While I’ve been reading, the general has been sipping his Scotch, his face thoughtful. He says quietly “I don’t need to tell you to heed the contents of that letter: you’re an intelligent young woman. In fact, you remind me of my wife, when she was young.”
“Were you thinking of her, just now, when I was reading the letter?”
“Yes. Very much. Daisie is in Mumbai, waiting for me. I was daydreaming about her. If you must know, I was wondering if I will ever seen her again. Right now, it seems highly unlikely.”
He stands, bows, and takes his leave of me. I watch him walk away, through the hotel lobby – and I see the professor and Rufus arriving, with rueful looks on their faces. They come over to me. “Nothing in the market, we’re afraid, except these two flatbreads.”
I explain about the letters of passage, and the professor nods sagely. “Let’s take the letters to the city governors. Right now.”
Warily, we step out of the hotel into the silent streets. It’s only a five-minute walk to the governors’ office. I show the letters of passage to the clerk at the desk, and add “And, you have in captivity a Captain Yuri Sirko. He must be released, and accompany us when we depart for Iran.”
The clerk says nothing, and he looks down, avoiding our gaze. He disappears with the letters. Rufus looks at me. “We may get out of here, but they are hardly likely to release your friend.”
We wait: minutes seem like hours. But then the clerk returns.
“Your requests for safe passage will be granted. A steamer, the Circassia, is sailing to Bandar-e Anzali in Iran in three days’ time, to collect further military supplies for the defence of Baku.
At a point in time before its departure, we will send an authorized person to accompany you to the Circassia and ensure you are safely aboard. You may then spend the remainder of your time in Baku aboard the ship in the harbor, until it is able to depart. That will be safer for you. At the end of your voyage to Iran, you may disembark in Bandar-e Anzali, and we will arrange for members of the British Consulate to meet you there.”
The professor and Rufus can’t contain their smiles. The clerk continues. “The Caspian Dictators will discuss the release of Captain Sirko. But in the meantime, you may visit him. I am not at liberty to say where he is imprisoned. But the authorized person, before taking you to the Circassia, will come to your hotel and accompany you to see the captain.”
“When?”
“When an official is available, Miss. As you can see, our staff are stretched rather thin here in Baku. But when he is available, the authorized person will call at your hotel and take you see Captain Sirko, and then on to your ship.”
29
Death in September
Last night, I didn't sleep. Soon after midnight, the strange silence ended. The air erupted with the high-pitched whistling of shells, the heavy blasts of explosions.
The Ottomans are attacking at last: they have captured the slopes above Baku, and are now firing directly down into the harbor. The sun is rising in a cloudless sky; between the shrieking shells passing overhead, I hear birds singing in the old garden of our hotel. But the hotel itself is deserted, except for the professor, Rufus and me. At dawn, I came down to the lobby and found no-one here; the professor’s guess is that all the staff, being Armenian, have fled to the harbor in fear of their lives, to try to find a ship out of Baku.
For the last two hours, the three of us have been waiting here in the lobby for the promised official who will take us to visit Yuri, and then to our ship. We’ve decided to wait just one hour more. Once that hour has passed, we, like the hotel staff, will simply have to make our own desperate efforts to find an escape.
The shadow of a man appears in the hotel doorway, then he steps forward. He’s a fresh-faced youth, virtually a boy, dressed in the dark suit typical of the Baku government officials. He speaks nervously.
“Three passengers for the Circassia?”
I answer him. “Yes. But we also need to visit a Captain Sirko, who is in jail somewhere in this city. We were told that you would be able to take us to him. And we hope he can be released, and accompany us out of Baku.”
“Of course. I have a warrant for the captain’s release, signed by the Caspian Dictators.”
I can hardly believe it. But I don’t have time to take in the good news; the professor’s voice is brisk. “Well then – let’s go immediately.”
We hasten down the hotel steps into the bright morning air. For a moment, the noise of the Turkish shelling has ceased. The sunlight casts sharp shadows across the street. On the lowest step of the hotel, the man turns to speak to us.
But no words come out. He looks at me, his eyes wide open; an empty, expressionless stare above his open mouth. Then he falls, clutching his chest. Blood squirts out between his fingers, spattering my dress.
“Sniper!” Axelson drags me around the corner of the hotel. “The devil was hiding in the shadows across the street.”
We crouch in a shallow alcove in a wall, scanning everywhere for danger. I stare at the professor. “Where’s Rufus?”
But as I look up, Rufus appears, panting for breath.
“That was a close one! I’ve had a quick look at that poor fellow; he’s a goner, I’m afraid. Bullet right through the heart. But I went through his pockets. I took our boarding passes for the Circassia; here they are.”
“Well done!” Axelson breathes his words: we’re all in stunned shock. Rufus is trembling, but he carries on explaining.
“I also found a note in the man’s pocket. It says where Captain Sirko is imprisoned: in the police cells on the upper floor of the Baku Courthouse. And there’s this, too.”
Rufus holds up the warrant for Yuri’s release, with the names and signatures of the Caspian Dictators at the bottom.
We inch our way along the hotel wall, looking around all the time for snipers. We can see no-one, but we know that any shadow might hide a gun. Eventually we reach the end of the block, and, peering warily in all directions, cross a deserted street. Axelson holds his hand to his ear.
“Listen!”
Rufus eyes him. “I can’t hear anything.”
“Exactly. The noise of shelling has stopped.”
“What does that mean?”
“I have no idea. How far is it to the courthouse, Miss Agnes?”
“Four blocks. And from there, two more to the harbor.”
We pick our way along the street. It is so empty that we might be the last humans on Earth. But I hear a new noise, like the buzzing of bees.
I point, although there is nothing to see. “That strange sound – it’s ahead of us.”
We continue moving along, still watching warily for snipers. My heart pounds with every step. The buzzing sound increases, a murmuration that seems to reverberate along the street. I can hear distinct sounds among it now, like a high edge to its guttural rumbling.
Then I realise. The mixed sounds include human screams.
A man steps out from a doorway, right in front of us. He’s dressed in a ragged robe, and holds an ancient rifle, pointing it at my chest. It touches the material of my dress. He speaks in broken Russian.
“Is this girl Jewish?”
The professor and Rufus stand either side of me; none of us has any idea what is going on. Then Axelson tries his best at a smile, and asks the man. “Why do you need to know?”
The gun swerves away from me. It now jabs into the professor’s face.
“So – she belongs to you, old man! I’ve been told I can have ones like her – unless she’s Jewish. We had an order from the commander that we must not touch the Jewish women.”
The muzzle of the gun is alongside the professor’s nose, pointing straight into his right eye. The man’s finger strokes the trigger.