Siberian Red

spell out the word, ‘ Orlik ’.
    Gramotin swore he must be dreaming, but the shaking of the ground beneath his feet proved otherwise. ‘No,’ he mumbled. ‘Not you. Not again!’ He could almost hear the terrible, clanking rattle of the Czech machine guns as they strafed the foxholes where he lay with his platoon. He flinched as he recalled the whip-crack sound of bullets passing just above his head. He smelled pine sap from the gashed trees, mixing with the burnt-hair reek of cordite from the guns. He pressed his hands against his ears, trying to block out the terrible noise of bullets striking bodies, like that of a cleaver hacking into meat. Gramotin closed his eyes as tightly as he could, in a last, desperate attempt to banish these visions from his skull, but when he looked again, the train was even closer than before.
    Convinced that his nightmares had finally sprung to life, the sergeant turned and fled.
    *
     
    ‘Go!’ said Pekkala. ‘There isn’t much time.’
    Lavrenov did not hesitate. Snatching up a gold bar in each hand, he vanished into the forest.
    But Tarnowski had not moved.
    ‘You must leave now!’ urged Pekkala.
    ‘I saw what happened,’ said Tarnowski, ‘out there on the pond. Kolchak was going to kill you.’
    Pekkala nodded. ‘If it hadn’t been for that gunman on the cliff . . .’
    ‘That gunman didn’t shoot the Colonel. I did.’
    The revelation stunned Pekkala. ‘But why?’ he demanded.
    ‘I heard what he was planning to do,’ explained Tarnowski. ‘I don’t care if Kolchak wanted a fight with Stalin. Unlike you and Captain Ryabov, I have no love for Russia or mankind. This whole country can go up in flames as far as I’m concerned.’
    ‘Then why did you ever become a soldier?’
    ‘Because I was good at it! War was my job, just as police work was yours, and I expected to be paid for doing it. I am owed, Pekkala, not only for the Expedition but for every day I spent at Borodok, especially since we should never have been there! If the Colonel hadn’t insisted on bringing an entire wagonload of treasure with us when we departed from the city of Kazan, instead of leaving all three wagons behind as we should have done, we could have outrun the Bolsheviks. At least we would have saved ourselves. Instead, I ended up in Borodok, along with the rest of Kolchak’s men. My share of the gold is fair wages for spending half my life in that hellhole. And I’ll be damned if Kolchak was going to spend it on another war.’
    ‘Then take what you can and go now!’ pleaded Pekkala.
    Tarnowski nodded once. ‘Very well, Inspector, and thank you. Perhaps, one day, I’ll see you on the other side.’
    Without another word, Pekkala turned and set out across the frozen pond toward the tracks. Behind him, hidden in the canopy of pines, he heard the dull ring of gold bars knocking together. After that came silence.
    The train had stopped beside the cliff. The locomotive stamped and snorted, like a bull getting ready to charge. Then it belched out a cloud of steam as the driver released pressure from the engine.
    Twenty paces away, Pekkala stood on the tracks, waiting to see what they’d do.
    Now a man emerged from the haze. He was tall and thin, with a particular loping stride.
    Only when the Major stood right in front of him did Pekkala believe his eyes. ‘Kirov!’ he shouted.
    ‘Inspector,’ said Kirov, trying to hide his astonishment at the sight of Pekkala’s filthy clothes, the scruff of his beard, and uncombed hair. ‘Where are the kidnappers?’
    ‘Kidnappers?’
    ‘The men who took you hostage when they escaped from the camp.’
    ‘Ah, yes,’ Pekkala replied hastily. ‘They fled when they saw the train coming.’ Now Pekkala raised his head and squinted at the top of the cliff. ‘And where are the soldiers who kept them pinned down?’
    ‘There are no soldiers, Inspector. Only me, and the driver of the train.’
    ‘But somebody was shooting at us.’
    ‘We did see a man on the tracks, but he ran away when we slowed down. Whoever he was‚ the train must have scared him off.’ Kirov nodded towards Kolchak, whose body still lay sprawled upon the frozen pond. ‘Who is he?’
    ‘That,’ replied Pekkala, ‘is Colonel Kolchak, the last casualty of a war which ended twenty years ago. And from what I hear, Stalin intends to make a casualty of me as well.’
    ‘That will be true for both of us, Inspector, if we do not bring him the thirteen cases of gold he