John Schettler - Fallen Angels - 9 Days Falling, Volume II

“I have not… And where are my men? Believe this, Colonel, if that is who you really are. You are now interfering in a matter of state security of the highest order!”

“Is that so? Then you must work for the Kremlin, eh? Who is this man you were holding at gunpoint?” The Englishman was being watched by one of Lysenko’s men at the front desk where Ilyana sat fretfully listening to the whole scene, not knowing what was happening.

Volkov folded his arms, defiant. “I was about to find that out when you barged in with this ridiculous charade. I have been searching every station on this railway—every lodgment and depot. We are looking for a man, and this fellow seemed suspicious—an Englishman! What is he doing here in time of war? So yes, I detained him for questioning, and I—”

“You were looking for a man? Who?” Lysenko exhaled heavily, the ashes of his cigarette low again.

“Another naval officer, a man named Fedorov, though he may be traveling undercover.”

“Fedorov?” The Colonel turned quickly to the shorter officer. “Is that the man you told me of?”

“Yes sir!” said Surinov. “He was very bold, just as this man here seems—very official. Yet there was something odd about him. He claimed he had come from Khabarovsk, and that was proved to be a lie as soon as I returned there to make my report. I have never met an officer in the Rail Security Division who acted as he did—humiliating me in front of my security detail, not to mention those pigs I was transporting to the detention centers!”

Now Volkov leaned forward. “You say you have encountered this man—Fedorov? How did you know his name?”

“That’s what he called himself—him and his Sergeant Troyak. That man was completely insubordinate, and the Colonel did nothing! He just stood there and let a common soldier threaten me!”

“Colonel? You say this Fedorov was passing himself off as a Colonel? Where?” Volkov almost stood up, but felt the hard hand of a soldier on his shoulder. He gave the man a look of real annoyance and continued, pressing his question on the man. “Where did you see this Fedorov?”

“We are asking the questions here!” Colonel Lysenko pointed at him with his cigarette, but to his astonishment Volkov swiped it from his hand, real anger on his face now.

“Get that filthy thing out of my face! Who the hell are you? What are you doing here? What in God’s name are you trying to pull, eh? You will pay dearly for this little prank, I assure you.”

Volkov reached up, pinched his collar button and spoke, eyes on Lysenko the whole time. “Jenkov…where the hell are you? Get down to the dining room at once. Bring the entire section!”

Colonel Lysenko gave him a wide eyed look, his surprise quickly transitioning to disdain as he waited. “Such theatrics,” he said with a sneer. Then he struck Volkov full on the face with the back of his hand. “You take me for a fool? Who do you think you were talking to? A ghost?”

There looked to be a scuffle, but the two other soldiers were quick to press the muzzles of their weapons to Volkov’s head. Then Lysenko leaned in, his breath foul with tobacco as he spoke. “The next time you try anything like that I will kill you—understand? I will take my pistol and blow your brains out!”

Lysenko composed himself, reaching in his pocket for a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “Now…” He placed a cigarette in his mouth, flicking a silver Ronson lighter he had taken from someone in the course of his many official interrogations. “Just who is this Jenkov you spoke of? I see no Jenkov here? What is this section he is to bring with him?”

Volkov was steaming, his eyes like coals. Every reflex in his body wanted to reach out and choke the breath from this man. But the feel of the hard steel of the muzzle of an automatic weapon at his temple gave him pause. His mind began to work, controlling that reptilian reflex, and oddities of the encounter began to filter in through the anger he felt. People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs? That was the name of the old NKVD! What was this man talking about? Yet the Captain was a wolf of a man, and not one easily threatened or frightened. He narrowed his eyes.

“You will kill me, you say? Blow my brains out, is it? Do you know who I work for? Do you have any idea who I report to? And what is this drivel you are spouting? There is no People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs!”

Lysenko listened, arms folded, face tightening with each word Volkov spoke. He could see that this was going to take stronger measures. His impulse was to do what he had threatened and simply draw his pistol and shoot this impudent man where he sat, but this business with Lieutenant Surinov…this part about a man called Fedorov aroused both suspicion and curiosity. Something was clearly wrong here, and he was going to find out exactly what it was. He decided to take another tack with this man.

“Fedorov,” he said. “You say you are looking for a man named Fedorov… Why? Who is he that it should be of any concern to you?”

The tension in the room subsided as Volkov composed himself, his mind trying to determine what these men could possibly be up to. “That is a matter of state security,” he said quickly. “And your interference is going to come with a very high price tag.”

“So you claim to be an intelligence officer? You have been ordered to find this man? Then let us approach this another way, comrade. I am intelligence officer as well. You are either drunk or delusional if you do not recognize this uniform. And my Lieutenant here tells me a man calling himself Fedorov is masquerading as an NKVD Colonel and causing trouble. In my district any trouble eventually comes to my attention. So we came looking for this Fedorov as well. Who is he?” Lysenko wanted to find out what this man knew before he decided what to do here.

“Suffice it to say he is of special interest to Russian Naval Intelligence.”

“He is a spy then? He is attempting to infiltrate the NKVD?”

“NKVD?” Now Volkov suddenly recognized the insignia on these mans caps—yes, the light blue cap with the thin red band—the hammer and sickle of the old Soviet regime.

“NKVD? That institution hasn’t been in existence for decades. Where did you get those stupid uniforms, at an army surplus store? You think this is some kind of a joke here? You don’t know who you are fooling with. Well gentlemen, if you persist in this I will tell you that you have chosen the wrong man for your little fun and games, and I have had quite enough of this nonsense.”

Lysenko’s anger rose again, and he stood up, very slowly, his hand drifting to his side holster.

Volkov met his narrowed eyes, unflinching. “I’m warning you one last time,” he said coolly, his voice low and edged with threat.

Hehad been eight days tunneling, working hard in the rain these last few hours to be certain any sound of the digging would be well masked. The rain would also lessen traffic at the site above, which was another advantage, but it made for cold, dank work in the trench below the site. Yet Ian was a man accustomed to the elements, and well suited to the hard labor his project would require. In the end it would pay off handsomely, and the end was well in sight. Today was the ninth day, the payoff day. He had but another eight to ten inches of vertical drilling now, straight up through the hard bottom and into the center of the plot, and then he would finally have the prize.

This was the hard part of the job, the risky part. He would have to wait out the weather, hoping for a real torrent to mask the noise of the drill. His power cabling would be stretched out behind him, along sodden wet ground in spite of his effort to lay in a plastic tarp for cover. Here and there, he noted places along the length of the tunnel where water was seeping down from above, finding its way through cracks in the cobbled roadway between his rented cottage and the target site.