David Oldman - Dusk at Dawn

‘The Foreign Service? Do you mean your Foreign Office ?’

‘No, Admiral.’

Kolchak’s puzzled frown gave way to a slight wrinkling of the nose as if an unpleasant smell had just wafted into the carriage.

‘You are a member of the British secret police?’

‘ Service , sir. Secret Service . And on attachment,’ he felt constrained to add to make clear that any contamination was only temporary.

‘I see. And what news do you bring of General Poole?’

‘Ah. Actually, none, sir. The general was still in Murmansk when I left Petrograd.’

‘Murmansk?’

‘Or Archangel. I wasn’t privy to his exact movements, sir.’

‘And the man you say is your cousin, M.I.Rostov?’

‘He had already left Petrograd before I arrived. I almost caught up with him in Kazan but just missed him again.’

‘Luck not running your way.’

‘No sir.’

‘And your letter from Professor Masaryk?’

‘The hope was that the Legion could be persuaded to move west and link with General Poole, forming a new eastern front.’

‘But Poole remained in Murmansk.’

‘Or Archangel, yes sir.’

‘And the Legion had already moved west, I believe. Although again, before your arrival.’

Paul’s mouth felt dry. It was warmer in the carriage than he was used to.

‘What service was it hoped you might be able to perform for me, Captain?’

‘The Russian treasury, sir. Should it have fallen into Czech hands, I was to inform them of the Allies’ wishes for it to be given into your care.’

‘I am flattered that the Allies place so much trust in a mere admiral,’ Kolchak said, smiling tightly at Ward without baring his teeth. ‘It seems, though, your arrival was a little too late on that score as well. It is presently in Omsk. In the safekeeping of the Directory.’

‘So I have been informed, sir. Would the Admiral happen to know if my cousin is in Omsk as well?’

‘M. I. Rostov?’

‘Yes sir, Mikhail Ivanovich.’

‘You say your cousin served in the Ministry of the Interior?’ Kolchak said. ‘The M. I. Rostov with whom I am acquainted held a post in the Finance Ministry. It was his late father, Ivan Nikolayevich, who served in the Interior Ministry.’ He turned to Ward. ‘I should check this man’s credentials if I were you, Colonel.’

‘You’re right, of course, Admiral,’ Paul said quickly, ‘in that my uncle Ivan served in the Interior Ministry. I was under the impression his son followed him into that service.’

‘And you are not aware that he is now a member of my staff?’

‘No, I wasn’t.’

‘Let us hope he can vouch for you.’

‘He’s here, in Ekaterinburg?’

‘No, he is presently in Omsk. With the Imperial Treasury.’

‘And his sister, Sofya Ivanovna Rostova? Would you know if she is with him?’

‘You are acquainted with Sofya Ivanovna?’

‘Certainly. I accompanied her out of Petrograd.’

‘Alone?’

‘I’m sorry, sir?’

‘When you left Petrograd. Were you and Sofya Rostova alone?’

‘No,’ Paul said. ‘We were with another man. Also British and of the Foreign Service. We took a train to Moscow and then Sviyázhsk. There we found a steamer that took us into Kazan, a few days before it fell.’

Kolchak turned to Ward. ‘It seems our Captain Rostov may indeed be who he says he is.’

‘And Sofya Ivanovna?’ Paul persisted. ‘Is she well?’

A suggestion of a smile formed on Kolchak’s bloodless lips.

‘Miss Rostova is in good health. A charming girl and glad to be reunited with her brother.’ He cocked his head slightly. ‘You are wearing a Czech uniform. How is that?’

‘I’ve been serving with the Legion while waiting— until,’ he amended, ‘I was able to contact the Admiral. Since my orders were to ensure that the treasury held in Kazan was handed over to you by the Legion, I presented myself to Colonel Čeček. When Kazan fell—’

‘And just how did you mean to achieve that?’ Kolchak interrupted.

‘I’m sorry? Achieve what, sir?’

‘How were you to ensure that the treasury was handed over to me? Did you have a regiment or two at your disposal, perhaps?’

‘No sir, of course not. I had a letter from Professor Masaryk.’

Kolchak looked around the carriage in feigned amazement. He gestured for Paul to sit in the chair opposite. Ward remained on his feet.

‘These Czechs,’ Kolchak said, looking at his empty glass, ‘do they always do what Masaryk asks or do they merely pick and chose the orders that suit them?’

Paul wasn’t sure if an answer was required. It had certainly been a question although one phrased more like an observation.

Ward relieved him of having to make a decision.

‘You’ve been serving with them, Ross. We’ve just been treating them like heroes this afternoon. But what is your opinion of the Legion? Your honest opinion.’

Paul needed no time to consider.

‘They’re a fine body of men. Disciplined and well-armed… at least for the most part. They lack heavy artillery, of course.’

‘But no match for Trotsky’s Russians, it seems,’ said Kolchak.

Paul found the comment unfair. ‘They’re heavily outnumbered now, Admiral. And it has to be said that the Red Army is made up of a good many Latvians. Former German and Austrian POWs as well.’

Kolchak raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you insinuating that a rabble consisting of Latvians and POWs are better fighting men than Russians?’

‘No, sir, of course not. I was just accounting for the discrepancy in numbers.’

He might have added that the ‘rabble’, as well as pushing back the Legion, had also forced the People’s Army raised by Komuch into retreat, the bulk of whom had been made up of Russians. Russians, it could also be said, who kept deserting. And he couldn’t recall that there had been a preponderance of former Russian officers serving at the front in that army either. In fact, it hadn’t been until he had got to Ekaterinburg, well to the rear of any fighting, that he had encountered many of the old tsarist officer at all. He doubted, though, that Kolchak would want to hear any of that so was disinclined to add anything further.

‘Their leader,’ Ward said, ‘Syrový. He seems of the opinion that they have been exposed to Bolshevik propaganda.’

‘Your father was a liberal, as I recall, Rostov,’ Kolchak put in as if there had been a connection. ‘Do you share his politics?’

It wasn’t quite the remark he might have expected concerning his father and had come somewhat late. Nor, he thought, was it meant to be complimentary.

The drinks’ steward returned although Paul wasn’t offered a glass. Ward and the admiral accepted refills, apparently not finding Paul’s empty hands an anomaly.

‘I’m an army officer, Admiral,’ Paul said with a little more asperity than he intended. ‘I don’t concern myself with politics.’

It was meant to sound like the disclaimer of a professional soldier; instead it sounded more like a personal criticism of Ward and Kolchak, both obviously mired to their necks in politics.

‘I understand,’ he went on quickly in an attempt to cover his embarrassment, ‘that much of the Russian army on the eastern front was politicised by Bolshevik propaganda. The Czechs must have been exposed to it, too. Some did join the Bolsheviks, it’s true, but I think it’s the case that many more are Social-Revolutionaries.’ He tried an empathetic smile. ‘Given what they’ve suffered under Austria-Hungary, it’s hardly surprising.’

Paul saw immediately from Kolchak’s expression that he didn’t empathise.

‘It is my opinion, Rostov,’ the admiral said, ‘and one which General Knox shares, that the Social-Revolutionary party is the principal evil responsible for bringing about the present crisis in Russia. Syrový shares our conviction. He has taken steps to suppress all political agitation within the Czech Legion.’