Kate Furnivall - The Concubine's Secret

‘Maybe this is a test of our loyalty,’ another shouted.

Others joined in.

‘Let’s leave. This is our chance.’

‘No, we’ve been promised our freedom.’

‘We can stay here and go on working for them or we can escape. Decide quickly.’

What would Jens do? Would he cling to his monster?

Where was he? The white mane had vanished. Where? Alexei started to stride towards the group, who reacted with shock at the sight of his uniform, but just then an engine roared into life. The rear car, the one with the dead soldier in its passenger seat and its door hanging open, lurched violently off the dirt road and veered into the black world beneath the trees. It was travelling at speed and its headlamps carved a dangerous zigzag path between the looming trunks. There was a nerve-scraping screech of metal as the door was ripped off its hinges.

‘Jens!’ Alexei bellowed.

A slight figure came hurtling out of the darkness. It was Lydia, running on to the road just in time to see the NAMI-1 charge back out of the forest on the far side of the fallen pine. For a moment its wheels scrabbled and spun on the dirt as it struggled to regain the road, its engine threatening to stall, then it was off at full throttle towards the hangar complex.

‘Jens!’ Alexei roared again.

Lydia looked from her brother to the car disappearing into the night and the expression on her face froze into one of despair.

‘Papa!’ she screamed. ‘Papa!’

‘He’s gone. He drove off. I didn’t even see him, he was so eager to get back to his monster.’

They were deep among the trees and Chang couldn’t make out her face in the pitch dark, but he could hear her voice. That was enough. He drew her to him, held her close and kissed her cold cheek.

‘That’s why we’re here, my love. In case anything went wrong with your brother’s plan.’

Her head jerked back to look at him, but her face was no more than a pale blur with black holes for eyes. It looked unnervingly like a skull and sent a cold finger of dread down his spine, so that he swore fiercely at his gods under his breath. Don’t let it be an omen.

‘We go after him?’ she asked. Her voice had changed. It was Lydia ’s again.

‘If that’s what you wish.’

For an answer she kissed him full on the lips.

Out of the undergrowth a lumbering black form rose noisily to its feet, smelling no better than a bear, and growled, ‘So what are we waiting for?’

It was Popkov.

The steering wheel kicked and bucked in Jens’ hands. He knew he was driving too fast over the rough road. Something could break. He wasn’t used to cars. Years ago in St Petersburg he’d owned a glorious gleaming Buick and twice in twelve years he’d been called on to drive a truck in the timber yards. But this army car handled like an ill-behaved dog, pulling hard one moment, unresponsive the next. So he just jammed the pedal to the metal floor and kept it there.

He had to get there fast before those hard-faced rescuers took it into their heads to come after him. He should be grateful to them, he knew he should, but he wasn’t. Dear God, those people had risked their lives! Good Russian men had died. Oh my dearest Lydia, why weren’t you there? I looked for you. As he ploughed through the forest he wondered what the other scientists and engineers would do now? Escape? Olga would, Jens was certain of that. But not Elkin. Maybe those who realised the alternative was-

A branch loomed out of the darkness and smashed against the windscreen, cracking one side of it. He was skidding all over the road, but he kept his foot down and raced towards the yellow glow that was forming in the distance. An imitation sun. Jens grimaced. Such an illusion, as if the Soviet machine heralded a new dawn.

‘Dokumenti? Identity papers?’

The soldier had come out of his sentry booth beside the gate, his rifle pointing straight at Jens’ head.

‘I am one of the engineers who work here. I have no papers. Listen to me, the truck bringing us here was attacked in the forest.’ Jens revved the engine impatiently. ‘Open the gates. Bistro. Quickly.’

The soldier stepped back into his booth and spoke for half a minute into a telephone. Immediately the gates jerked open and Jens drove in. For one terrible half minute he’d believed they would refuse him entry, but no, he was in. He studied the compound with different eyes this time, aware of the slow sweep of the searchlights as they probed the early morning darkness, the uniformed figures rushing round like chickens as word spread of the attack.

He was dragged into a stark room he’d never been in before, interrogated by an officer whose mouth remained in a severe line but whose blue eyes sparkled at the prospect of action. He dismissed Jens with a wave of the hand when he’d extracted all he could and abruptly Jens found himself outside in the compound, at the centre of a hubbub of shouts and orders, soldiers running, while the piercing wail of an alarm siren split the early morning air like a cleaver.

The rest was easy.

‘I’ll start work anyway,’ he said to his escort.

‘Is that what you were ordered to do?’

‘Yes.’

He strode off towards the large hangar. The soldier didn’t know what else to do with the lone prisoner, so he was relieved to have the decision made for him. Outside the small door at the side patrolled the two men in black who normally hovered like unwanted shadows, inspecting the prisoners’ every action with narrow-eyed interest. But today they waved him inside without following. Their spectacles glittered as the searchlight struck them and Jens saw them smile for the first time. Not at him but at the frantic commotion of their comrades.

Jens knew he had to move quickly. The biplanes first. He ran the length of the vast space, refusing to look up at the beautiful silver creature that floated above his head, and hurried through the doors to the smaller hangar attached at the rear. It was bitterly cold inside, like walking into an ice-room, the electric lights dim and gloomy because some of the bulbs had cracked overnight. It was always happening. He studied the two wood and canvas biplanes with affection and stroked a hand along one of the lower wings. Its skin felt almost human under his fingers.

‘You’ll soon warm up,’ he said and heard the sadness in his voice.

He hesitated. For a second his decision wavered. He could turn back now, it wasn’t too late.

‘ Lydia, would you think worse of me if I did?’ he murmured. ‘You know from my letter what I’ve done and yet still you came today.’

Suddenly, without warning, the generosity of her love overwhelmed him and for the first time in more years than he could remember tears welled in his eyes. He felt a rawness in his throat. A tightness in his chest. No, no turning back. Better this way . He couldn’t let the men of Surkov camp die. From his pockets he drew two sleeves which he’d torn from his spare shirt. He walked over to a green metal drum of aviation fuel in the corner of the hangar, unscrewed the cap and dipped one half of each sleeve into the liquid inside. The fumes made his head ache. Or was that the sorrow?

It took no more than five seconds to finish the job. He pulled out his cigarette lighter and flicked up a flame, touching it to one sleeve and then the other. When they were burning like torches he threw one into each of the planes’ open cockpits and instantly they crackled. Flames licked up the seats like greedy tongues.

He stood there for only a couple of seconds, watching his gleaming hopes burn. Then he headed for the airship.

‘Are you coming, Alexei?’

‘No, Igor. You go. I’ll tidy up here.’

‘Tidy up?’ Igor looked round at the carnage on the forest floor. ‘Leave the bastards for the wolves.’