Impasse (The Red Gambit Series) (18 page)

In the main, t
hey turned a blind eye to Connelly’s ‘ungodly activities’, rarely even acknowledging them.

However, this night, both men stared after the disappearing IRA man and then shared a conspirator
’s smile as cunning minds merged in a plan to dispose of a pressing problem.

Once the Garda had been attended to and,
in the case of two of the bloodied men, had their wounds stitched, O’Farrell received the very best of attention himself, the police doctor’s examination and treatment exceedingly thorough.

In line with his wishes, the examination of his lower regions was conducted in private, the doctor insisting on being alone, despite the protestations of the guarding constables.

The period by themselves permitted him to swiftly write out a report on the pad she produced from her medical bag. They didn’t speak at all, except for matters that a doctor and burglar would converse about. However, the doctor was on the payroll of G2 and knew that she would meet another man later that night, a man who would want answers.

She memorised the note, pausing to confirm one word that stood out amongst the others, her mouth working without sound, his response a simple nod.

She lit both of them cigarettes, rechecked that she could fully recall the brief message and then consigned the note to a fiery end in the ashtray. After sufficient time had passed, the guards were summoned back and she went to report that the scallywag was fit enough to travel to Dublin. Interest had been aroused on the man’s possible IRA leanings and the prisoner was to be taken there at first light.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Bryan had ramped u
p the 'legend' of O’Farrell, ensuring that any Garda with republican sympathies would put his agent’s name in the spotlight, in the most advantageous sort of way.

The meeting was brief and took place in the quiet of her
office within St Joseph’s District Hospital, Ballina.

As the message made its way south, Dr Raymond made her way home
to the Mount Falcon estate, where she and her family were staying, guests of the Aldridge family. It was a short-term agreement whilst they sought suitable property nearer to her work, an agreement that Bryan’s department had made easy.

H
er husband and children were already asleep and, as Dr Raymond had not yet returned, the butler was unable to help the police with their request. Replacing the receiver, he intended to inform her of the new call immediately she returned.

Anyway, it sounded like a nasty business and not one for a lady like Dr Raymond.

The police needed confirmation of death on a car driver; at least once the bits had been extracted from the car by the local fire brigade. The police officer had been quite happy to try to shock the old butler with the gruesome details of a wrecked car and a more wrecked body, hit head on by a lorry carrying hay bales, which skidded on ice.

It was not until the following morning that the Raymond family reported the doctor missing and the Ballina police realised the true horror of the situation.

The following day, news of Raymond’s awful death reached Bryan’s ears and caused consternation.

‘
Accident?’

‘
Assassination?’

The head of G2 decided
that this was a complication that needed further investigation, so held back on telling his British contacts, at least until some more enquiries were carried out.

So
the report from O'Farrell that he now possessed, which had preceded the awful news by only forty minutes, remained unspoken of and uncommunicated to his Allies.

His Allies had not yet passed on their own knowledge, for their own reasons,

Such were the games that the Intelligence services played.

“Lieutenant Dudko!”

The lack of any response ensured a repeat of the hammering on the wooden door.

“Lieutenant Dudko!”

At last, sounds of movement betrayed the fact that the Political Officer had been wrenched from his land of dreams and back into the harsh realities of life, or at least the
reality that was about to be presented to him, courtesy of Judas’ planning.

“
Comrade Reynolds? What do you want? Is there a problem?”

“
Yes there is, Major. I don’t know where to start.”

Dudko surveyed the falling snow and decided to deal with the matter indoors.

“Come in, come in, Tovarich.”

“
No, no, I can’t do that. It’s summat you've to see for yourself, boyo.”

Reynolds played the part of perturbed and shocked man perfectly, his facial expression alone spiking Dudko
’s curiosity.

“
One moment, Comrade, just one moment. Should we wake Lieutenant Masharin?”

“
Our Comrade Masharin may not do what is right... what is needed here.”

That intrigued Dudko, as well as massaged his ego.

“Explain, Comrade Reynolds.”

The political officer swiftly
slipped into his boots and pulled his greatcoat on before venturing outside.

“
There's summat you've to see. Summat awful, Dmitri. I don’t know what to do! You'll know for sure!”

Playing to Dudko
’s ego was a masterstroke and the naval officer was drawn further in.

The two were moving steadily towards a small building set apart from the rest, sometimes obscured by the flurries of snow, sometimes not, when the presence of three men nearby became obvious.

Brown and two IRA men stood shivering, ostensibly waiting to receive Reynolds and Dudko, whereas in fact they had been serving the more sinister purpose of ensuring that the occupants of the hut did not leave.

“
Still there, Patrick. I don’t know what to say, really I don’t.”

Reynolds put a
‘comforting’ hand on Brown’s shoulder.

“
Well, I’ve got Dmitri herenow. He’ll know what to do, to be sure."

“
What is so bad, Comrade Reynolds? You can tell me.”

“
I can’t Dmitri, really I can’t. We don’t know what to do. You’ll have to see for yourself.”

So Dmitri Dudko, strings pulled by the hateful Reynolds, saw for himself.

Acting on orders, one occupant of the room, young Noel Connelly, had moved the curtain sufficiently for anyone outside to be able to see into the interior.

He had also ensured t
hat the candle remained burning in order that, when Dudko looked through the gap, he would be able to see all that was required. Indeed, that proved to be the case and the Political Officer was in no doubt that the man penetrating the young Irishman was none other than the Soviet commander, Ilya Nazarbayev.

Reynolds and Brown had played their plan to perfection
and now Dudko took centre stage.

“
Mudaks!”

The Russian took a few moments to think through his course of action and then initiated a response.

“This is piggery, Comrades, total fucking piggery! Are your men armed, Comrade Brown?”

Both IRA soldiers pulled out pistols from beneath th
eir heavy winter clothing.

“
Follow me!”

His own Nagant pistol was out by the time he put his boot through the door of Nazarbayev
’s private quarters and interrupted the two homosexuals at their pleasure.

“
Kapitan-Leytenant Nazarbayev, I relieve you of your command immediately and I arrest you for buggery and homosexuality.”

Il
ya Nazarbayev did not respond; there was nothing he could usefully say. His private life, previously secret, now lay exposed, his military career over and his future hold on life tenuous to say the least. All because of the needs and desires of the beautiful young Irishman who had been so insistent.

“
Dress and go with Comrade Brown’s men. I will decide what happens next at another time.

In two minutes, the Marine officer, flanked by the two IRA men, marched off to the small building that they used as a brig.

“Your man... I will leave to you, Comrade Reynolds.”

“
Thank you for that, Dmitri...and thank you for sorting this out.”

The Political Officer nodded briefly, just now
working out that command of the facility had fallen to him.

Dudko moved off quickly to organise his senior NCO
’s and inform them of the events that had elevated him to second in command by rank but, in reality, the de facto leader of Marine Special Action Force 27.

When he was out of earshot, both Brown and Reynolds started to chuckle.

They were joined by Connelly as he dressed.

“
Oh now Noel, my little darlin’. Well done boyo, fucking well done.”

Pausing only to sweep up a half-full bottle of something interesting, the three moved off towards the IRA quarters, high on the
clear success of their revenge upon Captain-Lieutenant Ilya Nazarbayev.

Orders were orders and even the seemingly most stupid of them had to be obeyed.

Lieutenant Commander Mikhail Kalinin was now discharging his latest orders, ones that required him to take leave of his command and transfer aboard an unknown surface vessel.

At 1500 hrs precisely, B-29 broke the surface and the hatches popped to permit the deck watch to take post, as well as allowing the boat party to prepare themselves for the transfer.

Kalinin had been watching the strange vessel for some time, trying to work out what it was
, and failing miserably.

Clearly,
it wasn’t anything specifically, although it closely resembled a number of vessels, and he rightly suspected that the 'Swedish' ship was not what it tried hard to be.

Aboard the
‘Golden Quest’, eyes took in the sleek lines of the underwater killer, more than one man nervous in case it was not the friend they expected.

Senior Chief Petty Officer Bjarte Sveinsvold had long since been released from the sick bay, his wounds mended, and
he was a regular contributor to basic onboard tasks of the seafarer. His ability at splicing lines and welding was second to none, so he often found himself wielding a paintbrush. The nonsenses of military life were the same across the national divides.

He paused and took in the scene as an inflatable boat put out from the submarine and started the short journey across the roiling gap.

By the excited nature of the Soviet seamen and the uniformed presence of a guard of honour of eight Soviet Marines, the new arrival was something of a celebrity.

The man,
clearly a senior naval officer, stepped aboard the ‘Golden Quest’ and exchanged salutes with the entourage of officers that had gathered to greet him.

As quick as he arrived, Kalinin disappeared in the direction of the Captain
’s cabin, pausing only to throw a magnificent salute in the direction of his former command.

A minute
later, the vessel’s number one emerged with orders.

Sveinsvold was to transfer aboard the submarine.

Three minutes later, his few possessions in a small linen bag, the USN Senior Chief was on his way to the B-29.

The submarine, boat crew recovered, began to sink below the waves and
the surface vessel increased revolutions, both anxious to discharge their part in Kalinin’s orders, both going in different directions, their paths never to cross again.

On B-29
, Sveinsvold needed to be constantly on his guard, but his injuries saved him as he played on them and his ‘loss’ of memory, ensuring his brief voyage would be solely as a passenger.

Enjoying
the finest tea he had tasted for a very long time, Mikhail Kalinin listened politely to the Captain’s version of recent world events in general and, specifically, those involving the Red Army in Europe.

“
So, Comrade Lipranski. What are your orders regarding me?”

“
My apologies, tovarich. You do not know? I had assumed you would know. I'm to make landfall, when you will be met by an officer who will issue you with further instructions.”

Lipranski
wasn’t being tedious, he simply didn’t think, but Kalinin had no time for playing games as he had a date with a bunk and a full six hours sleep.

“
Where, Comrade Lipranski?”

“
Ah, again, my apologies. We’ll dock in La Rochelle as soon as possible.”