Siberian Red

side of his desk to the other and then back to its original place. ‘Do you remember Colonel Kolchak?’
    ‘Of course I remember him!’
    Stalin’s words threw Pekkala back to a dreary, rain-soaked night in March of 1917, just before the Tsar stepped down from power.

He was woken by the sound of horses
     
     
    He was woken by the sound of horses passing on the gravel road outside his bedroom window. During his years as Special Investigator for the Tsar, Pekkala had lived in a small cottage on the grounds of the Imperial estate, known as Tsarskoye Selo estate, on the outskirts of St Petersburg. Living near the old Pensioners’ Stables, Pekkala was used to the noise of horses moving by, but not at this time of night.
    Peering through the curtains, Pekkala glimpsed a shadowy procession of wagons, three in all, and each one weighed down by wooden boxes with rope handles, which resembled ammunition crates. He counted twenty-five boxes on each wagon.
    One of these wagons had split a wheel, dumping its cargo. Now soldiers milled about, stacking the heavy boxes at the side of the path. Others were busy trying to remove the wheel so they could rig it with a spare.
    Pekkala climbed from his bed, opened the door and stepped out into the dark.
    ‘There you are!’ said a voice. ‘Sorry to have woken you.’
    Pekkala turned to see a man wearing a close-tailored uniform and moving with the slightly bow-legged gait of a cavalry officer. His face was fierce and thin and dominated by a rigidly waxed moustache. Pekkala instantly recognised Colonel Kolchak, a man whose social standing in the ranks of Russian nobility, combined with an utter ruthlessness of character, had won him favour with the Tsar.
    Finding Kolchak here, amid all of these boxes, Pekkala suddenly realised what he was looking at. Now that the Revolution had begun, the Tsar’s gold was being evacuated to a place of safety. The task had been given to Colonel Kolchak who, in the company of fifty hand-picked men, would transport the treasure to Siberia.
    Kolchak’s orders‚ Pekkala knew‚ were to follow the route of the Trans-Siberian Railroad and link up with his uncle, Alexander Vassileyevich Kolchak, an admiral in the Tsar’s Pacific Fleet in Vladivostok‚ who would then take charge of the gold. The Admiral was forming an army of anti-Bolshevik forces. Rumours were circulating that he planned to declare independence for the whole of  Siberia.
    The order to begin transporting the gold should have been given weeks, if not months before, but Pekkala had seen for himself that, in spite of all the warning signs that the Revolution would soon overwhelm them, the Romanovs had chosen to believe such a thing was impossible. Now, Revolutionary Guards were in control of St Petersburg. It was only a matter of time before they advanced on Tsarskoye Selo.
    ‘Heading out?’ asked Kolchak, as he shook Pekkala’s hand.        
    ‘Soon,’ replied Pekkala. ‘All I have to do is pack my bag.’
    ‘Travelling light,’ remarked Kolchak. He was trying to sound jovial, but the anger at this delay penetrated his voice.
    ‘Not so for you,’ replied Pekkala, as he glanced at the wagons.
    ‘No indeed,’ sighed Kolchak. With a sharp command, he sent the two good wagons on ahead, remaining behind to oversee the repair of the third.
    Another hour passed before the broken wheel had finally been replaced. As two soldiers heaved the crates back on to the wagon, one of the rope handles broke. The box slipped from their hands, spilling its contents of gold ingots on to the ground.
    ‘Damn you!’ Kolchak shouted at the soldiers. Then he turned to Pekkala. ‘I am supposed to bring all this to the other side of the country. How can I possibly accomplish my task if these carts can’t even make it off the grounds of the Imperial estate?’
    ‘You have much work ahead of you,’ agreed Pekkala.
    ‘What you are witnessing,’  Kolchak said brusquely, ‘is final proof that the world we know is coming to an end. Men like us must now look to our own survival.’
    As the last wagon trundled away into the dark, Kolchak climbed back on to his horse. ‘We must learn to be patient,’ he told Pekkala. ‘One day we shall have our vengeance for what these bastards are about to do with everything we love. This fight isn’t over, Pekkala.’

‘And do you remember what became of the Kolchak Expedition?’
     
     
    ‘And do you remember what became of the Kolchak Expedition?’