With the lockdown of the German underground, information from inside the Reich was down to a trickle. Chainbridge knew it was going to be down to luck if they could intercept Kincaid.
He went out into the freezing night and lit a cigarette. Coughing harshly, he reminded himself he had to cut down. The moon sat low on the horizon, placing the embassy in a ghostly light.
Kincaid’s private plane was probably out of Russian airspace now.
Colonel Valery Yvetschenko furrowed his brow, concerned at the lateness of the hour. He was a precise man in every way and the train transporting Lenin was overdue. He rewound his watch, a gift for his fortieth birthday, to ensure it was functioning correctly. Continuous phone and radio messages were being sent to Moscow without any reply, just a constant static.
It was possible, he mused, that Moscow had fallen to the Germans. Since the invasion, communication was at best unreliable and the Russian Army had been driven back to Moscow’s suburbs. It was also possible that the train had never left Moscow as radio contact throughout the journey had been intermittent. Tyumen was the fall- back position for the Politburo and Military Command using the Urals as a natural shield.
For months the Soviet industrial and weapons complex had been shipped in secret into Tyumen prior to the invasion. Entire populations of workers had been railed in on the hour every hour ahead of the German advance. Vast catacombs had been constructed beneath the Ural Mountains, more still being mined to accommodate further shipments. Plant and machinery were working round the clock to feed the struggling forces with equipment, ammunition and vehicles. With the River Tura frozen solid, rail links and chartered allied transport planes were the only way into and out of the facility.
If the rail link had been compromised, it was going to be a very long hard winter.
It was ten-past-midnight and the snow was falling with such intensity that a search operation was nigh-on suicidal until morning. He peered into the wall of white falling before him, hoping to make out the shape of the locomotive coming in. His breath was crystallizing in the air, and with every inhalation it felt like tiny needles piercing his throat. He ordered the blast doors on the cavern to close for the night and, stomping up into the radio hut, instructed that messages were to be sent on the hour every hour. All that was coming back from Moscow was white noise.
Five hours had passed and the sound of aircraft engines filled the air. The dawn was still a few hours away and Brandt’s unit and Kravchenko had slept fitfully in the carriage. Olga and Kant, taking first watch, had killed three wolves that got too close. The animals lay on their sides with single bullet wounds to their heads. There were a great many more in the woods howling, watching and waiting for their moment to strike. Packs were feeding on the dead German soldiers, snarling and fighting over the remains. Schultz's body had been pulled up from its shallow grave and dragged into the forest.
The snow had at last stopped and the radio had sparked into life. Brandt’s English was poor but he recognised the codeword ‘Iskra’ as the US Transport banked in to land.
The C-47 Skytrain bounced along the frozen river, overshooting the carriage by a few feet. It turned quickly, blowing plumes of snow in its wake and pulled up alongside. Running below the length of the wing, the team boarded the plane. Before he climbed aboard, Brandt looked at the far bank. At least twenty wolves scattered into the forest from the din of the engines. The pilots gunned the engine and within minutes Brandt, Kant, Olga, Kravchenko, Hauptman, Bader and Voight, lost in their thoughts, were clattering pell-mell across the Russian dawn. Steaming hot coffee was served along with chocolate and emergency rations by a smiling American Navigator.
‘Looks like we’re all on the same side now!!’ he yelled over the din of the engines before heading back to the cockpit. He produced a hip flask and spiked the coffee with bourbon followed by a wink. The two pilots seemed to be flying in frenzy; pitching rather than flying the aircraft through the clouds. Sleep was going to be impossible, though there was one luxury — an on-board latrine. Olga went first to freshen up and was astonished that the taps produced running hot water.
Exhaustion took over and they tried to doze as the plane clattered toward Finland.
Wrapped in a heavy flight blanket, Eva slept in her seat. Its width allowed her to curl up, the soft leather soothing. Kincaid had wandered off to his room in a drunken stupor, roaring and shouting once the drink had taken hold. Regan never seemed to sleep. Behind her eyelids, Eva thought she could make out his shadow flitting in and out of her dreams. The cabin lights had been dimmed and the Captain informed the passengers that arrival time would be in a few hours. Bad weather had forced the flying boat out by several hundred miles and it was skirting a heavy weather front over the Russian coast.
Eva woke with a start to see Schenker facing her sitting in the seat opposite. He was clearly drunk, red-eyed and blinking through the alcohol. His Luger lay on the table, gleaming under the cabin lights. Eva coiled like a cat, her fingers locating the brooch on her dress. Beneath the blankets folds, she unclasped the brooch and switched to her free left hand. She could hit the jugular as his head was tilted sideways revealing his slim razor-burned neck.
‘Frauliein De Witte, Molenaar, I’m a bit confused..’
He leant forward, fingertips touching his nose in concentration.
‘I’m not sure what you mean, Captain.’ Eva smiled sweetly as if dazzled by his handsome features. He smiled back a saccharine smirk as his drunken mind tried to reach a point.
Her hand was free of the blanket and just below the table’s edge.
‘My headquarters in Berlin detected radio disruption from this plane’s cockpit. They’ve spoken to me about this. The radio operator is one of ours and he tells me you collided with him. What were you doing in the cockpit, Fraulein?’
‘Watching the airship, Captain, it was very big and impressive.’ Her heartbeat had doubled and her reactions were becoming electric. She glanced up and down the aisle for Regan. He was five seats up with his back to her. He was jotting in his notebook.
She looked back steadily at the S.S. officer. Schenker never seemed to blink, she noticed.
‘I made further inquiries from your colleagues in the German underground. They are currently enjoying the hospitality of
Eva’s blood ran cold.
‘They were very, very helpful. You are Polish, yes?’ He smiled at his brilliance, the way he teased her gently. He was getting excited at the thought of breaking her after this journey, once he’d prised her away from that stupid industrialist.
But that pleasure was for later; he had other pleasures in mind after this conversation.
Eva made no reply. She inhaled, slowly preparing to strike. She could almost see Schenker’s pulse beating in his neck. His smile seemed to stretch his jaw to breaking point.
‘You are a British agent and you’re handler is the head of a European spy network.’
‘You are mistaken, Captain,’ Eva purred ‘I’m from the Sudetenland, and I believe my racial papers, signed personally by Herr Goebbels, are in order. Before Donald Kincaid, he was a very dear friend of mine.’
Schenker’s composure slipped for a moment.
‘Perhaps, Captain, I can explain a little more carefully.’ Eva shook the blanket from her shoulders and leaned in. Schenker smiled at the way this clever seduction was unfolding. Eva slipped a leg free and ran her foot along his boot. She shifted her weight forward putting her head close. He could smell faint perfume in her hair and anticipated pulling it closer to him.
‘Have you mentioned this to Kincaid? she whispered, letting her lips linger on his earlobe.
‘It’ll be our little secret Fraulein, if you’ll be perhaps ….. a little accommodating with me?’
‘My pleasure, my handsome, naughty Captain….’
He felt a faint prick to his neck. He tried to bring his hand up to it, but it wouldn’t move. Seconds passed and Schenker's entire body went into seizure. He could see, hear and taste but his body was inert. As consciousness slipped away, he could hear Eva shouting for help.
When he came to he was paralysed. His eyes bulged in terror as air was coming in through his mouth in tiny gasps. He was lying on Kincaid’s bed, his head propped up on pillows. His eyes stared at his polished boots at the end of the bed. He couldn’t get his feet to move. Outside the room he could hear voices; a male Russian voice and the lilting inflections of Eva translating. Zbarsky was insisting he was not a medical doctor but, after examining the
