insignia shouldn’t be a problem. The difficulty may be the boots but I’ll do a bit of digging here and there. Now what about arms?”
“The Americans are providing some. Mainly I’ll need Soviet weapons.”
“You mean small arms-the sort of things they stamp out in those Ukrainian works.”
“The Finns captured a good lot of them two years ago. That would be the place to start looking.”
“I’ll do what I can. What’s next?”
“I want a forger who knows the current Soviet forms.”
Cosgrove reacted with a slow sly smile. “What the devil sort of build-up did London give me?”
“And a communications man who knows Russian wavelengths. We’ll have to alter the wireless equipment aboard our aircraft.”
“A little slower, old boy. I’m still choking on your Soviet forger.”
“That’s right at the top of the list.”
“I can’t promise miracles. I’ll do what I can.”
Cosgrove’s cavalier air troubled him. It all was too much of a game, too much of an entertaining exercise. The Cosgroves and Buckners weren’t laying anything of their own on the line; the weakness of this operation was its dependency on the Allies. To Roosevelt and Churchill at this point the operation must seem a minor and rather childish adventure: you had the feeling the President had sat in his Oval Office one afternoon with Buckner and some others, screwing a cigarette into his long holder and giving the program a patronizing benediction with his jut-jawed conspiratorial grin: All right we’ll give them a hand and let them take a crack at it but let’s not shut the back door.
You couldn’t blame them-but it made for uncertain footing.
“I’ve got to have that forger.”
“My dear fellow, you people have your own man in Moscow-why not get the real thing? Have him smuggle the papers out.”
Alex said quietly, “All right. Who gave it to you?”
“We’re obliged to protect our sources, aren’t we. I’m sure you understood from the beginning there were strings attached. My government aren’t giving you their backing out of the goodness of their hearts.”
“If someone gave it to you, he could just as easily turn around and give it to the Kremlin too. I’d like to know your source, Brigadier.” He emphasized the rank in contrast to the stars on his own epaulets.
It had no discernible effect. “I don’t think there’s too much chance of that.”
Then the connection became clear in Alex’s mind and he didn’t press it further because he felt he had the answer. It had to have been someone in Deniken’s camp; they were the only ones that close to the Allied governments. And if it came from Deniken then it had got to Deniken from Baron Oleg Zimovoi-an attempt to cement Oleg’s position, an avowal of indispensability.
He remembered with displeasure Oleg’s insistent concern for Vlasov’s security: now it appeared Oleg had reversed himself when he saw an advantage to it and jeopardized Vlasov far more dangerously than Alex could have done. It would be Oleg’s manner of demonstrating to the White Russian coalition his importance to the scheme: I’m the only one with an inside man in the Kremlin-the thing can’t be done without me.
It was altogether worthy of Oleg. He wanted to be sure that after it was over the other contingents would be forced to remember the key role he’d played. They would have to reward him with a high seat in the new government. This was what he’d lived his whole life for: power. Now that it might be at hand he would use any means to secure it.
But Oleg could be dealt with. Having worked out the truth Alex was able to dismiss it.
“Can you give me dates?” Cosgrove said.
“Rough ones. Five days to organize training. A minimum of nine weeks’ training. We’re in September now-I’d say we’ll shoot for operational status in middle or late November. I’d like to cut it shorter than that but I don’t think we can.”
“You’re dealing with a great many bureaucracies. Things never happen as fast as they’re promised.”
“It’s your job to cut through that, Brigadier.”
“Quite.” Cosgrove smiled again. “By November Hitler may be making speeches from the Kremlin.”
“Evidently you’re well briefed on the scheme. Why did you bother to ask me?”
“They didn’t send me here blind. But no one knows your tactical intentions. Naturally I’ve asked questions. Certain things are implicit in your answers to them-in your requisitions. I gather, for example, that you won’t be requiring transport by sea.”
“No. I’ll want the use of two long-range aircraft.”
“Transports? You’ve got three of your own, haven’t you?”
“There’s a political echelon to follow us in. They’ll need aircraft.”
“I must say it looks bonkers to me. On the map all you can see is Jerries between here and there. You can’t go up through the Prime Minister’s fabled soft underbelly because there isn’t an aircraft in the world with the range for it. I suppose you could go in through Alaska and Siberia but it would take bloody forever. If the Nazis weren’t in Riga and pushing for Leningrad that would be your route-it’s only five hundred miles Riga to Moscow-but what’s the point of it, you can’t refuel behind Jerry’s lines.”
“Your guesses are your own, Brigadier.”
“You’re not being very cooperative.”
“I haven’t told anyone the plan-not even my own people.”
“Of course. But the PM’s getting restless about this thing. He likes to keep his hand in. You can’t keep him at arm’s length without finding him at sword’s point. You’re thinking of one kind of risk-think of the other.”
Some people were born with blue eyes and some were born to play games and both Churchill and FDR were game-players with all the dedicated enthusiasm of nine-year-old boys looming over a board cluttered with toy soldiers. Blindfold them, obscure their view of the pieces and they would become hot-tempered very quickly.
That was one level. At another level the Allies had a case for quid pro quo. They had invested trust in the scheme; they had a right to be trusted in return. It was remarkable that London and Washington had got behind the operation at all. Aristocrats in exile were commonly thought to be forever hatching fanciful schemes to regain lost thrones. For important governments to support such wild-eyed schemes was unthinkable in the normal course of things; but the course of things was not normal just now. In wartime it became excusable to interfere with the internal affairs of one’s allies because such matters could affect the global balance of power. But still you didn’t simply disperse blank checks to every exiled king and ex-president who came begging for support. You expected certain things in return. They had every right to be stung by Alex’s rebuff.
Cosgrove said, “You’ll have to give ground. If you don’t you may lose the whole package.”
“I’ll lay it out before it goes into operation.”
“Not good enough, old boy.”
“I can’t be more specific at this time.”
“Quite a politician, aren’t you.” Cosgrove scratched his shoulder; it made the empty sleeve move. “I’d hoped not to have to use this. But I’ve been instructed to render no aid and support unless we’ve reached a satisfactory understanding beforehand. I’m to report back to my superiors this afternoon. Naturally if they disapprove of my report you’ll find yourself without a mission. For example the six aircraft you prize so highly will undoubtedly be seized for use by the War Office. Must I go on?”
Alex suppressed his anger. “Very well. If you’ll set up a meeting with the Prime Minister I’ll spell out the plan-with Winston Churchill, in private. Agreed?”
Cosgrove’s relief was transparent. He rubbed his long jaw. “The PM will want his advisors around the table.”
“Negative.”
“For the Lord’s sake why?”
“I haven’t got time for a debate and I don’t want anything written down. I’ll give it to the Prime Minister in however much detail he wants. After that they can discuss it among themselves-but I won’t wait for them. I haven’t got time.”
