Paul concluded Valentine was as mad as the others. His eyes were gleaming through the gloom of the afternoon, lit by some inner light. There was a flush of enthusiasm on his cheeks that Paul had seen before, both at school and in the army. It was a glow of eagerness that came over some individuals whenever something above and beyond was called for. One could always guarantee there would be a fool like Valentine there, ever ready to stick his thick head above the parapet…
Looking at him now at close quarters, crammed between the lifeboats, Paul began to wonder which of them was truly the gullible one. But he couldn’t deny that Cumming had been right. If they’d spelled it out to him beforehand he would have run a mile, scuttled back to the trenches without a murmur. A man knew where he was there, what he had to do… who the enemy was — which fellow was on his side and which wasn’t. The only way Cumming would have got him to agree to this fool’s errand was to do what he did — trap him in a corner from which the only way out was to take the offered bait. He didn’t know if the other Ross had been a head above the parapet type, or if his was screwed on the correct way. He suspected he wouldn’t have fallen so readily for the ingredients in Valentine’s chemical process, but then again a man prepared to cheat at cards might have been too greedy to refuse the sugared confection Valentine offered. But it was no use speculating that the other Ross would have seen it coming — after all, he hadn’t seen the shell that killed him coming — and it was all a bit late now for speculation anyway; no point Paul wishing himself into another man’s shoes, particularly a dead man’s. And as it turned out, Valentine’s ruse hadn’t been the only half-baked pudding; as far as he could see the whole scheme was up for grabs now the bait Paul was supposed to offer Mikhail was dead.
‘Of course, you’re right,’ he lied to Valentine. ‘There wasn’t any need for deception. I would have been only too happy to volunteer.’
‘There, I knew it, old man.’ He slapped Paul on the shoulder.
‘The only thing,’ Paul said, ‘is that now the tsar’s dead there’ll be no reason for my cousin to help me. The Legion is already fighting the Bolsheviks according to the newspapers and we’re going to land troops up near Archangel. I can’t see there’s much I can do. I mean, this is your line of work. I wouldn’t want to get in the way and mess things up. Not that I’m not keen to box a Bolshevik ear or two…’
‘Never fear on that score, old man,’ Valentine assured him. ‘Two heads are better than one.’
Not if you were going to stick them both under the guillotine, Paul thought. One would tend to get in the way of the other.
‘I was right behind you at Yarmouth,’ Valentine went on, ‘but I had to check in with C before we sailed. I telephoned the office and Miss Henslowe told me they’d got a report from Lockhart in Moscow that the tsar had been shot and I was to get the first train back.’
‘And what about me?’
‘If the game was to be dished we’d have pulled you off in Hull. Don’t worry yourself on that score, old man.’
‘So I assume it hasn’t been dished,’ Paul said.
‘No,’ Valentine said. ‘Now the troops are landing in Archangel C says it’s imperative we gather as much intelligence as possible. So we’re in luck. We go ahead and see how things are on the ground.’
‘What about my cousin?’
‘It’s more important than ever we make contact and co-ordinate the opposition to the Bolsheviks. We’ve also heard from the French liaison officers with the Legion that after that business at Chelyabinsk they took the towns of Novonikolaevsk and Penza. Omsk, too.’
‘Omsk in Siberia?’
‘Apparently two weeks ago the Czech leader in the west, a Lieutenant Čeček, was ordered by the executive-committee of the Penza group of armies to change objective and stand fast.’ Valentine beamed at him, eyes alight. ‘They’ve turned west.’
‘Sorry, who are the Penza group of armies and why is a lieutenant in charge?’
‘Anti-Bolsheviks, old man. Before the Bolshevik coup the regional Soviets were made up of all sorts of socialist parties. They weren’t all Bolsheviks — pretty few of them were, actually.’
‘What about Čeček? Who’s he?’
‘Haven’t the foggiest. But they elect their own officers and I suppose it’s a case of the cream rising to the top.’
‘But if the Legion’s already turned west and the tsar’s dead, what can I do? Or are Mikhail’s friends looking to put the tsarevitch on the throne?’
Valentine’s eyes dulled.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘you don’t know.’
‘Know what?’
‘They shot the whole family.’
‘What, all of them? The girls, too?’
‘Sorry, old man, having to break it to you like this.’ He gripped Paul’s shoulder. ‘It shows you what sort of people we’re up against. To kill those pretty young princesses, and their brother…’
Paul shrugged Valentine’s hand off. What made him think the tsar and his family meant anything to him? Paul was English not Russian. Even so, the news was shocking. Nicholas might have deserved it even if, as Pinker had said, the man should have had a trial. But those girls and that invalid brother of theirs…? What had they done to deserve being shot? Simply because of an accident of birth they had inherited privilege and wealth they hadn’t lived long enough to repudiate? It was monstrous. Inhuman.
‘And the tsarina as well, I suppose?’ he asked.
‘Well yes,’ said Valentine, ‘although she wasn’t as pretty, of course…’
‘What’s that got—’
‘The point is,’ Valentine said quickly, ‘now is the time to act. When everyone can see them for what they are.’ His expression had turned grim, the gleam in his eyes replaced by a dull steeliness. ‘You’ve got the letter, of course?’
‘What letter?’
‘From Masaryk. The one C gave you from the Czechoslovak National Council.’
‘Oh, that. Yes, of course.’
‘I mean it’s all very well the local Soviets giving the Legion orders,’ Valentine said, ‘but they’ll only obey them if it’s in their interest. They want to get to Vladivostok or Archangel and out of Russia. If they receive orders from their National Council, directly from Masaryk and Beneš they’re more likely to do what we want.’
‘Fight the Bolsheviks.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Do you want the letter?’
‘Not me, old man,’ Valentine said. ‘C gave it to you. It’s your responsibility. Just don’t lose it or let the Bolsheviks get their hands on it.’
‘We’ve got to get past the Germans in Finland first.’
Valentine laughed. ‘We’re not going to let a few Hun stand in out way, are we?’
‘Aren’t we? No, I don’t suppose we are.’
‘C mentioned something else, too.’
Paul wondered how much worse it could get.
‘What?’
‘He’d got a report about a chap’s body being found in an alley behind the Waldorf Hotel. Turned out to be a Lithuanian who went by the name of Yurkas. Kell had a file on him. A kitchen porter from the Waldorf and some seamstresses saw this Yurkas attacked and murdered. Their description of the assailant tallies pretty closely with you.’
‘It was me,’ said Paul, ‘But he attacked me. He’d been following me. And the porter and those women didn’t see it happen at all,’ he added for good measure.
‘Browning said you thought someone was following you. He said you were under the impression it was me.’
‘That was his idea. I didn’t think it was you. I know you. You stole my money. I thought it was Hart. I mean, that’s the impression I got from what Browning said. I didn’t know you were Hart then, did I?’