was told not to worry; they would find a way across. As the guide kept on reminding him, 'Providence was always a good friend.'

Deeper and deeper they penetrated into the forest.
Georgii, and everybody else, was stunned by its beauty. Tall trees sprung up out of the ground, they rose up towards the heavens. In places the trees were so close together, that even in the middle of the day, they almost blotted out the light. Georgii marvelled at this twilight world. With every passing day they moved further and further into the forest. Walking by day, camping by night, they moved in an ever westerly direction.

Occasionally they would pass other groups, smugglers and people traffickers he surmised; the guides exchanged information and then moved on.
Sometimes they would make detours, off of the track, and into the forest itself. One time they went to an old estate and picked up some people, then they carried on with their journey. The guide explained that, even though they were relatively safe in the forest, there were still agents of the 'Reds' and 'Whites ‘at large, even out here. These people, the guide stressed, would not hesitate to sell you, or their grandparents, to them. You had to be careful all of the time; and careful meant, 'do not smoke and leave no refuse', he pointed out that carelessness on anyone's part ultimately would lead to discovery. They had to be vigilant.

Sometimes they neared a town, and the guides would disappear to get hold of information and to see how the
'Lie of The Land' was. Other times they would come back and the party would either have to double back or make a long detour, especially if the 'Red Army' was active in the area.

By his reckoning they must be in Belarus.
But you couldn't tell; the guide never gave anything away. Even when he dealt with queries, he always played his cards close to his chest. In many ways he was very helpful, other times he was not. But that was small fry, they always had plenty of food and every night they always seemed to bivouac in a safe and dry place.

On and on they went, hemmed in on both sides by tree, brush, bog, bush, stream, river and briar.
Days became routine, up before dawn, no talking, and walk on till dusk. On long hikes Georgii's mind drifted back to the day when he was looking out across the icy Volga. He remembered the sense of foreboding he'd felt on that day. The all embracing feeling, that he was stepping into an unknown world and with it all came that dissolving feeling in the gut; he'd experienced it on many previous occasions in the war. As in those times he did what he always did, he bottled everything up inside, but this time it was different, before he'd always known that however things turned out, he, they, would all make it out alive. This time though, and this was the first time he'd felt like this, Georgii was not so sure this time, deep inside, he began to detect the slight feeling of uncertainty.