Clearly now, Stefanov could see the man’s unshaven face, the grey pebbled tunic buttons, the thick, greased leather belt, the creases in the leather around the ankles of the man’s jackboots, the blood-drained flesh beneath his dirty hands as they clenched a Mauser rifle.
The man kept walking.
A few more paces and he would have tumbled into Stefanov’s foxhole.
Stefanov himself felt frozen, unable to comprehend why he hadn’t yet been spotted.
Suddenly the soldier stumbled to a halt. For a moment, he just blinked at the figure hidden in the undergrowth. Then he opened his mouth to cry out.
The Maxim seemed to go off by itself. Everything ahead of Stefanov became a blur of smoke and flickering brass from the empty cartridges which spun into the air and rained back upon him, pinging off the barrel of the gun. Birch and pine branches cascaded down. All the while the cloth belt which had held the bullets spewed from the side of the gun like the shed skin of a snake. Stefanov’s hands ached from the vibration of the gun. His lungs filled with cordite smoke. He had no idea if he was hitting anything.
Then the clanking bang of the Maxim suddenly quit. All Stefanov could hear were the last few empty cartridges ringing as they clattered to the ground.
Stefanov looked down at the ammunition crate. It was empty. The ground on which he knelt was a carpet of spent cartridges, tiny feathers of smoke still drifting from their opened mouths. The Maxim’s barrel clicked and sighed as it began to cool.
In a daze, Stefanov stood up from behind the gun and stumbled out among the twisted dead. He counted twelve of them. Their bodies were horribly torn. More lay back among the bullet-gashed trees. He saw the shiny hobnails on their boots.
Then he saw that one of the soldiers had remained on his feet. The man’s tunic was torn open. Beneath that, from a large wound ripped into his stomach, the soldier’s entrails had unravelled to the ground. Slowly, he took off his helmet, its green paint smeared with a camouflage of mud. He got down on his knees, as if he meant to pray, then carefully gathered up his guts into the shell of the helmet. His lips moved but he made no sound. The man climbed to his feet and started walking back towards the German lines. He had only gone a few paces before he fell face-down on the pine needles.
Shouting echoed through the pines. More soldiers were advancing through the woods.
Stefanov turned and ran, dodging like a rabbit through the trees, and caught up with the truck at the southern end of the park, just as it was passing the Crimean War memorial. He tumbled into the back among the Golub radio, ammunition for the 25-mm and a terrified Sergeant Ragozin.
A few seconds later, they passed beneath the Orlov gates and out on to the main road.
The last Stefanov saw of Tsarskoye Selo was the roof of the Catherine Palace, its grey tiles shimmering through the mist‚ just as it had been when he fled with his father from the tidal wave of revolution.
Later that day
Later that day, Pekkala reported back to Stalin. ‘I spoke to Semykin. The person we’re looking for does, in fact, appear to be the same Gustav Engel who is mentioned in your file.’
Stalin opened his mouth to speak.
‘There’s more, I’m afraid‚’ said Pekkala. ‘A special task force has been created by the SS for the purpose of removing thousands of art works from the countries occupied by Germany.’
‘I am already aware of that,’ replied Stalin. ‘Since we last spoke, I have learned from one of our agents in the Red Orchestra network, a woman who is based in Konigsberg, that, two weeks ago, Gustav Engel gave the order for the Seckendorff Gallery, which is the largest gallery at the Castle, to be cleared and repainted in order to make room for the Amber Panels, which they plan to display there until such time as the museum in Linz has been completed. Engel spent the past two weeks at Konigsberg, supervising the refurbishments and yesterday, according to our agent, departed from Konigsberg in a truck which had been specially outfitted to transport the panels back to Konigsberg. According to the agent, Engel is the lynchpin to Rosenberg’s entire operation in the East and the Amber Room is their top priority.’
‘The German army is already at the gates of Leningrad. We cannot stop them from reaching the Palace. .’
‘That is true,’ agreed Stalin, ‘but maybe we can put a stop to Gustav Engel.’
‘How is that possible?’
‘It is possible,’ replied Stalin, ‘because I am sending you to get him.’
At first, Pekkala was too stunned to reply. ‘I am not an assassin,’ he finally managed to say.
‘I am not asking you to kill him, Pekkala. I want you to bring him back to Moscow.’
‘And what would be the point of that? If we got rid of him, they would just appoint somebody else.’
‘That is where you are wrong, Pekkala. The Nazis chose Engel precisely because nobody else knows what he knows. With Engel at their head, this organisation will systematically rob our country of its cultural heritage, after which, if we can’t find a way to stop them, they’ll destroy whatever is left. Engel compiled the list of what they’d steal, what they’d ignore and what they would destroy. I need to know what’s on that list, Pekkala, along with the name of the traitor who’s been helping him. Gustav Engel can provide that information, and he will, if you can bring him to me. We can’t save everything, but we can at least deprive them of the treasures they have come to steal. Thanks to you and Major Kirov, we have identified the perpetrator of what may still become the greatest theft in history‚ unless you bring the criminal to justice.’
‘And the fact that he’s behind enemy lines. .’
‘That is merely an obstacle to be overcome, as you have overcome other obstacles in the past. You are the perfect choice for this task. After all, you know the layout of that palace and, according to your file,’ Stalin lifted up a tattered grey envelope, ‘you even speak German.’
‘That was part of my training with the Okhrana, but, Comrade Stalin, even if it was possible to arrest Engel and to bring him back to Moscow‚ is there enough time to accomplish the mission?’
‘Yes, if we move quickly. It will take Engel a week to travel from Konigsberg to the Catherine Palace. When he discovers the wallpaper instead of the panels, he may be convinced that the amber has been removed. Then, again, he may not. In either case, Engel is likely to remain at Tsarskoye Selo until he has conducted a thorough search. This will give you time to apprehend him and then to smuggle him back across our lines.’
‘I can find my way around the palace, Comrade Stalin, but whatever advantage that affords me is lost by the fact that I don’t know what this man Engel looks like.’
‘I have not forgotten this detail, and neither has Lieutenant Churikova. That is why she will be coming with you to the palace.’
‘You cannot ask her to take on a mission like this!’
‘I didn’t have to,’ replied Stalin. ‘She volunteered.’
‘When?’
‘After you left to find Semykin, Kirov drove her back to the Kremlin.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘She told him to. When they arrived at the barracks where Churikova’s company had been quartered, in the hopes of finding someone, anyone, remaining from her signals unit, they found the place deserted. Everyone she had worked with died aboard that train when it was bombed. When Kirov asked Churikova where she wanted to go, she asked to return to the Kremlin. She returned to this office and offered to help in any way she could. I admire this woman, Pekkala. Without her, the task becomes impossible. She knows this. That’s why she volunteered, and why you should be grateful for her assistance.’
‘Send me,’ Pekkala told him. ‘Send Kirov, if you have to, but. .’