Siberian Red

‘What caused the delay in your plan?’ he asked.
    ‘After Ryabov’s body was found,’ Kolchak replied, ‘the camp was locked down. Guards were doubled. Curfews were put in place. And then, when I learned you had returned to Borodok, I did not dare to make a move until I knew why you were here. Now the time has finally come for us to break out of this place.’
    ‘Break out ? I am still trying to understand how you broke in !’
    ‘The Ostyaks arranged it. They have agreed to help us get across the border into China.’
    ‘But the Ostyaks have never helped convicts before.’
    ‘That is because no prisoner has ever been able to offer them a decent bribe, something better than the bags of salt and army bread paid out by the Camp Commandant for delivering the bodies of those who attempted escape.’
    ‘What did you offer?’
    ‘A share of the gold,’ Kolchak answered. ‘Which we will pick up from its hiding place on our way to the border. Of course, before any of this could happen, they first had to get me inside the camp, so that I could organise the breakout of however many men remained from the expedition. I had no idea there were so few. I wish I could have come sooner, but it took me many years to find out where the men were being held and longer still to lay out the plans for escape. I am glad their days of suffering at Borodok will soon be at an end, along with yours.’
    ‘How did you manage to get inside the camp?’
    ‘The only time the Ostyaks come to Borodok is to deliver the dead to Klenovkin’s door and to pick up their payment for each body. They had noticed that the men who took away the corpses all had tattoos of a pine tree on their hands, just as I have on mine. Since that is the symbol we chose for our journey to Siberia, I knew those men must be survivors of the expedition. Just before you arrived at the camp, a group of men had tried to escape. Before long, like all the others, they had perished in the forest. When the Ostyaks found some of the corpses, they brought them to the camp and unloaded them at the feet of the Comitati, who were waiting to take them away. Except one of those bodies was still breathing.’ Kolchak tapped a finger against his chest. ‘As soon as Tarnowski and the others realised what was happening, they carried me out of sight to the generator shed, where the bodies of the dead are stored. That night, after dark, they brought me to the safety of this mine. I have been here ever since, waiting for the right moment to escape.’
    ‘But how will the Ostyaks know when you are ready?’
    ‘They have been watching this camp from the forest. That fire in the generator shed yesterday morning was the signal that we are ready to go.’
    ‘I was sure you had been killed,’ said Pekkala. ‘When I learned that you might be still alive, I thought I must be dreaming.’
    ‘Survival has been difficult for both of us,’ replied Kolchak, ‘and we are not yet out of danger. We have much to discuss, old friend, but it will have to wait until we’re safe.’
    ‘And how long will that be?’
    ‘We leave tomorrow at first light. When the moment arrives, you will know, but you will have to move quickly in order not to be left behind. If you are delayed, we can’t afford to wait for you.’
    As the shock of seeing Kolchak began to wear off, Pekkala’s thoughts turned back towards the gold. Stalin must have known all along about the missing Imperial Reserves, he told himself. That’s why he sent me here. He knew that my acquaintance with Kolchak from before the Revolution would lure the Colonel out into the open. Once Kolchak had been found, the gold would not be far away. Ryabov was not the pawn in this game, thought Pekkala. I was.
    Bile spilled into the back of his throat as he realised he had been played by Stalin, just as the Tsar had used him, and both times because of this gold.
    Pekkala suddenly remembered a conversation he’d had with Rasputin many years before. He sometimes had difficulty in deciphering the musings of the Siberian holy man and even when Rasputin did manage to make himself understood, Pekkala often found it hard to take him seriously. But this time Pekkala wished he had listened more closely.

It was evening.
     
     
    It was evening.
    He was walking along a tree-lined boulevard on the outskirts of St Petersburg. Heat from that summer day still lingered in the air.
    Following the odour of frying garlic, Pekkala made his way to a club known as