Kate Furnivall - The Concubine's Secret

He must have shivered because Olga took his hand. Her body next to his seemed so slight, she felt more like a shadow than a person, and at times in the darkness of the truck he even wondered whether he was imagining her. The way he imagined designs in his head. He squeezed her fingers to convince himself she was real, or was it to convince himself that he was real? Sometimes he wasn’t sure.

But Colonel Tursenov had made it clear that the test would be real enough. It was to be carried out with a full load of phosgene in its tanks, the gas sprayed over the prison camp so that they could study what number of people it would affect. Affect? No. What number of people it would kill . And Babitsky had warned that other specialists would take over from Jens’ team when the first test-run was completed, so what then? More tests over more camps? Where did it end?

The truck jolted and somewhere in the dark a head or an elbow cracked against the metal side. Prisoner Elkin swore. Today would be hard.

Alexei slid out of the hollow he’d scraped in the soil and moved closer to the road. Around him others did the same, invisible ripples in the night air. When the yellow headlights drew near any movement would be spotted, so the vory had to be in position and as still as the tree trunks themselves.

The vehicles were approaching, he could hear them now, their engines harsh in the silent forest, three pairs of headlamps cutting tunnels through the darkness. Not what he’d expected. Usually it was just one car in the lead, followed by the truck, but this was a convoy with the truck at its centre, a support car in front and another behind. Four soldiers in each of the cars, two in the cab of the truck. Ten men in all. Obviously the Colonel had tightened security but not by much. Who in their right mind would want to ambush a truck full of engineers and scientists?

The tree trunk was in place. A thin pine skewed across the road as if blown down by the previous night’s wind and it brought the lead car to a juddering halt. In the headlamps Alexei could see it was a two-door NAMI-1 with a canvas top, and that behind it the truck and the second NAMI bunched up tight, as though seeking safety in numbers. The passenger door of the first car burst open and a tall soldier, with the lights from the truck bouncing off his bald head, descended on to the forest floor.

‘Shit! A tree down.’

‘Shift it,’ the driver called out.

‘Fuck you, I’m not shifting that on my own, it’s too heavy. Get out here, you lazy scum.’

Two soldiers wrapped in thick greatcoats clambered out from the back, rifles slung carelessly over their shoulders. The driver climbed down reluctantly but he was much more cautious. He remained tight against the car, his rifle ready in his hands, eyes scanning the forest, trying to probe the shadows beyond the headlamps. He was the danger. Alexei took aim with his Mauser revolver, exhaled slowly to lower his heart rate and tightened his finger on the trigger. First he saw the eruption of blood from the man’s throat, then the noise hit him, raw and violent in the silence of the forest.

A spray of bullets rained out of the darkness before the other three soldiers had time to raise their rifles. They jerked like puppets, heads arching back as they were hit, bodies crumpled to the ground. Those in the rear car were better prepared and came out with rifles blazing. A hail of bullets roared into the trees, tearing off branches, ricocheting off trunks, mutilating the forest. One ripped past Alexei’s shoulder as he sheltered behind a pine, almost snagging his army uniform, but one of the vory further down the line let out a guttural grunt. Not so lucky.

Alexei crouched low, moving forward at a run. He blasted out the truck’s headlights. One of the soldiers was climbing back into the rear car and Alexei fired at point blank range. A huge crimson flower blossomed on the back of the soldier’s greatcoat and he slumped into the passenger seat, clawing to shut the door to protect himself. A bullet from somewhere close took his eye out and he stopped moving.

‘Let me go.’

‘No, Lydia. No.’

‘I must see what is-’

‘No.’

Chang would not release her. His grip on her was too strong. They were hunched behind a tree far back from the road and she could smell the tang of its bark above her own fear, but the gunfire and the shouts in the darkness were unbearable for her. She needed to be there.

‘Please, Chang An Lo, let me-’

He clamped a hand over her mouth, listening hard to the sounds from the road. ‘The guns are growing fewer.’

That’s when she bit him.

Jens felt panic like something solid inside the truck. It writhed in the blackness and threatened to choke him. People were screaming in here, raging. They hammered on the metal doors, begged to be let out. The noise of the guns outside was loud enough to deafen, reverberating as bullet after bullet thudded into the side of the truck. One hit a tyre and they felt it lurch as though drunk. Out in the forest, lives were ending. Explosions of glass and shrieks of pain, death trampling over hearts and lungs.

Jens sat on the bench, his face clutched in his hands, and tried to think – but the darkness, the noise and the panic, they knotted the coils of his brain. Don’t do this, Lydia. Don’t. Not today of all days, my daughter. This day was to be my redemption.

We are coming for you. That’s what she’d said in her letter.

Suddenly Olga was beside him and she lifted his face, kissed his closed eyes. ‘This is goodbye,’ she whispered.

He knew she was right. ‘I hope you find your daughter again, Olga.’ He kissed her cheek.

Elkin was bellowing at the doors when suddenly the guns ceased and there was a collective intake of breath, all ears straining, all pulses racing.

‘Get out here,’ someone yelled outside and the truck’s rear doors were thrown open.

Alexei stood at the edge of the trees, something in him unwilling to approach. The dirt road was littered with nine bodies, plus one sprawled in the second NAMI-1, but he kept a watch on the forest as though not trusting it to remain silent. He had chosen this spot for the ambush because it was too far from the hangar complex for gunfire to be heard, but still he hung back. He was uncertain about approaching Jens and for the first time wished Lydia were there.

The prisoners inside the truck were tumbling out, blinking hard in the rear car’s headlights and clutching each other as if they feared they would be snatched away. Some were crying, one was shouting abuse at their rescuers. The vory had no interest in them but prodded them into a group the way someone would herd diseased cattle in an abattoir. Alexei spotted Jens Friis easily. He was taller than the rest and stood apart, ignoring the men in black who had stopped the convoy, scanning the darkness, searching the cars, the road and the dense mass of trees for something. Or someone.

Lydia. Jens wanted Lydia.

His appearance came as a shock to Alexei. The red hair was gone and in its place was a thick white mane. Even though Lydia had told him about it it still jarred, and his face was gaunt and weathered, his jaw-line set hard. Only the way he carried himself was the same. That, and the mouth. Whatever else had died in Jens Friis, the gentle lines of his mouth had survived and tempted Alexei to rush over and embrace him. But he recalled the coolness of the letter.

‘Thank you, spasibo. ’ One thin woman kissed Igor’s hand and set off on her own down the road, away from the hangars.

‘Don’t be damn stupid,’ a short man shouted after her.

‘They’ll hunt you down and shoot you.’ He swung round angrily to the rest of the group. ‘We’ll all pay for this if she leaves.’