‘And what is this last mission to be?’ asked Kovalevsky, as he carefully spooned up his soup.
While Kovalevsky ate, Pekkala explained everything.
By the time he had finished, Kovalevsky’s bowl was empty. With a sigh, he pushed it to the centre of the table, sat back and folded his hands across his stomach. ‘What I don’t understand, Pekkala, is why you need my help at all. It has been years since I practised my old trade. Surely Stalin has his own men to do this job!’
‘He does, but none that he can trust. Somewhere in the ranks of NKVD, or even in the Kremlin itself, there is a traitor. If this person, whoever he is, learns of our plan to bring back Gustav Engel, as soon as we cross the lines, we will be heading straight into a trap. You are the only one with the necessary skills whom we are certain is not involved.’
‘Yet.’
Pekkala nodded.
‘You mentioned that this would be my final mission‚’ said Kovalevsky. ‘I do not mean to sound mercenary‚ Pekkala‚ but what exactly are you offering in exchange for my help on this case?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You drive a hard bargain, Pekkala.’
‘No, old friend. I don’t think you understand. When I said nothing, I meant that your past would be officially forgotten. You would simply go back to living out your life as Professor Shulepov.’
‘That is more than generous,’ said Kovalevsky. ‘Besides, it would have been hard to walk away from a job I’ve grown to love. I am also tired of running. But I wonder if you realise just how difficult a mission this could be.’
‘Getting through the German lines never sounded easy to me.’
‘That is not the hard part,’ explained Kovalevsky. ‘The greatest challenge, since you cannot simply kill this man and be done with it, will be in persuading him to come back with us.’
‘Persuading him? It almost sounds as if you expect him to come of his own free will.’
‘That is precisely what I mean,’ replied Kovalevsky.
‘But surely there are ways to smuggle him across, even if he doesn’t want to go?’
‘There are, but none of them are reliable. We can drug him, bandage him up and try to carry him through as a badly wounded soldier. If it was only a matter of hours, this method would be practical, but it will take days to return and the longer we try to keep a man knocked out, the greater the risk that we might accidentally kill him with the drug, or that the drug might fail and he wakes up and sounds the alarm. If that happens, or if he gets away from you, we are as good as dead.’
‘Is there any way to do this without drugging him?’
‘If you are afraid he might run, you can cut one of his Achilles’ tendons.’
Pekkala winced at the matter-of-fact tone in Kovalevsky’s voice.
‘But the injury tends to arouse suspicion,’ continued Kovalevsky, ‘and unless you find a way to silence him, the man can still cry out for help.’
‘I have taken many people into custody over the years, but none under circumstances as difficult as this.’ Reluctantly, Pekkala returned to Kovalevsky’s original idea. ‘How do you propose that we convince a man to travel with us to what might be his death?’
‘In that one sentence, Pekkala, you have already provided the answer.’
‘I have?’
‘You said “might”. Once we have him at gunpoint, Engel will quickly realise that his chances of surviving an escape attempt are next to none. He will also understand that his odds of surviving in Soviet captivity are very small. Small as they might be, however, we must convince him that this small chance of survival does exist, provided he cooperates. Add to that the possibility that if, on arriving in Moscow, he agrees to tell you everything he knows, he will not only survive, he will prosper.’
‘You mean to get him to change sides.’
Kovalevsky shrugged. ‘If the alternative is a hole in the ground, changing sides can be a mere formality. Remember what this man is fighting for. It is not a love of one country and a hatred of another. It is these works of art. If we can offer him a stake in their future, as well as a future for himself, I think the outcome of this journey will be the one that Stalin has in mind. Have you met this man Engel?’
‘No. That’s why we are bringing someone who can identify him. Her name is Lieutenant Churikova.’
‘Even better. When it comes to convincing Engel, a woman is likely to be more persuasive than a couple of thugs like us.’
‘Even if she can persuade Engel to come with us of his own free will, it will be much harder for Engel to persuade Stalin to keep him alive.’
‘Stalin has made peace with enemies before, provided they are useful enough. You and I are living proof of that. If Engel plays his cards right, he may yet live a long and happy life.’
Their meal concluded‚ the two men stood up to leave.
It was drizzling as they stepped out into a world of moving shadows. On account of air raid precautions, the streetlamps were no longer illuminated. The only lights came from vehicles which, with their headlights blinkered into slits, resembled huge black cats prowling through the rain-slicked streets. Many people were still on their way home from work and since the tram and underground services had been scaled back due to fuel shortages, the pavements were busier this time of day than they had ever been before the war.
‘Do you know what my first thought was when I saw you at the school?’ asked Kovalevsky. Without waiting for an answer, he went on. ‘I thought to myself that Myednikov would have been disappointed in me.’
‘But why? After all, you are the one who survived.’
‘That was more luck than skill. I neglected the most important rule he ever taught me — to have an exit out of every situation, whether it is a way out of that restaurant, or a route out of the city or the country. And then there is the exit through which you disappear forever, after which the person you knew as yourself no longer exists. But that is the most dangerous one of all. After you have gone through that door, only one exit remains.’
‘And what is that?’
‘For me, the day I became Professor Shulepov, my only way out was a Browning 1910.’
‘I am glad you didn’t take it,’ said Pekkala.
‘So am I,’ agreed Kovalevsky. ‘And whatever skills I possess, outdated though they might be, are now at your disposal. All I ask in exchange is the chance to go back into hiding.’
‘You have my word, old friend.’
‘How long do we have to prepare?’
‘Three days.’
‘Very well. That should be enough time. Tomorrow, I will begin making preparations,’ said Kovalevsky. ‘I will need information about precise troop displacements, as well as aerial reconnaissance photographs showing what roads and bridges might still be open.’
‘I’ll make sure you get them.’
‘We will need money,’ Kovalevsky continued, ‘and not standard currency. Gold coins will work best, preferably German, French or British.’
‘I’m sure some can be found.’
‘Concealed compasses.’
‘NKVD has some which fit inside standard Red Army tunic buttons.’
‘And we will need vials of potassium cyanide, one for each person, in case we are captured.’
To this, Pekkala only nodded, recalling the thin glass containers, each one containing about a teaspoonful of the poison. The vial itself was stored in a brass cartridge, which could be unscrewed in the middle. NKVD issued these vials in sets of three, laid out in blue velvet in a small leather-bound case, exactly the same kind one might find in a jeweller’s shop for displaying a wedding ring or a set of pearl earrings.
The vials came with no instructions for use, unlike almost everything else issued by NKVD, even down to shoelaces and torches. Each person to whom the poison was issued had the choice of precisely where and how to store the means of suicide. One popular method was to have a vial sewn into the collar of a shirt, in the place where the collar stay would normally go. This was a place where a person under arrest was unlikely to be searched. Once the vial had been placed in the mouth, the user only had to bite down gently and the poison would be released, causing death in less than four seconds.