Siberian Red

get exactly what they’re looking for and who will one day swear they’ve never met me.’
    ‘Then what is it, Rasputin?’
    ‘What this twisted brain of mine can no longer do without’ , Rasputin tapped a finger against his forehead, ‘is to stand at the edge of the abyss, not knowing which way I will fall.’
    Six months later, the St Petersburg police pulled Rasputin’s body from the freezing waters of the Neva River. At the spot where he had touched his forehead on that night Pekkala came to see him, Rasputin’s murderers had put a bullet through his skull.
     

There was a scuffling in the tunnel outside
     
     

    There was a scuffling in the tunnel outside, followed by a shout and a strange crunching sound, like someone biting into an apple.
    Kolchak moved over to the entrance, the knife still in his hand. ‘Lavrenov, what’s happening?’
    ‘I found someone prowling around.’
    Kolchak and Pekkala stepped into the tunnel.
    In the middle of the narrow passageway, a man lay on his back, nailed to the earth by Lavrenov’s pickaxe. The man was still alive, spluttering as he struggled for breath. Blood leaked from the corners of his mouth.
    ‘He must have followed us,’ said Lavrenov.
    Kolchak fetched the lantern from the cave.
    Pekkala stifled a gasp as the light touched the dying man’s face.
    It was Savushkin, his bodyguard. Helplessly, the man stared at Pekkala.
    Knowing there was nothing he could do‚ Pekkala struggled to contain his emotions as he watched Savushkin’s last breath trail out.
    ‘Bury him,’ ordered Kolchak.
    ‘Yes, Colonel.’ Lavrenov set his foot against Savushkin’s chest, and wrenched out the pickaxe blade.
    Kolchak turned to Pekkala. ‘Go now,’ he said gently, ‘before anyone notices you’ve been gone. And do not worry, my friend. It is all in motion now.’
    *
     
    ‘Kornfeld says the target has been liquidated.’
    Without looking up from his paperwork, Stalin grunted in acknowledgement.
    ‘There is something else, Comrade Stalin – a new development at Borodok.’
    The paper shuffling came to an abrupt halt.
    ‘Another telegram has arrived,’ continued Poskrebyshev.
    ‘From Kirov or Pekkala?’
    ‘Neither. It’s from the Camp Commandant, Klenovkin, and addressed to you, Comrade Stalin.’ Poskrebyshev handed over the message.
    BEG TO REPORT INSPECTOR PEKKALA OVERHEARD DENOUNCING COMMUNIST PARTY AND MAKING THREATS AGAINST COMRADE STALIN STOP BELIEVE PEKKALA PLANNING UPRISING IN CAMP STOP HAS FALSELY ACCUSED ME OF INVOLVEMENT IN CRIME STOP LONG LIVE THE PARTY STOP LONG LIVE COMRADE STALIN STOP KLENOVKIN COMMANDANT BORODOK
    Stalin sat back heavily in his chair. ‘Denouncing me? An uprising?’
    ‘Has this been confirmed?’ asked Poskrebyshev.
    ‘There is no time to waste on confirmations,’ barked Stalin. ‘The prisoners will flock to him. The uprising could spread to other camps. If Pekkala isn’t stopped‚ this could turn into a national emergency.’ He sat forward, wrote something on a pad of yellow notepaper and handed the note to Poskrebyshev. ‘Send this to Klenovkin. Tell him to carry out the order and to report back to me immediately afterwards.’
    Poskrebyshev blinked in surprise when he saw what Stalin had written. ‘Do you not wish to verify the Camp Commandant’s message before such drastic action is taken?’
    ‘What reason could this man Klenovkin have for sending me a pack of lies?’ demanded Stalin.
    ‘And what could Pekkala possibly have to gain by turning on you now?’
    ‘More than you know! More than you could possibly realise!’ With wild eyes, Stalin glared at Poskrebyshev. ‘Now send the message and, another time, when I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.’
    Poskrebyshev lowered his head in surrender, as if it was his own doom, and not Pekkala’s, which had just been sealed. ‘Yes, Comrade Stalin,’ he whispered.
    When Poskrebyshev had gone, Stalin walked to the window. He lit himself a cigarette and looked out over the city. As smoke flooded into his lungs, smoothing out the ragged edges of his mind, the memory of Pekkala was already fading from his thoughts.
    *
     
    Ever since sending the telegram, detailing Pekkala’s non- existent threats against Stalin, Klenovkin had been poised over the telegraph, waiting for a reply. He waited for so long that he had dozed off. When the device finally sprang to life, the Commandant was so startled that he backed away from it as if a growling dog had crept into the