“Go with God,” Lev called out as the cart jerked into motion. “And let me know when you need more whisky.”
The mule trotted out of the yard and turned onto the road, and Lev breathed easier.
“How much did we get?” said Sid.
“What we asked for. Three hundred and sixty rubles each. Minus five. I’ll stand the loss of that last coin. Got a bag?”
Sid produced a large leather purse. Lev counted seventy-two coins into it.
He said good-bye to Sid and jumped off the cart near the U.S. officers’ accommodation. As he was making his way to his room, he was accosted by Captain Hammond. “Peshkov! Where have you been?”
Lev wished he were not carrying 355 rubles in a Cossack saddlebag. “A little sightseeing, sir.”
“It’s dark!”
“That’s why I came back.”
“We’ve been looking for you. The colonel wants you.”
“Right away, sir.” Lev headed for his room, to drop off the saddlebag, but Hammond said: “The colonel’s office is the other way.”
“Yes, sir.” Lev turned around.
Colonel Markham did not like Lev. The colonel was a career soldier, not a wartime recruit. He felt Lev did not share his commitment to excellence in the United States Army, and he was right-110 percent, as the colonel himself might have put it.
Lev considered parking the saddlebag on the floor outside the colonel’s office door, but it was too much money to leave lying around.
“Where the hell were you?” said Markham as soon as Lev walked in.
“Taking a look around town, sir.”
“I’m reassigning you. Our British allies need interpreters and they’ve asked me to second you to them.”
It sounded like a soft option. “Yes, sir.”
“You’ll be going with them to Omsk.”
That was not so soft. Omsk was four thousand miles away in the barbaric heartland of Russia. “What for, sir?”
“They will brief you.”
Lev did not want to go. It was too far from home. “Are you asking me to volunteer, sir?”
The colonel hesitated, and Lev realized the assignment was voluntary, insofar as anything was in the army. “Are you refusing the assignment?” said Markham threateningly.
“Only if it’s voluntary, sir, of course.”
“I’ll tell you the situation, Lieutenant,” said the colonel. “If you volunteer, I won’t ask you to open that bag and show me what’s inside.”
Lev cursed under his breath. There was nothing he could do. The colonel was too damn sharp. And Grigori’s fare to America was in the saddlebag.
Omsk, he thought. Hell.
“I’d be glad to go, sir,” he said.
Ethel went upstairs to Mildred’s apartment. The place was clean but not tidy, with toys on the floor, a cigarette burning in an ashtray, and knickers drying in front of the fire. “Can you keep an eye on Lloyd tonight?” Ethel asked. She and Bernie were going to a Labour Party meeting. Lloyd was nearly four now and quite capable of getting out of bed and going for a walk on his own if not watched.
“Of course,” said Mildred. They frequently watched each other’s children in the evenings. “I’ve got a letter from Billy,” Mildred said.
“Is he all right?”
“Yes. But I don’t think he’s in France. He doesn’t say anything about the trenches.”
“He must be in the Middle East, then. I wonder if he’s seen Jerusalem.” The Holy City had been taken by British forces at the end of last year. “Our da will be pleased if he has.”
“There’s a message for you. He says he’ll write later, but to tell you… ” She reached into the pocket of her apron. “Let me get it right. ‘Believe me, I feel I am badly informed here about events in politics in Russia.’ Funny bloody message, really.”
“It’s in code,” Ethel said. “Every third word counts. The message says I am here in Russia. What’s he doing there?”
“I didn’t know our army was in Russia.”
“Nor did I. Does he mention a song, or a book title?”
“Yeah-how did you know?”
“That’s code, too.”
“He says to remind you of a song you used to sing called ‘I’m with Freddie in the Zoo.’ I’ve never heard of it.”
“Nor have I. It’s the initials. ‘Freddie in the Zoo’ means… Fitz.”
Bernie came in wearing a red tie. “He’s fast asleep,” he said, meaning Lloyd.
Ethel said: “Mildred’s got a letter from Billy. He seems to be in Russia with Earl Fitzherbert.”
“Aha!” said Bernie. “I wondered how long it would take them.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve sent troops to fight the Bolsheviks. I knew it would happen.”
“We’re at war with the new Russian government?”
“Not officially, of course.” Bernie looked at his watch. “We need to go.” He hated to be late.
On the bus, Ethel said: “We can’t be unofficially at war. Either we are or we aren’t.”
“Churchill and that crowd know the British people won’t support a war against the Bolsheviks, so they’re trying to do it secretly.”
Ethel said thoughtfully: “I’m disappointed in Lenin-”
“He’s just doing what he’s got to do!” Bernie interrupted. He was a passionate supporter of the Bolsheviks.
Ethel went on: “Lenin could become just as much of a tyrant as the tsar-”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“-but even so, he should be given a chance to show what he can do for Russia.”
“Well, we’re in agreement about that, at least.”
“I’m not sure what we can do about it, though.”
“We need more information.”
“Billy will write to me soon. He’ll give me the details.”
Ethel felt indignant about the government’s secret war-if that was what it was-but she was in an agony of worry about Billy. He would not keep his mouth shut. If he thought the army was doing wrong he would say so, and might get into trouble.
The Calvary Gospel Hall was full: the Labour Party had gained popularity during the war. This was partly because the Labour leader, Arthur Henderson, had been in Lloyd George’s War Cabinet. Henderson had started work in a locomotive factory at the age of twelve, and his performance as a cabinet minister had killed off the Conservative argument that workers could not be trusted in government.
Ethel and Bernie sat next to Jock Reid, a red-faced Glaswegian who had been Bernie’s best friend when he was single. The chairman of the meeting was Dr. Greenward. The main item on the agenda was the next general election. There were rumors that Lloyd George would call a national election as soon as the war ended. Aldgate needed a Labour candidate, and Bernie was the front runner.
He was proposed and seconded. Someone suggested Dr. Greenward as an alternative, but the doctor said he felt he should stick to medicine.
Then Jayne McCulley stood up. She had been a party member ever since Ethel and Maud had protested against the withdrawal of her separation allowance, and Maud had been carried off to jail in the arms of a policeman. Now
