James Benn: Rag and Bone

“The Russian ambassador and you worked this out?”

“Sometimes it pays to find common ground. Ivan likes it here in London. The more smoothly things run, the longer before he’s called home to Moscow.”

“When is Sidorov going?”

“Today. Ivan has sent Sidorov’s uniform and personal effects to me. The captain will wash, shave, and dress. Then on to the RAF field at Digby for a flight to Gibraltar, then Lisbon, where he will be met by representatives from the Soviet Embassy, and thence to Moscow. Where he will be greeted as a hero, most likely.”

“What about Sheila?”

“Miss Carlson will face a lesser charge, in exchange for keeping quiet.”

“How much lesser?”

“Possession of forged ration cards. She will serve time in prison until the end of the war.”

“They’re getting away with murder.”

“Yes. I don’t suppose it will help to tell you I don’t like it either,” Cosgrove said.

“It does, actually. Could I ask two more favors?”

“That one with Brown wasn’t difficult. What are they?”

“I’d like to ride with Sidorov to Digby. No funny business, I promise you. Then, whenever you have one of those MI5 and MI6 powwows, I’d like to drop by. As soon as it can be arranged.”

“No sidearm, and you may escort Sidorov to Digby. Along with my men, of course,” Cosgrove said.

“Of course. And the meeting?”

“As you well know, Lieutenant Boyle, such meetings do not exist, since MI6 operates only outside of Great Britain.”

“Of course. When will you not be meeting?”

“Tonight, at ten o’clock, no such meeting will take place at the same location at which the last meeting did not take place.”

“I’ll be there,” I said. “Or I won’t be, right?”

“Now you’ve got it.”

Sidorov was surprised to see me when the car picked him up at Scotland Yard. He hid it quickly, covering his expression with a friendly grin. “Billy, have you come to see me off?”

“I thought you might like some company,” I said, opening my jacket and raising my arms for Cosgrove’s men to search me. “Nothing up my sleeve, guys.” They didn’t even smile. One of them sat up front with the driver, and Sidorov and I had the spacious backseat to ourselves.

“I shall miss London,” he said, looking at the Thames as we drove by.

“Maybe you could come back, after the war.”

“No. There is only one chance given to visit the West. I shall remain in Russia, with my wife and child.”

“Do you love her?”

“My daughter, yes. But my wife? I will tell you the truth. Her father is a high Party member. I married her as much for that as for love.”

“Why?”

“To have a chance at something better than the life of an orphaned peasant. But I got more than I bargained for in that exchange.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her father took a liking to me. He has encouraged my career.”

“What’s wrong with that?” I asked. “That probably got you this posting.”

“No, it got me my previous assignment. This posting was a reward, for a job well done.”

“What did you do?” Sidorov didn’t answer. Instead, he watched pubs, houses, and shops pass by as the car drove out of London. A few miles later I tried another angle. “Why did you warn me about Diana?”

“A harmless piece of information I had come by. Harmless if kept out of the wrong hands, of course. I thought you might not look upon me as a suspect if you thought I had information that would bear on her safety.”

“ Is she safe?”

“Billy, I have no reason to think otherwise. I do not know anything other than that she is working within the Vatican. It was reported to us, through our network in Rome, that a British SOE agent had made contact with a circle within the Vatican. When her name was confirmed, we cross-referenced our contact files, and there you were. She may be in great danger, or she may be across the Swiss border. I have no idea.”

“You have a pretty extensive network. Here and in Rome.”

“The English have a lot of foolish romantics, Billy. Some of them saw the Marxist state as the salvation of humanity. Trust me, those who think that way have never been there.”

“You have spies in the government? MI5? MI6? How else could you have learned her name?” Again, miles of quiet slipped by, and I knew Sidorov would not give up this information. A hint, perhaps, but nothing more. I took a book from my pocket. “Here. I thought you’d want this.”It was the copy of Selected Poems by W. B. Yeats, from the cottage in Shepherdswell. Sidorov took it and pressed the covers between his palms, as if it held the essence of all that he had lost.

“Thank you,” he said. Then he did an odd thing. He tore out the first page of the book, where he’d written the Latin inscription. He stared at it for a moment, then rolled down his window, and let it fly out into the wind.

“Corpora dormiunt vigilant animae,” he said.

“The bodies are asleep, the souls are awake,” I answered. “Why can’t that go home with you?”

“Latin is the language of the church. By definition, reactionary. A small thing, to be sure, but others have been denounced for less. For nothing.”

“I can see why you wanted to start a new life here,” I said. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to get a confession out of you, the case has been closed. Winston Churchill told me himself.”

“Really? I thought my own government would free me. I never dreamed Churchill would be the one.”

“He doesn’t want to upset the balance of things. With inconsequential matters like two murders in London or thousands in Katyn.”

“I am sorry about those two deaths.”

“What about the Poles at Katyn?”

“I was not responsible,” Sidorov said. “ Egorov and Vatutin were pigs. If they hadn’t been in the secret police they would have found other ways to inflict pain. But still, I did not wish to kill them. It was unfortunate.”

“Is it their souls that are awake?” I asked. My question brought more silence, and the final miles fell away until we entered the gate of the RAFairfield. We drove directly to a waiting Lancaster bomber, already turning over its four powerful engines.

“It appears the English can’t wait to get me out of the country,” Sidorov said. I asked the guys in the front seat to give us a minute, and they got out, leaving us alone in the car.

“Where did you see that Latin saying?” I asked Sidorov.

“It was inscribed in a stained-glass window, in a small Norman church not far from Shepherdswell. I saw it when Sheila and I were looking for a secluded house to rent. Why?”

“Just curious,” I said. “What does it mean to you?”

“A reminder, to never forget a great sin.”

“I’m surprised to find a religious NKVD man.”

“It is not common, especially if you want to move up in the Party ranks. It may seem strange to you, but I’ve always been religious, ever since the orphanage. And yes, I know, I have an odd way of showing it.”

“I won’t argue that. Confession is supposed to be good for the soul,”I said. “Anything you want to tell me before you go?”

“My sins are too great, Billy. The worst of it is, where I am going, they are not considered evil. It is almost comical, isn’t it? I commit crimes in England, and they send me home to Russia, where my greater crimes were rewarded. I can’t seem to be held to account.”

“For what, Kiril?” I asked, almost in a whisper. He looked down at the floorboard, then laid a hand on my arm.

“I was at Katyn.” The words hung heavy in the air, as if they held a terrible curse. “I was second in command at an NKVD prison near Smolensk. I had orders to bring a contingent of prisoners to the forest outside of Katyn. Not Polish POWs, but regular prisoners, some criminal, some political.”