Kate Furnivall - The Concubine's Secret

‘Not very welcoming,’ Lydia whispered in Alexei’s ear.

He grimaced. ‘It’s not meant to be.’

‘So how do we get in?’

‘We don’t.’

‘I thought we were here to observe the complex they’ve built. That’s what you said.’

‘That’s right.’

‘But the wall hides it all from view. I can’t see anything.’

He leaned back against one of the pine trunks, merging his silhouette with its rough bark. ‘You will,’ he promised.

‘Time to go, Lydia.’

Alexei looked up. His sister was still peering intently through Zeiss binoculars high up in one of the pine trees, a good fifteen metres off the ground. She looked small up there in the shadows of the canopy, and he could tell by the concentration on her face how much she wanted to stay.

‘ Lydia,’ he said quietly, aware of how sound carried in the heavy damp air.

She removed the binoculars with reluctance. ‘Bring me down.’

Igor played out the rope and dropped her down from her perch so fast that Alexei was surprised her legs didn’t break as she hit the ground. She handed the binoculars back to Igor.

‘ Spasibo ,’ was all she said.

She’d been surprised by Igor. By the way he’d looped a strap of leather between his ankles and around one of the narrow trees that was set back from the forest’s edge. Using the foot strap and another one between his wrists, he shinned up the trunk as fast as a polecat, his plump stocky legs pumping away with unexpected strength. Lydia had watched, mouth open, astonished. Alexei had smiled. He’d seen it before in the streets of Moscow at night. That’s how Igor scaled the drainpipes of apartment houses. Once up in the canopy he’d hooked a rope from his backpack over a branch and rigged up a sling on a simple pulley. So now Lydia had seen over the wall, exactly as Alexei had promised.

‘It’s a hangar,’ she said, keeping her voice low.

‘A massive one.’

‘What’s in it?’ Her eyes were huge, shining with the excitement he’d expected to find earlier. This was more like Lydia. ‘And what do you think all the sheds are for?’

‘The sheds are for storage of equipment. We’ve watched them haul machinery on trolleys over to the hangar.’

‘There are some big containers outside it. What are they?’

‘They look like petrol tanks to me. And the brick shed over to the right is the guard house.’

She nodded, her hat tumbling off. She jammed it back on. ‘I spotted that, the soldiers coming and going in and out of it. Dogs as well.’

‘It’s an interesting complex they’ve constructed here. A vast expanse of open space sliced out of a forest and walled in for secrecy. What the hell are they up to in there?’

‘A new kind of aeroplane?’

‘Maybe. But Jens is not-’

Her fingers gripped his wrist so hard they seemed to drill into the nerves, but he barely noticed. Her face was as white as the mist that draped itself over her shoulders.

‘I saw him,’ she whispered.

‘What?’

‘I saw Papa.’

‘No, Lydia, Jens would be inside working. They wouldn’t be allowed to wander around at will. And anyway,’ he gave a small snort of impatience, ‘you’d be unlikely to recognise him after all these years.’

‘I tell you I saw him.’

‘Where?’

‘Through the binoculars. He was sitting on a bench beside the big hangar.’

‘You’re imagining things.’

‘It was him. I know it was.’

Alexei left it there. Why argue the point? If she wanted so badly to believe she’d seen her father, then let her believe it.

‘Come on,’ he said in a brisk voice and removed his wrist from her grasp, ‘let’s get moving. Igor has finished packing away the rope.’

The wind was picking up, snatching at the branches, stealing through the mist. As they set off in single file once more, keeping close, Lydia cast one last glance back at the perimeter wall and whispered, ‘He had a woman sitting next to him, Alexei. Her hand was in his.’

They almost stumbled over the bodies.

‘Alexei!’

Lydia had seized the back of his coat with a force that almost choked him. As he swung round he was astonished to see a knife in her hand. Where the hell had that come from?

She’d stepped on an arm.

‘Down!’ he breathed.

He yanked her into a crouch at the base of a tree. Igor had flattened to the ground. The lack of undergrowth in the pine forest made movement easier but was no damn use when you needed cover. He held her down and under his palm on her back he could feel her heart racing. He waited ten minutes, gun in hand. Then another ten. No sign of any movement, no flicker of branches or flutter of birds. No sound, just a raw silence. They didn’t speak, not even a whisper, but Alexei made hand signals to Igor, then crawled away on his belly and elbows.

He found tracks, a number of them. And he found bodies, four, all in Red Army uniforms. Covered in blood. As though someone had hurled wet paint at them. He scoured the area, weaving between trunks, studying the high branches, but could spot no one. No one alive, that was; no one whose breath shuddered white trails into the mist. When he returned to Lydia she hadn’t moved a muscle, as if the icy air had frozen and trapped her there. But as soon as he nodded, she sprang to her feet in a low crouch.

‘Look,’ she whispered.

Her gaze was fixed on one of the dead soldiers. He was young and slumped in a sitting position against a pine, legs stiff in front of him, his eyes wide open and staring directly at her. Glassy, useless, sky-blue eyes. His throat had been cut from ear to ear like an extra-wide smile under his chin, and his life had spilled out over his army greatcoat by mistake – except this had been no mistake.

‘There are others,’ Alexei murmured and held up four fingers.

She slid a hand across the white skin of her own throat and raised an eyebrow. He nodded. All with smiles under their chins. He saw her flinch and feared she would freeze, her body go rigid. He’d seen it happen. Shock did strange things to a person. He was prepared to throw her over his shoulder if necessary, but when he started to move off she tucked in behind him like a shadow. Once again Igor brought up the rear, small eyes darting from tree to tree.

It was only when they reached the army truck that Lydia asked quietly, ‘Who did it? Who killed them?’

Alexei was certain he knew but something in him was reluctant to tell his sister.

‘Alexei,’ she insisted.

‘It’ll be Maksim. Watching our backs. That’s what a good pakhan does for his men.’

‘But you said the army patrols worked in pairs. And that they weren’t thorough in checking the forest. So why were there four soldiers?’

Alexei stamped the snow off his boots and swung up into the truck. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ he scowled.

‘Not to me.’

‘We were betrayed.’

‘Betrayed? But who knew we were coming here today?’

‘Only us.’

The old black bone-shaker was still there on the track. Relief hit Alexei like a slap in the face and until then he hadn’t realised that a part of him had been doubting Maksim Voshchinsky. Fearing that he’d gone. But why would he do that when he’d just proved himself ruthless and thorough in protecting their backs? Alexei and Lydia resumed their earlier positions on the back seat and Alexei greeted Maksim with a grateful bear hug. The older man smelled of brandy but his skin felt brittle and cold, as though he’d been out in the wind.

‘Good to see you safe, my son,’ Maksim smiled.

‘Thank you, father.’

Lydia reached across Alexei and picked up one of Maksim’s hands. She removed the glove and lifted it to her lips, pressing a kiss on its veined flesh.