The Margin of Evil! (47 page)

Koba,

This is my third communication!
I implore you to relinquish some of your units and send them directly over to me. Victory is within my grasp. With some of your units, we, the proletariat can defeat these Polish scum and spread 'World Revolution'!

Yours

Lev Kamenev

'Over my dead body I have other and better fish to fry,' the Commissar for The Nationalities thought. Lighting his pipe he walked over to the forests edge. It was obvious that the Poles had cracked the Red Army's ciphers and codes. The best way forward he thought was to strike a deal that would benefit all interested parties. He was not prepared to throw everything away that they had worked so hard for on a useless notion, or even on a futile whim. He would settle it his way and that, of course, was the best way!

Chapter Forty Seven

So whilst Georgii Radetzky was opening his eyes, trying to work out exactly where he was; and Comrade Stalin was contemplating the complexities of war. Georgii Radetzky briefly returned to the land of the living.

He blinked and squinted as he tried to take stock of his surroundings.
All around him the light was white and bright, also rational thought was returning. Georgii had the feeling that he was not alone, he could just make out a silhouette of a head moving around to the front and another one seemed to be doing the same to his side. Georgii could only make out shapes to him it reminded him of a magic lantern show that he'd seen long before the war. He felt a pin prick his arm and then he sank back, down into the subterranean depths of the unconscious. There was nothing only the sound of a heartbeat; his heartbeat!

T
he talking was distant at first and then gradually it became louder. Georgii opened his eyes and tried to focus them onto his new surroundings. He lay there and looked up, and saw a long green pole that ran along the canvas ceiling. He turned his head to the left and to the right. Collecting his thoughts together, it became obvious that he was in a tent, but when he tried to move his body he couldn't. His body was firmly held by something. Georgii tried to lift up his head; he could just about see the straps that fastened him to the bed. To his left he was aware that two people in uniform were having a conversation.  He coughed and they turned to face him.

'
Comrade!  Welcome to the land of the living,' the orderly said.

The other voice said
.  'We feared that we had lost you! It was touch and go in the night.'

Georgii just looked up; he was still too weak to answer.
Then a third person entered the tent.

'
Georgii Radetzky!  Good to see you!'

This time Georgii Radetzky recognised the voice.
It was his old friend Alexander Brusilov. Mustering all his energies he tried to raise a smile.

Two days later, his friend sat and shared a bowl of soup by his bed and they chatted as old friends do.

'Georgii one of my pickets found you in the forest. You were completely delirious, you were raving.'

'
I don't remember', Georgii said.

'
I don't suspect that you would. That it is the good news. The bad news is that you cannot stay here for long!'

'
I don't get it, if I'm with you; I'm safe right?'

'
Wrong! Comrade Stalin is after you. He knows you`re here, and we have orders to let him know when you come too. If you`re trying to escape I can buy you some time! Maybe a few hours max! You'll have to move on ... otherwise I have no choice but to hand you over! We can't stay here, we have to retreat, the Poles are coming.'  Brusilov carried on.  'I think in the ensuing confusion we can let you slip out of here. The alternative is, I hand you over to them'

'
O.k. I'll be gone!'

They carried on talking
for a while and Alexander Brusilov filled Georgii in on recent events. He also told him that he would give Georgii a map, food and ammunition to get to the Vistula. During the course of the conversation Georgii asked the general if a group of refugees led by a Lithuanian had been picked up on their way to the river. The general replied that indeed such a group had been arrested by the Cheka, but the main people that they were looking for were only picked up a little later and were being held here.

Georgii Radetzky suddenly
experienced a strange giddiness and, for a moment he almost slipped back into the strange world of the unconscious. The general explained that, due to the nature of his illness, his medical officer had banned all visitors. Plus on top of all that, he had to deal with the 'Military Committee', who was all in favour of shipping them all out, as soon as they possibly could. But, he could briefly see the woman and the two children, but only for one minute and no more.

After Yulia, Anna and Pyotr had left the tent Georgii sank into a deep sleep.
Once again he was the child standing on the river bank. A kingfisher swept low across the steppe and over the river; and then wielded upwards soaring into the clear blue sky; all the time his young eyes watched as the bird gracefully swooped down, disappearing into the water only to re-emerge with a small object struggling in its beak. On closer inspection the fish turned out to be him. Then there was an almighty 'Bang'.  In the confusion Georgii tried to work out if the sound came from the inside or the outside off of his head. Outside the tent he heard a lot of running around, shouts and agitated voices.

The General and his Adjutant rushed into the tent.
'The Poles are half a mile away. We're going to have to break camp. Our position here is rapidly becoming untenable and, if we don't move soon, we will soon be outflanked and surrounded. We have one, maybe two hours at most. You four can slip away in the confusion.'

With great difficulty Georgii dressed.
Outside men were still running around. Brusilov and an orderly brought them food. Georgii asked for his coat and the coat was found. He shook hands with the old cavalry officer, little did he know that this was to be the last goodbye and then a picket escorted them to the perimeter.

Chapter Forty Eight

From behind his thick set beard, the Lithuanian had been eyeing up his quarry. There was no doubt about it, over the years 'Comrade Koba' had done well for himself. Not everybody could progress from bank robber and charlatan to Comrade Commissar for The Nationalities, with a seat on The Central Committee. Yep, he'd done well. But he might as well enjoy it while he could, because by tomorrow he would be sleeping with the angels he so sorely despised. Tomorrow was going to be the day! Tomorrow was when the lives of fallen comrades would be avenged. Now down to business!

From time to time comrade Stalin had wondered about the Lithuanian.
He had also wondered about many other things; but, on occasions, he had caught the driver looking away each time they had both made eye contact. On the face of it, and to Comrade Commissar Stalin, the 'Baltic' seemed to pose no threat; he went about his business without bothering anybody else. The Lithuanian was good at what he did and he seemed to be honest and reliable.

But there was something else that occasionally preyed upon the Georgians mind.
There was this feeling that he had met him some place, not recently but somewhere's before.

On occasion he
'd try and catch him out, and say, 'Ever been to Berlin?'  The Lithuanian always shook his head from left to right; on other occasions he'd say, 'Ever been to London?' The driver would shake his head again.

But it was London, the very mentioning of the name.
Even though, the 'Baltic's' answer was always the same. There seemed to be a connection, between himself, the Lithuanian and London. Whatever connection there was, it was left unsaid.

The last time Joseph Stalin had been to London, had been back in nineteen eleven.
And the events, and there had been so many that year, tended to blur in his mind's eye. However, no matter how much thought he gave to it, something always came along to disturb this particular line of thought. And this time it was the Lithuanian himself. He gave the Commissar a note.

Stalin read it, crumpled it up and put it in his pocket.
His mind now changed to other things. He walked over to the table. So Georgii Radetzky's little party had now left Brusilov's camp and they were heading off towards the Dvina river. He looked on the map and, if Pilsudski kept to his word, things would shortly quieten down in this sector over here. He moved his finger along the top of the map. Tapping his forefinger on the map, here he thought, he would nab them right here.

All the time the Lithuanian had been watching his quarry.
In fact the driver had turned the cars wing mirror towards the Georgian, so that he could have the pleasure of watching him whilst he faced the other way. Cunning he thought.

Chapter Forty Nine

Dominik Falkowski greatly admired General Pilsudski and, as far as the young foot soldier was concerned; 'The General' was the living embodiment of Poland and everything that she stood for. He was resolute and yet tenacious; he was truculent on occasion, and yet, at other times, he could turn it on and be charm itself.

When the general had clasped the young man
's hand in his and impressed upon Dominik, the importance of the job that he was giving him, the leader of Poles had also stressed to him, in no uncertain terms, that the future of Poland lay not in his but in Dominik Falkowski's hands. He kept on asking.  'Can I trust you Dominik with this assignment?'  The young lieutenant just stood there; bolt upright, trying not to lose his balance and fall-over.

I
t was hard to gauge exactly what Dominik Falkowski was feeling at that moment in time, especially when the general lent towards him and, breathing out his foul smelling fumes said, 'Dominik can I trust you with the fate of a young nation'; or, 'Can I, an old man wholeheartedly expect a young lieutenant, such as yourself to shoulder this burden of responsibility? Can I, and am I being fair to myself, to expect you to do this?'  At any one time whilst the general was talking to him, the young lieutenant felt that his whole personage might do one of several things. The first was his body might spontaneously combust, and the second, he might awaken and find that this was nothing but a dream. So he stood in front of the general constantly fidgeting and pinching himself, when he thought the leader of Poles was not looking. And when General Pilsudski fixed him full on with one of his stares and implored, 'Dominik; do I have the right man for the task here?'  All Dominik could do was shake his head and shower the old warhorse with perspiration.

Of co
urse Dominik was not to know that the only reason the 'Wily Old General' was buttering him up, was that he needed 'a someone'; 'a nobody' who was reliable, and yet, if the worst came to the worst, was also expendable. 'A someone' who would not be missed in the event of things going wrong. So, after instructing his divisional commanders to find him 'this someone', and after doing a little research of his own, Dominik's name found its way to the top of the list of suitable candidates. His file now sat on the top of his desk.

Duly instructed,
it was now, that the young lieutenant found himself dressed in Red Army fatigues, crawling along the forest floor.  Above him tall ferns waved in the breeze and above them hung the distant canopy of the forest. Tugging on his only link with humanity he led his party on to its final destination. He looked at his watch; it was now three forty five in the afternoon. Lieutenant Falkowski pulled several times on the rope and waited. He did not have to wait long. Three whistles broke the eerie silence. A moment later four more whistles sounded out and after that five followed. Now it was Dominik's turn ...

He was just about to get up when he saw coming towards him a middle aged man, accompanied by an attractive woman and two small childre
n. Instinctively he ducked down and let them pass. This was strange Dominik thought, he had been reliably told that this sector had been sealed off by the Red Army. He got up on his haunches and watched the party head off in the opposite direction.

Twenty minutes later the whi
stling started again.  This time and, without interruption, the Pole was about to respond, when again he heard the sounds of someone else coming and they were coming from exactly the same direction as the other group had come from, albeit only twenty minutes earlier.

Dominik Falkowski found himself, for the second time that
afternoon, diving down into the relative safety of the subterranean world of the fern. Craning his head up so that he could just see who the other wayward traveller was; he was mildly amused to see a man in plus fours and tweeds with a pair of binoculars around his neck nimbly following in the footsteps of the other group. Every couple of yards or so, the man would stop to inspect a broken fern stem and then set off on his journey.

O.K. this
was war, the young Pole thought and, even if this area was supposed to be cordoned off and sealed; you always got one or two people whom would infiltrate through the chaos of it into an apparent safe haven. Again he waited for the next window of opportunity to present itself. 'The Call Signal' started and, moments later, 'The Respond' replied, this time, free from interruption.