course, that assumed I knew where to drive and what to do next. It also assumed I had a vehicle, I realized. I needed to get hold of Big Mike fast.
I walked along the promenade, where the night before I had searched for Kaz. The sun was at my back and the wind in my face as I passed a couple arm in arm, as if they were on holiday and not in a town under shell fire from occupied France. Both in civilian clothes, they were all smiles, the war a mere distraction. Could civilians under bombardment and artillery fire block out the war, and find time for themselves? In uniform, the war and the service were all consuming. The army dictated where I went, what I did, how I dressed, and whom I spent time with. I had almost gotten used to it, and forgotten what it must be like to take a break, enjoy an interlude from the day-to-day grind.
How long before Diana and I would enjoy a day like that, in civvies or khaki? Weeks? Months? Never?
Get a grip, I told myself, as I left the couple behind, arm in arm, gazing out over the channel. It was their time to be moony, not mine. Kaz was under arrest, and I needed a plan. I breathed in the crisp air, trying to force oxygen into my lungs and eventually my brain. I needed to think clearly, and the all-night session with Flack had worn me down. My eyes felt gritty and my legs heavy and clumsy as I opened the door to the inn.
Breakfast was being served and I made that my first priority. I sat at the same table I had last night and thought about the circles of condensation from my glass. Some connected, some separate. Vatutin’s murder was another circle. If Kaz hadn’t killed him, who had, and why? How did it all fit together? Or rather, which circles fit and which stood alone?
Tadeusz Tucholski, Sheila Carlson, Gennady Egorov, Rak Vatutin, Osip Nikolaevich Blotski, Archie Chapman, Valerian Radecki, Kiril Sidorov, and now Kaz. Mr. Brown, Cosgrove, Kim Philby, and all the invisible intelligence agents circling around the Russians and Poles as they fought their diplomatic war within a war.
I visualized another circle, one for the mysterious shipment that Archie was after, but I couldn’t keep all the circles straight, my eyelids heavy with weariness as I finished breakfast. Ideas swirled through my mind as I took the stairs to my room, disjointed images from the past few days. The bomber belly-landing in the field; Archie with his bayonet and poetry; the pebbles on the nightstand in Shepherdswell; Topper in the bordello with Dalenka; the look of incomprehension on Vatutin’s face as I gave him the message. I was missing something, something that I’d thought of, or had to do, I wasn’t sure. I barely got my jacket, shoulder holster, and shoes off before I fell into bed, fatigue driving my head into the pillow.
I couldn’t tell if I was awake and thinking, or asleep and dreaming. The same images floated through my mind. Topper gave me a message, but it wasn’t Dalenka playing the piano, it was Diana. Vatutin was in the room, too, looking confused. Topper got angry, with me, I think, and then they were all gone, except for Dalenka, who had taken Diana’s place at the piano. Why was Topper mad? Where was Diana?
Then I was on the road to Canterbury, but I was walking, and I was with Kiril Sidorov. We were escaping the Merciless Parliament, although I didn’t know if they were after him or me or both of us. Sidorov was telling me about Joey Adamo, the Detroit hood in Big Mike’s story, the guy who was adopted and ran out on his old man, only to end up in a steamer trunk. He thought it was funny, and I asked him why he was laughing. He said, Did you ever think it might not have been Joey in the trunk?
The next moment I was walking on a long, circular path in a garden. There was a fountain in the middle, with flowers and hedges all around. Other paths emptied into the garden, but at an angle so you couldn’t see them until you had walked past. Suddenly, it all made perfect sense. There was only one circle, and all the other paths flowed into it. The circle wasn’t only about this investigation, it was about everything: life, love, war, birth, and death. You kept walking, and sooner or later everything would come to you. Everything was in the circle, and it never ended. Every path led into it, and if you waited long enough, you would see everyone you’d ever known. People were coming down the other paths, but I couldn’t recognize them. Shouldn’t I see someone I knew? I looked for Diana, I looked for my parents, running, darting in between the strangers who were filling the circle, but I couldn’t find anyone I knew. Part of me knew I was dreaming, but most of me was afraid this was heaven, or maybe hell.
Then I was on the promenade, watching the couple I’d seen earlier, except I knew the guy had to be Joey Adamo. He was walking with a beautiful woman on his arm. She wore jewels, and winked at me.
I thought I saw Diana, finally, ahead of me. I pushed through the growing crowd and grabbed her by the arm. But her hair had turned black, and it wasn’t Diana at all. It was Dalenka again, wearing a plain beige coat with a blue scarf. She looked perplexed, but stopped and took my hand in hers. We stood silently for a while, as people brushed by us, scurrying around the great circle, before she spoke. “What are you holding?”
I opened the palm of my hand, and saw two small pebbles.
“Stones,” I said.
“Why are they in your hand, Billy?” Dalenka asked me, then turned and melted into the crowd. I looked at my hand again, and it was empty.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The pounding on my door was real, not a dream. It was either a battering ram or Big Mike back from London. I groaned, remembering that I had meant to call him or check for messages last night. I rolled out of bed and opened the door.
“Billy where have you been? Jeez, you look like hell. I left messages last night, and called the castle this morning before I left.”
“What time is it?”
“Quarter to eleven. Why are you sleeping in?”
“Because I spent all night with Kaz while Inspector Flack interrogated him,” I said, rubbing the grit from my eyes. “Rak Vatutin was found with his head bashed in, and Kaz leaning over him.”
“Did he do it?” Big Mike asked matter-of-factly.
“No, but Flack still arrested him. They need someone to feed to the dogs, or at least keep them at bay. The Russians and the British government are demanding the Egorov case be wrapped up, and more bodies don’t help. I got in after dawn and plain forgot to check at the desk. What did you find out?”
“It’s gold,” Big Mike said, his voice excited and his eyes wide as he delivered the big news.
“What is?”
“The shipment. It’s gold. Russian gold. Payment for arms and vehicles we sold them.”
“That’s Lend-Lease. The Russians don’t have to pay for it.”
“Right. Lend-Lease took effect in October 1941. But we’d been selling them trucks and planes since June ’41. According to Sam, anyway.”
“And they had to cough up real dough for those first four months?”
“Yep, gold bullion, no less. This shipment is the last installment. It came on a destroyer from Murmansk, escorting a convoy home to Scapa Flow. Comes to half a million dollars’ worth.”
“Russian gold,” I said to myself. “Time and place.”
“Sam said the Russians insisted on making the pickup from the dock in Scotland. Then they’ll drive it to their embassy and in a couple of days make a big show of handing it over to the American ambassador.”
“When,” I said, nearly frantic as I washed up. “When is all this happening?”
“Now,” Big Mike said, looking at his wristwatch. “They were scheduled to unload the cargo at 0900 this morning. The Russians should be on the road by now.”
“With an escort, I hope?”
“Not much of one. One car and one truck, with a few guards inside. Sam said they insisted on running the operation themselves, and wanted to keep a low profile.”
“How did Harding know all this? Is he in on it?”
“No. Cosgrove made the calls and came up with the answers. He got us in to see a Russian lieutenant, Andrei Belov, who was in charge while his boss was away. Cosgrove must’ve pulled some strings; the kid didn’t hold out on us.”
“Who’s his boss? Vatutin?”
“No. Our pal Kiril Sidorov. Andrei said he’s been trying to contact him by telephone all morning.”
“Something tells me Sidorov isn’t going to return the call.” I threw cold water on my face, rinsing away
