Get Lenin

Brandt smiled, and kissed her softly, savouring her mouth. ‘I know.’

In the afternoon light her hair shimmered. Without make-up she looked much younger. He kissed her again, probably for the last time. He could smell sea salt in her hair.

Chapter 13

Suomenlinna, Finland

Brandt breathed in the evening air, savouring the tang of the sea, burrowing himself deeper into his heavy coat. His fingers sought the cigarette case in the coat’s pocket. Before leaving the island, Eva had handed it to Brandt. Inside it, there was a carefully folded piece of paper with an address in the city. The Russian had been moved to Helsinki with the two men; probably for de-briefing, meaning Eva would be there for a while. He read and re-read the piece of paper, committing it to memory before destroying it.

The lights of Helsinki shimmered across the water, a thin yellow line cutting the evening darkness across the sea. The snow had stopped, the cloud cover barely allowing the seven or so hours' daylight to penetrate it, rendering the entire day bleak. He had located the small boat near the dry dock, the oars neatly stowed. Again he looked up and judged the distance from the island to the city where Eva was; it’d take a few hours, but he had to see her. He wound his watch, released the strap and handed it to the man beside him. ‘Thank you.’

The fisherman nodded, slipped the watch around his wrist, admiring it in the faint light, then handed Brandt a flask, map, torch and a detailed map.

Brandt pulled on a woollen hat and eased himself into the boat. The fisherman pushed him out into the tide, gave a swift wave and turned back toward his hut, its lights warm and welcoming in the bitterly cold evening. The boat cut through the water. The sea was as calm as a sheet of glass. Above him occasional pockets of stars appeared in the clouds. Every stroke toward her released the agony of war and, although the end of this journey was uncertain, he felt in his heart it was the right thing to do.

She was waiting, sitting near the pension’s window, a book resting on her lap, never once doubting he would appear. There he was, crossing the street and looking up at the windows of the building. At the sight of him, she pushed back the curtain and their eyes met like a shock of electricity through the glass. She heard the knock at the door. They stood facing each other for a moment, their gaze locked. He took her hand and closed the door behind her softly. He kissed her. She returned the kiss and a wave of euphoria surged through them. Their fingers and tongues followed a primordial signal from the brain, each responsive and unlocking the code of the other's needs. Within seconds she could feel his urgent heat pressing against her. He reached under her hips, lifting her up onto his waist, forcing her skirt to ride up her thighs. She clamped her legs around him and they walked, stumbled and tripped toward the bedroom.

‘Don’t make me pregnant,’ she whispered in his ear as she nipped the lobe with her teeth. He tilted his head back and laughed. It was a warm laugh and he pressed his face close to her. She could feel his breath on her lips.

‘I’ll be very careful.’ He kissed her deeply again, bending down low and dropping her gently onto the mattress. His hands were experienced and assured. Nothing about Brandt was rushed. He undressed her slowly, planting soft kisses on her exposed flesh and he smiled up at her as she groaned.

‘A little more comfortable than the submarine, Eva,’

He pulled away to look at her body. Her breasts were full and sat firm on her rib cage which tapered down to a flat stomach. Her skin was smooth and flawless, delicate and silky to the touch. He planted slow kisses around the rim of her navel and her torso twisted up to his mouth in response. His hands worked gradually up her legs and moved slowly toward her inner thigh, unfastening the suspenders with his free hand. They both moved to a more intense rhythm, their breathing short. ‘Now,’ she murmured.

He sat at the edge of the bed, naked, sipping wine. It was Chianti and a good one at that. She lay watching his back in the moonlight. His arms were strong and well shaped like those of a swimmer. There were nicks and whorls around the biceps which Eva recognised as old bullet grazes. His profile was linear, a long nose, not too full mouth and solid faintly scarred chin. It was wrong to compare, but she did. De Witte was uncertain at times with her in bed as if he was trying to avoid thinking of his wife. She finished her glass and rose, extinguishing the cigarette into the empty coffee cup beside the bed. Good wine, fresh coffee and sex. She felt alive.

‘You have to go. My friend will be returning soon.’ It was a lie and he knew it.

Brandt turned to her and smiled. ‘I understand.’

‘No, you’re not supposed to understand, you’re supposed to be insanely jealous!’ she spat out. She suddenly felt aggrieved. The first green shoot of doubt had appeared in her mind. These past few hours were the best she’d known since Jonas. Brandt leaned in close and kissed her, then burying his face into her hair, inhaled its perfume. He looked into her eyes and she traced the recent scars on his face with a nail. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She blinked them back, looking away in embarrassment. He kissed her eyelids tenderly; the beard stubble brushing against them.

‘Eva, you have your job to do. It’s a fact of life at this moment. I am jealous of your blind companion and I’ve been in love with you since I first set eyes on you.' His eyes glittered and his voice had dipped to a husky whisper, the emotion choking the words. His kiss burned deeper than any sensation she had ever encountered before and she became aroused. She slid over and across, clamping her thighs around his hips and sitting on his legs. Her hair fell into his face. ‘It is what it is, Eva,’ he whispered.

They made love for the last time and, as Eva slept, Brandt pulled back the sheets and looked at her sleeping figure. The moonlight coming in through the bedroom window gave her skin a creamy lustre. His eyes slowly roved over her flesh. Her chest rose and fell quietly and her full mouth was slightly open, revealing her white teeth. She was exquisite to look at, almost ethereal, rolling slightly onto her back and turning her head towards him, sighing gently. She looked so young and pretty, her skin smoothed out in deep repose. His gaze was drawn to a long knife scar across the top of her right hip which had been expertly sewn and healed. She stirred and looked up towards his face. She was smiling up at him. ‘What are you looking at, Captain Brandt?’

Brandt bent toward her, smiling back. ‘Just framing this moment in my head … Miss Molenaar …. ’

Brushing her hair from her face he kissed her, drawing the sensation out for as long as he could. He pulled the covers over their heads, creating a sanctuary from the night and the creeping dawn.

She woke to find him gone and her cigarette case by the dresser.

Chainbridge and De Witte stood with Colonel Valery Yvetschenko from Tyumen on the quay as the Russian warship Sovietski Leningrad pulled up alongside U-Boat 806. The deep channel was narrow, allowing little leeway between the vessels as the warship inched its way in. Finnish dockers eyed the vessel uneasily as they moored the ship securely. Armed Russian marines lined the decks with stoney-faced expressions, weapons primed. A group of them descended by rope onto the deck of the submarine and formed a phalanx surrounding the hold. The U-Boat had been repaired and was being dispatched to Plymouth for re-commissioning. She began to power up and the repaired hold doors opened like the petals of a flower.

The Russian warship lowered a series of chains and winches from a gantry, and the men on the U-Boat and the warship secured the sarcophagus. Kincaid had left nothing to chance; the hold had been equipped for a long voyage. Zbarsky had worked around the clock preparing Lenin for repatriation, remaining on board the submarine and sleeping in the Captain’s quarters. Slowly, with the creak of chains, shouts and whistles, the sarcophagus was winched up from the hold and within minutes was aboard the warship, secured below decks.

For Kravchenko it had been a difficult stay, being an enemy soldier and a high-ranking NKVD officer on Finnish soil. Once his identity had been established, it was requested by the Russians he be kept away from Brandt and his team and held under house arrest.

Chainbridge and De Witte used this opportunity to interview him at length away from the island in a safe house in Helsinki. They were particularly keen to know all about Stalin, his thought processes and his overall mental stability. They probed him about Yezhov, head of the NKVD, and Shpigellaz, head of foreign intelligence, and their networks. He would shrug nonchalantly between cigarettes, giving only his name, rank and serial number, enjoying