Dennis Wheatley - The Forbidden Territory

“I thought they were sent to the North,” said Simon. “To the Salt Mines and all sorts of terrible things.”

De Richleau shook his head. “Dear me, no, that is quite a mistaken idea; certain of the convicts — real felons and dangerous criminals — were, it is true, sent to the mines, but the politicals were only banished to the other side of the Urals, where they were free to trade and carry on their professions, moving from town to town, or settling in pleasant communities with similar aspirations to their own.”

When they arrived at the Bureau of the Intourist the Duke announced their plans. The lean, shrewd-eyed man who interviewed them was not particularly helpful. “Irkutsk? Yes, it was possible to go there — but there were many more interesting towns in Russia itself — Leningrad, now?”

“No,” the Duke truthfully replied. He had just come from Leningrad.

“Well then, Kiev, Odessa, Karkoff, Stalingrad?”

No, De Richleau and his friend thought of seeing all those wonderful places on their return — they had ample time — but above all things at present they desired to see Irkutsk!

Well, since they wished it, it could be done. The lean man proceeded to make out the tickets. Did they wish to leave tonight, Thursday, or on Sunday — or would they wait till Tuesday? The service ran thrice weekly. Tonight? Just as they wished. The train left the Smolenski Station at fifteen hours thirty, and the Saverinii at seventeen fifty-five. They would motor to the Saverinii? True it was a big difference; there was over an hour’s wait there, to take on mails, but they were advised to be there at least three-quarters of an hour before the time of departure — passports would have to be examined and luggage registered. He would have the tickets endorsed by the authorities and sent to their hotel.

“Do there happen to be any places of interest that we can see upon our way?” the Duke inquired in seeming innocence. “Do we go through Niji-Novgorod?”

The man shook his head. “No, you pass far to the north of Niji, going via Danilov, Bui, Viatka, Perm, Sverdlovsk, Omsk, Krasnoyarsk and Kansk.”

“What of Perm — that is a fine town, is it not?”

“Yes, you could break your journey there if you wish.”

“And Omsk — that again is a great town?”

“Yes, there also you could stop — but there is not much to see in these places.”

“And Tobolsk — do we stop at Tobolsk?”

“No, that is not on the Trans-Siberian line.”

“Ah, what a pity.” De Richleau’s face took on a rueful look. “Always, since I was a little boy, I have wanted to go to Tobolsk — it is, I think, the romance of the name. Is there no place at which we can change trains to go there? I should so greatly like to spend just one day in Tobolsk!”

The man looked away, impatiently. “It is impossible — a long, uncomfortable journey. Besides, it is a wild place — not fit for foreigners, and the Soviet Government considers itself responsible for all travellers who are its guests.”

“Dear me, how sad,” said the Duke, politely. “We will then go to Irkutsk and perhaps break our journey at Omsk and Perm on our way back.”

After they had left the Intourist Bureau, Simon asked, softly: “Why didn’t you take tickets to Sverlovsk or Ekaterinburg, or whatever it’s called — that’s really as far as we want to go!”

“Because, my friend, there would most certainly have been one of these eternal guides to meet us there if we had. Even if we had managed to evade his attentions the alarm would have been given at once. We arrive at Sverdloysk at 7.43 on Saturday morning. That is roughly a day-and-a-half’s journey — the train does not get to Irkutsk till midday on Tuesday — that is more than three days later. If we are fortunate the hue and cry will not begin until the guide who is detailed to meet us at Irkutsk finds that we are not on the train.”

“What about the officials on the train?” demanded Simon.

“True — that is a difficulty to be faced, but if we can overcome it we should gain three days’ grace, and much can be done in three days. But let us not talk here, we will go down to the bank of the river where there are fewer people.”

They walked for some time in silence, and when they reached the unfrequented embankment under the walls of the Kremlin, the Duke continued: “Now, we must make plans seriously. You realize of course that we shall have to leave the bulk of our baggage behind?”

Simon thought ruefully of his beautifully fitted dressing-case. “I suppose they’ll pinch that when they find out?”

“No.” The Duke’s eyes twinkled. “We can defeat them there. We shall take one suitcase each, and that only for show. The rest of our luggage we will deposit this afternoon at the Legation that you know of, then, if we get out of this wretched country, it can be returned to us through the diplomatic bag!”

“Well,” Simon grinned, much relieved, “I’m glad about that. I should have hated to see Leshkin with my dressing-case!”

“We shall have to get knapsacks,” the Duke continued, “to hold all that is essential, and abandon our suitcases when we leave the train.”

“Where do we get the knapsacks from?”

“There are several places in the Kitaigorod where we can get them — that is the old town, where the narrow streets are; many people think it is the Chinatown of Moscow because ‘Kitai’ is China in Russian, but actually it is an old Tartar word meaning Bastion — referring to the walls.”

“And then?”

The next thing is supplies. Luckily I brought certain things in case of such an emergency. We will buy some chocolate here, also some smoked ham and biscuits. Are you having a farewell luncheon with your lovely lady?”

“No, got all that over last night — thought it best.”

“And you were right,” the Duke agreed. Then, suddenly, but very low: “Hush! I think our wall-eyed friend is behind us again.”

Simon allowed a minute to elapse and then glanced round casually; sure enough, it was the same wizened little man. Today he was dressed in the slovenly uniform of a Red Guard, but they knew his face too well to mistake him. They quickened their pace, and in the turning and twisting of the narrow streets, succeeded in shaking him off before they reached the Kitaigorod.

By the time that they got back to the hotel they found that the tickets had been delivered, duly endorsed for Irkutsk. In the afternoon they packed and deposited their luggage with the ever-obliging Señor Rosas. Five o’clock found them standing on the Saverinii Station platform, two suitcases beside them — the principal contents of which were food and the knapsacks into which it was to be transferred at Sverdlovsk.

They found their compartment on the train without difficulty. Being of the “Direct Communication, 1st Category”, it contained two berths only and a private toilette, and, owing to the wide gauge of the Russian railways, when the berths were stowed away it made a large, comfortable coupé.

Punctually at seventeen hours fifty-five, the long train with its powerful engine began, almost imperceptibly, to move, and gradually gathering speed, started on its long, eleven-day journey to Vladivostok at the other end of Asia.

They settled themselves comfortably on the wide seats, and the Duke took out Norman Douglas’s South Wind , which he was reading for the fourth time. The sophisticated humour of the book never failed to amuse him. Simon gazed out into the swiftly moving darkness and thought a little wistfully of these last unforgettable days in Moscow, and the loveliness of the smiling eyes of Valeria Petrovna. He found difficulty in realizing that it was really Simon Aron who was even now speeding towards unknown adventures. His heart gave a little bump as he thought of what might lie before them — rescue, hardship by cold and hunger, flight for life, perhaps, and a little smile curved his lips as he found himself humming a tune. It was: “Malbrouck s’en vat en guerre!”