The Romanov Conspiracy (39 page)

“Nothing in life is entirely safe, madame. But I assure you the Ilya’s one of the safest aircraft around, tough as a jockey’s hide.”

Pozner looked back at the hangar, pride in his voice. “Only one has ever been lost in battle so far—shot down by four German Albatroses, three of which our crew managed to destroy with machine-gun fire. The aircraft has an excellent record.”

“But won’t it be dangerous flying and landing at night?”

“You forget, it’s still white nights in the Baltic this time of year. The short nights hardly divide the evenings from the mornings, making it easier to land. We should be able to locate the airfields without too much bother, using our map-reading skills and compasses.”

Andrev said, “You seriously believe we can reach Russia in less than twenty-four hours?”

“If the winds are with us I’m confident we can make it in less.”

“That’s astonishing,” Lydia said.

“It’s progress.” Pozner pushed his greasy mariner’s cap off his forehead, and rested his hands on his hips. “Right, I’ll take a last look at our flight route, so if everyone gets their belongings on board we can get under way.”

Lydia said, “You mean now?”

“Yes, madame, now. The weather’s due to turn stormy this afternoon. If we want to avoid the worst of it we need to get off the ground.”

53

EKATERINBURG

It was raining heavily that evening. Thunder rumbled in the darkened sky as the Fiat truck squealed to a halt outside the Imperial Hotel on Neva Street.

Yakov sat in the passenger seat beside the driver, rain lashing the windshield. Next to him, Kazan barked at two of his plainclothes Cheka huddled under the truck’s drenched canvas. “Get going. You know what to do.”

The men jumped down and ran through the rain into the hotel.

Kazan said in frustration, “Our spy’s somewhere in the city, I’ll bet my life on it, Commissar. His best bet for now is to remain hidden in Ekaterinburg.”

Yakov stared out beyond the rain. The Imperial was the last hotel and lodging house on the list, and all had been checked twice in case their quarry had found housing there recently. The city was a warren of backstreets and tenements, but Yakov hadn’t the manpower to search everywhere.

The two Cheka returned and climbed into the back of the truck, shaking rain from their coats, and one of them said, “No new guests have arrived, comrade. No one matching the man’s description has tried to check in.”

Kazan slammed a fist into his palm. “Where’s he got to? He can’t be sleeping rough, not while he’s wounded and with a curfew. If he’s not staying in a hotel or lodgings, then someone has to be helping him.”

Yakov lit a cigarette and stared out past the rain, studying the city’s distinctive skyline, dotted with church spires and cathedral domes. “Not short of religious orders this city, is it?”

“It’s long been an Orthodox settlement. Monasteries and churches are everywhere.”

“They’re also known to offer sanctuary. Get me a complete list of church establishments.”

NEAR SOUTHEND-ON-SEA

ENGLAND

“I think we’ve covered everything,” Boyle said.

They were in the windowed office at the back of the hangar. Lydia carried a small suitcase and Andrev a well-worn Russian-army-issue kit bag.

Boyle added, “But no harm in checking all our papers. Let’s have a look.”

They all did as he suggested, then Boyle handed Andrev and Lydia each a Nagant revolver and a box of cartridges. “I’m hoping you won’t need these. Remember, lose the weapons if ever you think they’ll cause you trouble.”

Boyle gave them each a small purse filled with rubles and kopeks, a
payok—
a booklet filled with ration stamps—and a single canvas bag of provisions containing cheese, butter, bread, jam, tinned sardines, and biscuits.

“The food’s the kind that can be bought in Russia, and there’s enough to last you both a week. The money will be enough to get you to your destination. You don’t want to get caught with too much cash; it could only attract unwanted attention.

“I’ve given you ration booklets—the Reds have issued them because of severe shortages. I’ll be carrying the same provisions and ration booklets. Once we land near Riga, I’ll leave you, and make my way by train to Ekaterinburg. Is there anything you’d like me to go over again?”

Andrev glanced at Lydia, then shook his head.

“That’s it, then. We’re ready to go.” Boyle tucked a hand inside his pocket and offered Lydia the small black Mauser with walnut grips, along with a spare magazine. “Yours, I believe. Maybe you’d like to hold on to it as extra insurance?”

Lydia accepted the pistol. “If I don’t make it back, Boyle, promise me for Finn’s sake your word will be kept?”

“You have my solemn pledge.”

For a few moments no one spoke, and then they heard a rumbling sound as a pair of mechanics shoved open the hangar doors. The sky outside was turning charcoal as ominous clouds marched across the horizon.

Sikorsky strode into the office, all business, and holding a mug of tea. “Pozner’s anxious to get under way, so whenever you’re ready.” He raised his mug in a toast. “Any enemy of the Reds is an ally of mine. So whatever it is you’re up to, I hope you give them torment, my friends.”

They moved outside the hangar as the Ilya Muromets was wheeled out onto a well-rutted meadow used as a landing strip.

One of the mechanics climbed on board along with Pozner’s co-pilot, a boyish-faced young man barely out of his teens who helped push the aircraft out onto the field.

Pozner clutched a handful of weather and route charts and looked up worriedly at the gathering clouds. “We’ll need to move things along, or the storm’s going to hit. Climb aboard, please.”

A mechanic placed a small stepladder at the aircraft door. They stepped on board to a strong smell of fuel, over a dozen metal drums stacked both sides of the long aircraft cabin.

Pozner said, “You can sit or stand up front and watch our takeoff—suit yourselves.”

Boyle picked a passenger seat. Andrev and Lydia decided to stand in the front cabin behind Pozner and his young copilot, both perched on high chairs, Pozner operating the surface controls, the copilot the throttles.

Boyle waved a salute at Sikorsky, then Pozner closed the door and the aircraft was pushed farther out onto the field where the mechanics turned the props. One by one the four engines sputtered and ignited.

Pozner worked the controls. “Here we go; hold on tight.”

Uri and Lydia held on to a couple of leather support straps overhead
as Pozner increased the throttles. A powerful, noisy surge vibrated through the aircraft as the engines revved. Slowly the plane began to move, rattling and shaking as it bumped down the rutted airfield, building up power, faster and faster.

Then, just when the aircraft seemed about to disintegrate with the harsh vibration, it lifted gracefully into the air.

54

Andrev marveled as the coast of England disappeared below them.

Pozner was busily maneuvering the controls, trimming out the aircraft at a thousand feet before he began a steady climb up to five thousand as they flew out over the North Sea. Boyle was in the back, filling a cup from a flask of coffee.

Lydia gazed out at the sea, a look of dread unmistakable on her face.

“What’s the matter?” Andrev asked. “Scared of flying?”

Suddenly the aircraft lurched violently in a rough pocket of air, throwing Lydia forward into his arms. He said, “Are you all right?”

She held on to him a few moments, until the turbulence passed and she eased herself from his grip. “Y—Yes. If you don’t mind, I’ll try and get some rest.” She moved down the aisle to the cabin bedroom.

Andrev watched her go and when the cabin door closed, Pozner let the relief pilot take over at the controls and said, “It’ll be a little bumpy until we clear the coast, but nothing to worry about. How’s your lady friend? She seems a bit distracted. Flying for the first time can often be unsettling.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

Pozner smiled. “We’re all on borrowed time, my friend. What’s the point in worrying? If you’re feeling hungry there’s a cupboard halfway down the aisle with sandwiches and water, tea, or coffee. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

Boyle appeared, carrying a cup of coffee, just as the captain produced a pack of cigarettes and said, “Smoke?”

“I thought that wasn’t allowed on board.”

Pozner grinned and slipped a cigarette between his lips. “Sikorsky’s a born worrier. The fuel’s safely stored, so you don’t have to fret.” He pointed to a sand-filled bucket by the cockpit. “Just be certain to remain up front and use the sand bin as an ashtray.”

Andrev shook his head. “I’ll remain on the side of caution if you don’t mind.”

Boyle sipped his coffee and said to Pozner, “Anything else you’d care to tell us about while you’re in the mood?”

“Only that the weather may not be all that sweet for landing outside St. Petersburg.”

“Why?” Andrev asked.

“Nasty Baltic storms can brew up pretty quickly. An old dog like me is used to the hard road but I didn’t want to tell the woman. We don’t want to frighten the life out of her, now do we?”

“We’ll do our best not to vomit all over your cabin.”

Pozner gave a cackling laugh. “Get some rest, all of you, we’ve a long haul ahead. Do either of you know how to operate a Lewis machine gun?”

“Yes, why?” Boyle answered.

“The German air patrols are a little more active than Sikorsky said. Igor tends to believe that his aircraft are invincible. Eight machine guns can solve a lot of problems but not every obstacle.”

“What does that mean?” Andrev asked.

Pozner turned back to take the controls. “Odds are that we’ll either get pounded by weather or attacked by the Germans, or maybe both.”

Boyle said, “Give it to us straight. What are the real chances of us reaching Russia safely?”

“With luck, fifty-fifty.”

Lydia lay on one of the cots, the harsh metallic rhythm of the engines droning on. She heard the knock on the cabin door and sat up. “Come in.”

Andrev appeared, carrying a plate of food and an enamel mug. “I thought you might want something to eat. It’s not much, just some bread and cheese and the tea’s cold, but it’s better than nothing.”