Dennis Wheatley - The Forbidden Territory

“You are wrong,” she said, quietly. “Many of the popes have been done away with — they were evil, drunken men, unfitted for the service of God. That ees a good thing, but there is freedom of thought in Russia now. One can follow a religion if one will, and Russia — Holy Russia — is unchanging beneath the surface. With a few exceptions, all Russians carry God in their ’eart!”

Simon nodded. “I think I understand — anyhow, I shall always keep this with me.”

“Eef it ees that you are in what you call a ‘muddle’, send the little ikon back to me. Look!” She took it again, quickly, and pressed a hidden spring. “In ’ere you can send a little letter — nobody will find it — all Russia knows Valeria Petrovna. It will come to me surely, wherever I am.”

“Mightn’t it be stolen?” asked Simon, doubtfully. “I mean these pearls — they’re real.”

“They are small, and only of little value — also you will say to ’im ’oo brings it: ‘Valeria Petrovna will give you a thousand roubles if you bring this safe to ’er.’”

“You’ve been wonderful to me,” said Simon, drawing her towards him. “How can I ever tell you what I feel?”

The late dawn of the winter’s morning was already rising over the snow-white streets, and the ice-floes of the Moskawa River, when Simon Aron slipped quietly out of the block of flats which contained Valeria Petrovna’s apartment; but he left with the knowledge that Rex was held prisoner amid the desolate wastes of the Siberian snows, in the city of Tobolsk.

The Duke and Simon were walking in the great open courtyards that lie between the many buildings within the Kremlin walls.

It was the Duke’s quizzical sense of humour that had prompted him to choose this particular spot — the very heart and brain of Soviet Russia — in which to hold a conference, having for its end a conspiracy against the Soviet State.

When a tired but cheerful Simon had pushed a slip of paper across the breakfast table that morning, bearing the one word “Tobolsk”, he had only nodded and said: “Let us go and see the Kremlin this morning.”

“Tobolsk,” said the Duke as they strolled through the first courtyard, “is on the other side of the Ural mountains.”

“Yes,” Simon agreed, dismally. “Sounds an awfully long way away.”

“It is about thirteen hundred miles, that is to say, a little less than the distance from here to London.”

Simon groaned. “Somewhere in Siberia, isn’t it?”

“It is, my friend —” De Richleau smiled. “But Siberia is a large place — let us be thankful that poor Rex is not imprisoned at Tomsk, which is two thousand — or Irkutsk, which is three thousand — or Yakutsk, which is four thousand miles away! All of these are in Siberia!”

“Well, I’m glad about that!” Simon gave his jerky little laugh into the palm of his hand. “But how do we get there?”

De Richleau looked round carefully, to make sure that they could not be overheard. “I spent some little time,” he said, slowly, “before we left the hotel, examining the maps and time-tables that are provided. Tobolsk is unfortunately not on the main Trans-Siberian line — it lies about a hundred and twenty miles to the north of the railway; there is, I find, a local line from the little town of Tyumen, which is just on the border of Siberia and Russia proper, but the main-line trains do not halt there. There is another local line running back northwestward from Omsk, but that would mean going a further four hundred miles into Siberia to get to Omsk, and the loss of at least a day.”

“Seems a difficult place to get at!” Simon interjected.

“It is. I think that the best way would be by the Trans-Siberian to Sverdlovsk, or Ekaterinberg, as it used to be called, after the amorous Empress of that name! That is the last town of any importance in European Russia, and all the main-line trains stop there. From there we could take the Trans-Siberian branch-line which heads direct for Tobolsk, but which is not yet quite completed. It comes to an end at the west bank of the Tavda River, but , there is only a hundred miles between Tavda and Tobolsk, and it is almost certain that there will be a service of sleighs between the dead end of the railway and the town.”

“You — er — couldn’t find out definitely?”

“No, nothing at all about the unfinished branch from Sverdlovsk or the branch-line from Tyumen, and furthermore we must be very careful in our inquiries not to arouse suspicions that we have any idea of venturing outside the prescribed limits for tourists.”

“I — er — suppose —” Simon hesitated, “the American Embassy couldn’t do anything?”

The Duke laughed. “How can they, my dear fellow; their position today is the same as yesterday. If we had actual proof that Rex was at Tobolsk it would be a different matter, but to charge the Soviet with holding him there on the information given you by Valeria Petrovna would only provoke another denial. They would move him at once to another prison. The only way is to go there and find out the truth — the problem is how to get there. Personally I favour the plan of going to Sverdlovsk and then trusting to chance.”

“Wonder if they’ll let us?” said Simon, doubtfully. “I haven’t seen anything about it in the booklets that they issue.”

“That we must find out, but, in any case, they will not prevent me taking a ticket through to Vladivostok, and as all the trains stop at Sverdlovsk, I can drop off there. I think I should tell you, my friend, that it is not my intention that you should accompany me on this journey.”

“Oh! Why?” Simon’s eyes flickered towards his friend.

“There are a variety of reasons,” said De Richleau, quietly. “You are, I think, very happily engaged here, in Moscow — it would be a pity to curtail your visit. It was by your quick wit that we discovered Jack Straw, which, in turn, supplied us with the reason for Rex’s visit to Russia. It is you, again, who have discovered his whereabouts — whereas, so far, I have done nothing. It is my turn now. When I step off the train at Sverdlovsk, I shall, I think, be outside the law; it would be a great comfort to me to have you here in Moscow, safe and free, and able, if I do not return in a short time, to stir up the Embassies on my behalf. It would be sheer foolishness for both of us to run our heads into the noose.”

“Um — I agree,” said Simon quickly, “very silly. It’s a good thing that you know the people at the Embassies too — you’ll have much more pull than I should. Obviously, you stay here, and I go to Tobolsk!”

“But, my friend — do not be foolish!” De Richleau frowned.

“I’m not.” Simon gave his jerky little laugh. “Now I’ll tell you. I didn’t get that information about Rex for nothing. Valeria Petrovna got it from Leshkin, but he made her promise that I should be out of Moscow by tonight, so that settled it!”

“Indeed!” said the Duke, with surprise. “But, even so, I fear it does not solve our problem. How will you manage in Tobolsk? You can speak no Russian!”

“Um!” Simon was a little dashed. “That’s a bit awkward!”

“We will both go,” said the Duke, with decision, “and I will confess that I shall be more glad to have you with me.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I should simply hate to go alone.”

“That is settled then! Let us go to the head office of the Intourist. We will talk about a change of plans, and that we should like to go into Siberia. We will not talk of Tobolsk, but of Irkutsk — that is some fifteen hundred miles farther on; it is quite natural that we should wish to see it, as it is a wonderful city in the very heart of Siberia, near Lake Baikal, just north of the Mongolian Plain. It is there that all the political exiles used to make their homes before the Revolution. It was a centre of enlightenment and culture.