The Margin of Evil! (6 page)

Starting in Tbilisi
, their operations fanned out to encompass the whole of the southwest. Once again their Modus Operandi was to absorb any competition into their rank and file. Those that resisted were liquidated.

By the early nineteen hundreds rumour had it that the Kevshor sphere of influence
extended as far as Kiev itself and was moving rapidly towards Moscow and St Petersburg. Here their cause was aided by the revolutions of 1905 and 1917 and The Great War; they were also abetted by the bad organisation of their rivals. The arrival of limited democracy after 1905 extended another opportunity for them to move into the world of politics. This they did with relative ease.

By the late summer of 1918 vague reports started circulating around Moscow of the arrival of an extremely well organised gang of Georgian Black-
marketeers. Local villains and gangs started disappearing. The assumption was that The Kevshors had finally arrived and secured a base in Moscow.

All attempts to penetrate this organisation, so far, have met with failure.
The evidence here is by and large secondary. When arrests have been successfully prosecuted against them, witnesses have either disappeared or been found dead in police/ Militsya custody.  Thereby indicating that they have successfully bribed police officers and other officials of state.

In this respect their modus operandi is always the same:

Move in to a new area. Contact the opposition; present them with a fait accomplis. Join or go out of business. If they don't cooperate, they wipe them out.

Bribe police, judiciary and local/ regional officials.

More recently, security services acting on behalf of the state have managed to place an operative within their ranks. The information received so far confirms, and indeed corroborates, earlier unreliable information on their progress and history.

But the most astonishing piece of information we have so far received is that they now seemed to have penetrated right into the heart of the
'Bolshevik' party itself. They seem to be aided by senior officials from the central caucus of the party. A parallel investigation is going on right now. The compiler of the report is due to submit to Comrade Sverdlov within the next week. He will then take his evidence and present it to Lenin.

Georgii took in a deep breath, hastily replaced the file back into the envelope, and buried it at the bottom of his in-tray. Such was the effect that the report had had on him, he felt obliged to put on his coat and go outside to take a breath of fresh air.

By the time he returned to the office and looked into his in tray the report had gone.
He could have kicked himself; he should have taken the report with him. He cautiously looked around him. No one seemed to be taking any interest in him. He sat at his desk and pondered. In his mind he started weighing up recent events; starting with the phone call, then the meeting with Gerhardt, followed by the appearance of the file, Comrade Trofimov, and the frosty response from 'The Cheka.'  On top of all this he was to go to the 'Ivory Tower' to listen to speeches made by Lenin and Trotsky.  The rest of the day dragged on.  After a department meeting with Trofimov and the other 'Good' comrades, Georgii managed to get away from the station.

He got home and cleaned himself up.
He lit the fire in the living room and stropped his cut-throat razor. He went upstairs and borrowed an iron from the writer. Downstairs he ironed his almost threadbare suit. Georgii did his shirt and then put his Sunday Best on.  It was now a size too big. Losing weight in Moscow was now a national pastime. He looked in the mirror and tidied himself up. He looked at his watch, grabbed his coat and left for The Kremlin. It was a forty-minute walk across town. It was snowing again and he could he feel each cold flake sting his face, he turned the collar up on his coat. He walked on, lost in thought, towards his destination. At one point he bumped into a man of 'Turkic' appearance
[8]
; he didn't give it a second thought at the time, but their passing was to hold great bearing on Georgii in the not too distant future.

Georgii crossed Red Square.
A few people wandered here and there. He arrived and showed his invitation to the Red Guards manning the gate. They told him to wait. A guide would come and fetch him. He rubbed his hands and waited.  Eventually a guide came and they headed off towards the interior of the building. Georgii was well aware that The Kremlin was now the 'Nerve Centre' for all things Bolshevik. He knew that most of The Party leadership lived here. Georgii also knew that all key decisions were made within these walls. Further into the building he was led. One of the first things that struck him was how the place seemed relatively untouched by the upheaval of the previous two years. The carpets and the walls were clean and the pictures still hung on the walls. Occasionally, a picture had been removed and a shadow marked the place where it had once hung.

Officials and messengers scurried past in different directions.
No one seemed to take much notice of him as he made his way through the building. Eventually he came to his destination. In front of him was a pair of large double doors that led into a former ballroom. The doors opened and he was ushered inside. The sight that met his eyes was simply unbelievable. It reminded him of the 'Decadent' past. Inside visitors were served champagne and caviar. The buffet looked simply out of this world. He grabbed a drink and started making his way towards it. He was halfway there when Gerhardt called over to him. He picked up a plate and noticed that the 'Old' two-headed eagle was still on the crockery. How ironic he thought!

'
Georgii Radetzky, glad you could make it! Let me introduce you to some people,' Gerhardt said.

Slightly peeved, Georgii did as his mentor asked.
One after the other he was introduced to 'Comrade-This' and 'Comrade-That.'  They all seemed to have heard quite a lot about him too and his work. By the time he managed to head back towards the buffet most of it had gone. Gerhardt approached him again.

'
What do you think of all this Georgii,' he said.

'
If I was honest, you would probably take me outside and have me shot,' he said.

Gerhardt laughed.
'Georgii… two Revolutions have not tempered your legendary sense of humour!'

'
A third one might,' Georgii quipped. They both laughed.

'
How is that little favour that I asked of you, Georgii, coming on? Gerhardt discreetly asked.

'
Good, good,' he replied, lying through his teeth.

'
Remember, our next meeting is Thursday next week!'  Gerhardt disappeared into the throng.

Georgii took the opportunity to look at the people present.
He recognised some of the people there, but in truth he felt like a fish out of water. There was one group that caught his eye. They just stood there and took everything in. The group seemed to be watching everyone. They didn't seem to socialise with any of the other guests.  Georgii looked long and hard at this group. At the front was a short man wearing an army coat and a cap.  He had an Armenian moustache and a pock marked face. He reminded Georgii of a Turkish shepherd. Behind him was a taller man who reminded him of a bank manager. This group fascinated him, because they did not seem to join in with the collective 'Meeting and Greeting' that was going on. Georgii Radetzky came to the conclusion that they must be a visiting delegation of some sort or other.

As he stood there he noticed someone walki
ng towards him.  It was Trofimov.  He was slightly taken aback at the prospect of making idle conversation with this woman. Though, if he had to, he'd give it his best shot.

'
Radetzky who invited you here?'  She said in a condescending tone.

'
I did,’ came the reply from behind.

Aug
uste Gerhardt stepped into view. 'Do you have a problem with that,' he said.

'
No ...' she snorted.

Saved by the bell, Georgii thought to himself.
Whilst he was thinking, she turned around and strode off.

'
I cannot stand that woman!'  Georgii said.

'
Neither can anyone else; but she has the eyes and ears of Comrades Lenin and Trotsky.'  He paused and then carried on, 'She is a dangerous woman to cross. She is bad news, Georgii. A lot of people have lived to regret the day they ever got involved with Anya Trofimov. You of all people should know that. Remember, when she was an enemy of the state and we turned Moscow and St Petersburg upside-down looking for her? The irony is now we end up working for these bastards. They need us Georgii! They like to think that they can do it on their own, but they can't. That sticks in their craw.'  Gerhardt looked at Georgii long and hard.

'Auguste, who's th
at group of people over there?' Georgii said.

'
Why that's Joseph Stalin. He's The Commissar, responsible for 'The Nationalities'. Very efficient at what he does. Lenin thinks him able; he's used him as a trouble-shooter on several occasions. Have to say that he's a bit of a loner. Some party people say that he's a rude arrogant man. Frequently uses crude language; ha, ha. This upsets the wives of the intellectuals!!'

Right at that moment there was a commotion over the far side of the hall.
They both looked around. Georgii could make out a man clutching a sheaf of papers walking very determinedly towards the rostrum. He recognised him instantly as none other than the one and only Vladimir Illyvich Lenin. There was the sound of rapturous applause. Then the room slowly filled with silence.

'
Comrades today is the best of days. Today is the day, when we start to think of the challenges that await us in 'The Future.’ Comrades, let me put it like this - are you aware that ordinary people cannot read or write in this country?'

Georgii stood there and listened.
Lenin railed at 'The Whites', the British and the Americans. They were interfering; they wanted the restoration of the 'Old Order.' All they thought about was exploitation and subjugation. None of them wanted to improve the lives and living conditions of ordinary people. Lenin waved his papers wildly up in the air from time to time. Often the applause was deafening. Lenin would pick up again and again where he'd left off; telling them all that he was going to build: hospitals, schools and decent accommodation for the workers.

'
We will turn Russia into a proletarian paradise that will be the envy of every worker in the Capitalist world. Want, sickness and exploitation will be consigned to the history books. Workers when they see what we have done and achieved will copy us. And I tell you 'Good Comrades' we shall be glad to let them copy us! We shall show them the way! We shall blaze the trail!!'

With that he raised his papers aloft for the umpteenth time and then descended from the rostrum.
He shook hands with those immediately present, and then sat down in the corner of the chamber. It was now the turn of Leon Trotsky to speak.

'
Comrades, The Whites will soon be beaten. There are signs comrades, that their sponsors are losing interest. They are sick and tired of listening to Deniken and the others arguing all the time. They have their own domestic problems at home! They don't want to back losers, especially when they know that the Bolshevik horse is going to win the race ...'

Like Lenin before him Trotsky told crowd that they were going to build new cities
, they were going to mobilise the army and the peoples to build canals, foundries, cities, railways and roads. Ten years to build 'The Socialist Utopia.'  He berated Russia for being backwards. They simply had to move forwards. It had to be a 'Permanent Revolution'. A revolution without end! The country had to modernise or perish. Time was not on their side. He reminded them that the dark forces of capitalism waited just beyond Russia's borders and, if they united against them, then everything they had achieved would be lost. Industrialisation was the key to their survival!

Georgii looked at all the people around him.
They were spellbound by Trotsky's oratory. Some applauded at the end of each sentence; others stood mesmerised and took it all in. He looked around to the place where Joseph Stalin had been standing. He was standing there frantically writing notes into a small notebook. They were all lapping up this propaganda.

Lenin was just about to congratulate Trotsky when a strange thing happened.
An old man jumped up onto a chair and accused Lenin and Trotsky of betraying the people and the revolution. People turned around in amazement and stared at this frail old man, who alone railed at these two giants of 'Bolshevism'. They were still staring when the Red Guards came in and dragged him away. Georgii turned around and Lenin was gone. Trotsky was talking to some people near the door. He could feel the unease.

Auguste Gerhardt walked up to Georgii and said,
'There is someone that I would like you to meet.'

Gerhardt took him over to where Trotsky was standing.
They shook hands.

'
Haven't we met somewhere before?' Trotsky said.