containing some books, a few pictures and a change of clothes. As of now, they were her only possessions in the world.
‘There might not be a next train. Please. You must leave now.’
‘But how will you find me?’ she asked.
He smiled faintly, reaching out and running his fingers through her hair. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘that’s what I’m good at.’
The clamour of those still struggling to get aboard had risen to a constant roar. A pile of luggage lurched and fell. Fur-coated passengers went sprawling. Immediately, the crowd closed up around them.
‘Now!’ said Pekkala. ‘Before it’s too late.’
When, at last, Lilya had climbed aboard the carriage, she turned and waved to him.
Pekkala waved back. And then he lost sight of her as a tide of people poured past him, pursuing the rumour that another train had pulled in at the Finland station on the other side of the river.
Before Pekkala knew what was happening, he had been swept out into the street. From there, he watched the train pull out, wagons rifling past. Then suddenly the tracks were empty and there was only the rhythmic clatter of the wheels, fading away into the distance.
For Pekkala, that day had been like a fork in the road of his life. His heart went one way and his body set off another, lugging its jumbled soul like a suitcase full of rusty nails.
‘What is she doing in Berlin?’ Pekkala asked, hardly able to speak. ‘And why is she working for you?’
‘She volunteered,’ Swift replied matter-of-factly.
Now Stalin raised his voice. ‘If she’s working for you, then why do you need us to get her out? Why not just leave her there until Berlin has fallen? I promise it won’t be long now.’
‘We feel a certain sense of urgency,’ Swift replied vaguely, ‘and given your army’s proximity to the city, such a task might better be accomplished by a man such as Pekkala. It is a small gesture in the grand scheme of things,’ Swift said magnanimously. ‘We see it as evidence of the many things which bind us in this struggle against a common enemy.’
‘When do I leave?’ asked Pekkala.
‘Soon,’ replied Swift. ‘Perhaps very soon. Of course we will notify you as far in advance as we can.’
‘Then we look forward to hearing from you,’ said Stalin.
Bowing his head with gratitude, Swift made his way out of the room.
Until that moment, Stalin’s face had remained a mask of unreadable emotions. But as soon as the Englishman departed, Stalin slammed his fist down on the desk. ‘A gesture of solidarity! Who the hell do they think we are? A pack of errand boys?’
Pekkala was still reeling from the news. Stalin’s voice reached him as if through the rush and tumble of waves breaking on a nearby shore.
‘What are we going to do?’ asked Kirov.
‘You will do exactly as they say,’ replied Stalin. ‘You will go to Berlin and you will bring that woman back.’
In spite of his confusion, Kirov managed to nod in agreement.
‘But not’, continued Stalin, ‘before you discover the real reason they want her.’
‘The real reason?’ asked Kirov.
‘Whatever her value to the Inspector, do you honestly think they would go to all this trouble to retrieve an agent who is merely supplying them with gossip?’ Stalin swept one stubby finger back and forth. ‘No, Major Kirov, there is more to this than their compassion for a missing operative. She must have got hold of something important, something they want now, or they would simply leave her where she is to wait until the city has fallen. And I want to know what it is.’
‘But how are we to manage that?’ asked Kirov.
Stalin took out a pen and scribbled an address on a pad of notepaper, then tore away the sheet and handed it to Pekkala. ‘Here is the address of someone who might have the answer.’
As soon as he had departed from the Kremlin
As soon as he had departed from the Kremlin, Professor Swift made his way to the British Embassy at 46 Ulitsa
‘There might not be a next train. Please. You must leave now.’
‘But how will you find me?’ she asked.
He smiled faintly, reaching out and running his fingers through her hair. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘that’s what I’m good at.’
The clamour of those still struggling to get aboard had risen to a constant roar. A pile of luggage lurched and fell. Fur-coated passengers went sprawling. Immediately, the crowd closed up around them.
‘Now!’ said Pekkala. ‘Before it’s too late.’
When, at last, Lilya had climbed aboard the carriage, she turned and waved to him.
Pekkala waved back. And then he lost sight of her as a tide of people poured past him, pursuing the rumour that another train had pulled in at the Finland station on the other side of the river.
Before Pekkala knew what was happening, he had been swept out into the street. From there, he watched the train pull out, wagons rifling past. Then suddenly the tracks were empty and there was only the rhythmic clatter of the wheels, fading away into the distance.
For Pekkala, that day had been like a fork in the road of his life. His heart went one way and his body set off another, lugging its jumbled soul like a suitcase full of rusty nails.
‘What is she doing in Berlin?’ Pekkala asked, hardly able to speak. ‘And why is she working for you?’
‘She volunteered,’ Swift replied matter-of-factly.
Now Stalin raised his voice. ‘If she’s working for you, then why do you need us to get her out? Why not just leave her there until Berlin has fallen? I promise it won’t be long now.’
‘We feel a certain sense of urgency,’ Swift replied vaguely, ‘and given your army’s proximity to the city, such a task might better be accomplished by a man such as Pekkala. It is a small gesture in the grand scheme of things,’ Swift said magnanimously. ‘We see it as evidence of the many things which bind us in this struggle against a common enemy.’
‘When do I leave?’ asked Pekkala.
‘Soon,’ replied Swift. ‘Perhaps very soon. Of course we will notify you as far in advance as we can.’
‘Then we look forward to hearing from you,’ said Stalin.
Bowing his head with gratitude, Swift made his way out of the room.
Until that moment, Stalin’s face had remained a mask of unreadable emotions. But as soon as the Englishman departed, Stalin slammed his fist down on the desk. ‘A gesture of solidarity! Who the hell do they think we are? A pack of errand boys?’
Pekkala was still reeling from the news. Stalin’s voice reached him as if through the rush and tumble of waves breaking on a nearby shore.
‘What are we going to do?’ asked Kirov.
‘You will do exactly as they say,’ replied Stalin. ‘You will go to Berlin and you will bring that woman back.’
In spite of his confusion, Kirov managed to nod in agreement.
‘But not’, continued Stalin, ‘before you discover the real reason they want her.’
‘The real reason?’ asked Kirov.
‘Whatever her value to the Inspector, do you honestly think they would go to all this trouble to retrieve an agent who is merely supplying them with gossip?’ Stalin swept one stubby finger back and forth. ‘No, Major Kirov, there is more to this than their compassion for a missing operative. She must have got hold of something important, something they want now, or they would simply leave her where she is to wait until the city has fallen. And I want to know what it is.’
‘But how are we to manage that?’ asked Kirov.
Stalin took out a pen and scribbled an address on a pad of notepaper, then tore away the sheet and handed it to Pekkala. ‘Here is the address of someone who might have the answer.’
As soon as he had departed from the Kremlin
As soon as he had departed from the Kremlin, Professor Swift made his way to the British Embassy at 46 Ulitsa
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