the apartment which was clean, comfortable and warm.
The blind one’s Russian was perfect and Kravchenko found himself warming to the two scholarly men. The conversations continued for hours to the slow tick of the large clock in the sitting room. Kravchenko’s wounds and bruises had healed, his face returning to its normal size, allowing him to shave again.
They asked him directly to work for them, assisting them in the hunt for potential Communist ‘sleepers’ in the main British universities. A group of four had been eluding the men and they were keen to hunt them down.
Kravchenko’s information would, of course, be in exchange for political asylum. Kravchenko declined to work for them, knowing well that by the time the Russian fleet arrived he would be deemed by Stalin as ‘politically unreliable’ anyway. Stalin was paranoid about Russians being in contact with other nationalities. Working with German soldiers would not be looked on favourably, whatever the outcome. Nevertheless, he decided to go with the devil he knew, repeating only his name, rank and serial number to the men.
Added to that, right now his wife and son would no doubt have been arrested by Beria and be on their way to his headquarters for interrogation. He had to be there with them no matter what.
When Yvetschenko appeared, flanked by armed marines, on the Suomenlinna quayside, his heart sank. He was issued with a new NKVD uniform, without rank he noted. Before ascending the gangplank he said farewell to Brandt’s men and Olga. He had given Brandt his ornate cigarette case, making sure Kant was well stocked with more Russian cigarettes.
Olga had merely nodded, not making eye contact, and he returned the gesture.
Zbarsky mounted the warship's gangplank followed by Kravchenko and surrounded by the marines who had disembarked from the U-Boat. The two men both turned briefly and waved goodbye. Brandt, Kramer, Kant, Bader and Hauptman gave a soldier’s salute in return, dressed now in civilian clothes.
The Sovietski Leningrad slipped back into the dawn light and departed Suomenlinna. Just south of the island, a flotilla of Russian warships waited for the ship with its precious cargo aboard. Once it joined the convoy, the armada set sail for the motherland of Russia. They were going to sail close to the Finnish and Swedish coastline and back around to Murmansk, running the German U-Boat gauntlet of the North Atlantic.
Kravchenko stared out from the deck as the surrounding islands slipped past, his thoughts never far from Sondra and Oleg. Maybe when this war was over, when the years of bloodshed had passed, he’d return here with them.
Chainbridge got word to the American Embassy in London that Donald T Kincaid’s private flying boat had gone missing during a storm over Finland. Rescue efforts were being hampered by severe weather conditions and hopes were fading for survivors.
Yvetschenko lit a cigarette and offered one to Chainbridge. ‘This unfortunate incident never occurred, Mr Chainbridge.’
‘Of course, Colonel,’ replied Chainbridge, exhaling slowly. Studying the Colonel, Chainbridge guessed he was more or less his opposite in the NKVD, a fellow spymaster.
‘Did any of the film footage get to Berlin?’ Yvetschenko inquired. He hadn’t decided Kravchenko’s fate yet. No doubt Stalin would want to talk to him personally. He had wanted Brandt’s unit handed over to him for execution, but Chainbridge and De Witte wouldn’t countenance it.
Chainbridge pulled his coats lapels closer across his chest in the cold. ‘Some footage may have got through, Comrade Yvetschenko, though who would believe it?’
The flying boat had sunk quickly, the water several fathoms deep in the area it went down, but there was always the possibility of one of Regan’s cameras being washed ashore. However, for now, the mission had been accomplished.
‘Colonel, I have a personal favour.’ Chainbridge extinguished his cigarette with his heel. ‘Spare the dockworkers. This isn’t their war.’
The Russian Colonel showed no expression as he stepped forward and raised his left arm straight. At this signal, the marines aboard the warship lowered their weapons and returned below decks.
‘Thank you,’ smiled Chainbridge. Yvetschenko merely grunted as he skulked away, burying his head deep into his coats lapels. He ascended the gangplank without looking back.
Brandt watched Eva and De Witte standing together, looking for a sign. Weighing heavily in his tunic’s pocket was a letter to her. It had taken hours to write and now he felt there was no point to it.
For a week he had remained in the farm house on the island after seeing her for the most part existing in a vacuum. There she stood at the quayside and his heart jumped at the sight of her. She made eye-contact often but didn’t give any indication of her true emotions, fussing and minding De Witte. Brandt observed she was making a meal of it and laughed to himself for being so foolish. He was an enemy soldier displaced on foreign soil and was at the mercy of these men, Jackson and Floyd. Nevertheless, any time she looked up it was always toward him.
He stepped out of her eye line and, when she looked up to find him missing, she searched for him. When they made eye contact again, he tipped her a wink. She blushed and got flustered, patting down one of De Witte’s coat lapels with added intensity.
His thoughts were broken when Chainbridge and Fletchmore came up to him and handed him a large manila envelope. Inside were letters of transit prepared by the British Embassy for Switzerland. False passports requiring new photographs, currency and rations were handed to him also.
‘Captain Brandt, you’ve made an awful lot of enemies. Norway aside, if the High Command finds out you and your men survived, they’ll hunt you down,’
‘Very few are mountaineers,’ smiled Brandt. He worried about his mother in Dusseldorf who would now have received a letter telling her he was dead. His men too had families in Germany and they had no idea what their fate would be. ‘How are we going to get there?’ he inquired.
Chainbridge nodded toward the pilots of the American Transport. The pilots and navigator were sitting in an army Jeep, the engine idling like a hot-rod.
‘Jesus,’ muttered Kant.
Brandt shook the hands of Chainbridge and De Witte. Chainbridge gripped his hand. ‘Captain Brandt, think of this as a rest and recreation break for you and your team. We may have to call upon you and your team’s services again.’
Brandt was amused by the idea of being a soldier of fortune, but for now had no plans.
He came to Eva. ‘Fraulein.’ He held her hand gently and she didn’t pull it away.
‘Au revoir, Captain’ she smiled. ‘I’m leaving for New York tonight.’
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her mouth.
‘Au revoir, Eva,’ he replied. ‘Have a safe voyage.’
Eva stood on the deck, leaning against the rail, deep in thought. She felt drained although the adrenalin of the past two months still pumped fast through her veins. The boat was a fishing smack hired by Chainbridge and De Witte who were both dozing in the bridge under the leisurely pace of the journey. From Helsinki, she and De Witte were sailing to New York in a ship sporting the Finnish flag, thus improving their chances against the German wolf packs of the Atlantic Ocean. She bundled herself deeper into her great coat, trying to control her billowing hair as she stared into the ship's wake.
She reached for her cigarette case and lit up a cigarette with her back to the breeze. The engines of an aeroplane made her look up. It was the American transporter banking upward, one of the engines still cracking and popping as it revved.
As it ascended, she thought of Captain Brandt and a certainty welled up in her that she was going to meet him again. It was a delicious, uncertain sensation.
