The NCO ignored the question and examined Paul’s papers. He passed them to the third man who pulled out a sheet of paper and began checking Paul’s name against those on a list.
‘You’re not Russian,’ the NCO said.
‘I’m English. What’s this about?’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Back to my quarters if it’s any business of yours. I’m with Colonel Ward and the Middlesex Regiment.’
The NCO reached for the lapel of Paul’s coat and pulled it open. ‘You’re wearing a Czech uniform.’
‘I’m a liaison officer,’ Paul said.
Behind the NCO the man with the list pointed a finger against a name and showed it to the NCO. The man looked at Paul suspiciously then back at his papers again.
‘What’s going on here?’ a voice behind Paul demanded. A man shouldered past him and confronted the Cossack NCO. He was wearing a military greatcoat and an Astrakhan hat, a Russian officer. Only able to see his back, Paul couldn’t see his rank.
The Cossacks straightened up. The rifle was lowered.
‘We’ve orders to pick up the men on our list, sir,’ the NCO said.
‘Who’s orders?’
‘Colonel Krasilnikov, sir.’
Paul had heard the name before, and recently, although he couldn’t think where.
‘And is this man’s name on your list?’ the officer asked. He took the sheet of paper and looked through the names.
‘Not exactly, sir,’ the man who had held the list replied. ‘He says he’s English but he’s wearing a Czech uniform and we’re supposed to look out for—’
‘And have you been told to pick up any English men?’ the officer barked.
‘No sir.’
The officer contemptuously passed the list back, snatched Paul’s papers out of the NCO’s hand and examined them quickly. He looked up at the Cossack again.
‘Do you read English? Do you speak it?’
‘No sir.’
The officer looked at the others who shook their heads. He turned towards Paul, his back to the Cossacks. He winked.
‘Try not to look so surprised, old man,’ Valentine said in English. ‘And do close your mouth. We don’t want to make these oafs any more suspicious than they already are. They don’t understand English so just say Ward’s name and the Middlesex Regiment again, would you?’
Paul closed his mouth, opened it again and repeated to Valentine what he’d told the NCO.
‘That’s a good chap,’ Valentine said evenly. ‘When I saw you leave the consulate I thought after what happened last night I’d better see you safely back to your train.’
Behind Valentine, Paul noticed one of the Cossacks whispering in the NCO’s ear. He was consulting the list again.
‘What are you doing dressed as an officer?’ Paul asked. ‘And what happened last night?’
‘No time just now, old chap. Best get away from these beasts, I think. The name Rostov is on their list.’
The NCO’s ear pricked up at the name and Valentine turned back to him.
‘I told this officer you’re confusing him with a man named Rostov,’ he said to the NCO, resuming in Russian. ‘His name’s Ross, common enough in England, I believe, but not Rostov. Just sounds the same, fool.’
The NCO looked at Valentine resentfully. ‘But Colonel Krasilnikov said particularly—’
‘I’ll speak to the Colonel myself,’ Valentine said shortly. ‘Just remember you’re looking for SR scum, not the English. It doesn’t pay to upset them. I’ll escort this one back to his men. The sooner they’re gone the better.’ He glanced down at the body lying in the gutter and prodded it with his shiny boot. ‘Is this your handiwork? Well, for God’s sake get rid of it, will you? Haven’t you been told about leaving the bodies in the street? We’re not savages even if you Cossack scum sometimes look like it.’
He stared them down then spun around and took Paul’s arm. He steered him across the street towards the square, passing him his papers.
Paul slipped them back beneath his coat.
‘Brisk pace, old man, but not too quick.
At the corner Paul glanced back over his shoulder. The NCO was still looking at the list.
‘Your name is on that paper for some reason,’ Valentine said as they entered the square. ‘It won’t take long to identify you as Rostov as soon as those oafs speak to someone with half a brain. That’s Ward’s train, isn’t it?’ he asked, pointing to where Ward had set up his cantonment near the Stavka building. ‘Best stay there until things settle down a bit.’ He squeezed Paul’s bicep and grinned at him. ‘For the time being it’s as well if we didn’t meet, what do you say?’
Paul didn’t have time to say anything. Valentine turned away and ducked into a side street, leaving Paul staring after him.
Behind him he saw the Cossacks enter the square. Now an officer was with them and the NCO was pointing at Paul. The officer called out. Paul quickened his step, crossing the square towards the Middlesex cantonment.
A line of men guarded the perimeter, machineguns set up at intervals covering the approaches to Ward’s train. Across the square a group of Russian troops stood outside the entrance to the Stavka building. All the refugees he had seen the previous day had disappeared. He saw a Middlesex bandsmen he recognised on the perimeter, having exchanged his cornet for a rifle and fixed bayonet. Paul reached him as two of the Cossacks who had stopped him began running across the square.
‘What’s going on?’ Paul asked, slipping inside the perimeter.
‘Haven’t you heard, sir? The government’s been arrested.’
‘Arrested? By whom?’
‘There’s been a coop, sir’ he said, making it sound as if chickens might have been responsible.
The Cossacks stopped thirty yards away and were watching him.
‘Those men over there demanded to see my papers.’
‘Cossacks, sir. They grabbed the ministers in the middle of the night, so Captain Steveni said. The captain was over here with the colonel earlier.’
The Cossack officer detached himself from the other three and hurried towards the Stavka building.
‘Well if they come asking for me,’ Paul told the bandsman, ‘tell them to bugger off.’
The man grinned. ‘Yes, sir.’
Paul climbed onto the train and knocked on the door of Ward’s carriage. Inside, the colonel was consulting with his staff.
‘Ross,’ he said, looking up from a map of Omsk laid out on the table, ‘there you are. I’ve had a man looking for you.’ He looked pale, stony-faced.
‘I stayed the night with friends, Colonel.’
‘Friends?’ he repeated, sounding mystified. ‘In Omsk? Well, never mind that. You’ve heard, I suppose?’
‘That there’s been a coup d’état? Yes, sir. One of the men said it was the Cossacks.’
‘In the early hours. A Colonel Krasilnikov. He took a detachment of men to the quarters of the Assistant Minister of the Interior, someone named Rogovski, and arrested him and two Directory members, Avksentiev and Zenzinov. Some other fellow, too. All SRs, of course.’
Krasilnikov again.
‘Are they alive?’ Paul asked.
‘No one’s sure. It seems this Krasilnikov dragged them off to the Cossacks’ barracks, some Agricultural Institute outside the city.’
Then Paul remembered. It had been Mikhail at the Rossiya Hotel, just before he left. He’d told Sofya to tell Krasilnikov that he was already on his way.
‘Who is this Krasilnikov?’
‘No idea,’ said Ward. ‘Some firebrand. It’s unlikely he’s behind it. Stavka officers, more like. The Council of Ministers is in a meeting to discuss the situation. I doubt they’ll do anything other than rubber-stamp the decisions of the men holding the guns, though. More to the point, is Admiral Kolchak involved?’