He shook his head as he walked. It was amazing what damage a mere ship mechanic could do when given the right amount of incentive. And the Nazis had given him plenty of incentive. Vladimir’s lips tightened. If he hadn’t tracked him down when he did, the damage would have been much worse. At least now, he could contain it. To do so, he would be forced to spend a few unpleasant days hunting down the man’s fellow collaborators in Poland, but then it would be done and he could turn his attention to the more pressing matter that had also come to light during the interrogation.
It had been a single name, and he was positive that the man had no idea what it meant. But Vladimir did, and he had been shocked to hear it tumble past bloody, cracked lips.
Eisenjager.
The German agent had become a legend in the SS and the NKVD alike, and something of a thorn in Vladimir’s side. Each time he came across the name, it inevitably resulted in complications with one of his own investigations, or an investigation in which he had an interest. That the agent really did exist was beyond doubt. This wasn’t just another made-up story that had been blown up beyond the realms of reality. The agent was real, and so were his results. Not only a formidable spy, but trained by the elite Waffen-SS; the agent blended intelligence gathering with more forceful methods. Not very different from what Vladimir did himself, but where he was part of an entire system, the German agent was a lone wolf under the Abwehr umbrella. No one seemed to know how he ended up with the German intelligence agency rather than the notorious SD, but that he had thrived there was an understatement. He was as efficient as he was ruthless. If Eisenjager was looking for you, you would be found. And that would be the last anyone ever heard of you.
Reaching the square, Vladimir strode past without sparing a glance for the impressive facade of the Kremlin in the distance. It was a sight that had long ceased to stir any kind of emotion in him other than that of knowing he was home. But home had taken on many meanings over the past few years, and so that word had also ceased to stir an emotion. Perhaps it was just as well. In his life, he had no time for sentiment. In fact, in his experience, sentiment had led directly to the downfall of more than a few good men and women. He had no intention of becoming one of them.
He was crossing the road to get to the restaurant a few moments later when he caught sight of a tall man out of the corner of his eye. He was getting out of the back of a black car, dressed in the same uniform that Vladimir wore.
“Comrade!” he called as Vladimir reached the pavement a few yards away.
Vladimir stopped and turned, watching as the man walked towards him. His coat hung open over his uniform and he carried his gloves in one hand. The sharp wind didn’t appear to bother him, and as he reached Vladimir, he held out his hand with a friendly smile.
“It’s been a long time, Vlad,” he said. “How are you?”
“Comrade Grigori.” Vladimir shook his hand and nodded in greeting. “I’m on my way to dinner. Would you care to join me?”
“Thank you.” Grigori fell into step beside him and they continued to the entrance of the restaurant a few feet away. “Congratulations on your promotion. I’m sorry I missed it. I was in Leningrad at the time.”
Vladimir nodded. “So I heard. Thank you. You didn’t miss very much.”
“Just barrels of vodka, or so I’m told. Was Beria really there? He didn’t come to mine in December.”
“He didn’t stay long,” Vladimir assured him as they walked into the restaurant.
“So now we are equals again,” Grigori said with a grin. “I’ll have to work harder on the next promotion.”
“As if you ever stopped,” Vladimir said with a chuckle. “You were always the ambitious one. I’ve never sought these.”
“And yet they just keep handing them to you.”
“I don’t know why.”
Grigori slapped him on his shoulder. “You are too modest, my old friend. You’ve deserved each and every one. You’re a true Tovarisch.”
Vladimir grunted and turned to walk towards his usual table at the back of the restaurant. It was unoccupied. It was always unoccupied when he arrived, a reflection of his status in the government hierarchy. He came here when he wanted a good meal. When he wanted anonymity, he went to one of the many crowded canteens in the city.
“What brings you out today, Grigori?” he asked, unbuttoning his coat and removing it. He hung it on a rack near the table and stripped off his gloves. “It’s not like you to hunt me out.”
“Can’t an old friend say hello?” Grigori asked, hanging up his own coat and turning to seat himself. “If I waited for you to come find me, I’d wait forever.”
“I’ve been very busy,” Vladimir said, sitting down. “I’m leaving again tonight and won’t be back for several days. You caught me at a good time.”
“I know.” Grigori ran his eye over the menu. “You’re going to Poland. Or, rather, what was Poland.”
“Yes.” Vladimir didn’t question how the other man knew his travel plans. There were eyes and ears all over the city, and nothing was secret anymore. “I don’t know
