Road of Bones Page 10

  I stopped there, waiting for Maiya to translate and for Drozdov to get back on his high horse. I figured it was better to let the major exhaust himself before mentioning Craven. Not to mention giving his C-47 more time to roll down the runway.

  “Major Drozdov wishes to know for what purpose you searched Lieutenant Kopelev’s room,” Maiya said. “He was a victim, not a suspect.”

  “Of course not,” I said. “We looked for clues about anyone who may have had a strong dislike for the lieutenant. We saw nothing to indicate he was other than a very diligent officer. He had recently purchased an atlas of the Soviet Union and appeared to be studying Black Sea ports. He also had numerous books written by Joseph Stalin. Very studious.”

  I figured the mention of Stalin’s name might calm Drozdov, or at least direct his anger to a new subject. He spoke, flicked his hand, and Maiya told me to continue.

  “There is one person we wish to investigate further,” I said.

  “A potential suspect,” Sidorov said, speaking in English for my benefit. “It is too early to say, but further interrogation may bear fruit.” He was smart not to mention who it was or his nationality. That got Drozdov’s attention.

  “Who is it, the major wants to know?” Maiya said.

  “Technical Sergeant Martin Craven,” I said. “He is with the C-47 transport squadron.”

  “Sergeant Craven is active in the black market, bartering goods for war souvenirs which he transports to Italy and England to sell at a profit,” Sidorov said. “A capitalist of the lowest order.”

  After Maiya finished translating, Drozdov and Belov put their heads together and whispered for a minute. Then Belov spoke.

  “When will you arrest this man?” Maiya said.

  “When we have sufficient evidence,” I said. “We still need to gather facts so he can be court-martialed.” Drozdov wanted to know what else we had, which surprised me. I thought there was already enough red meat on the bone we’d tossed him. I needed something else.

  “I believe there may be a connection between the murders and the recent drug overdose,” I said. “One of your soldiers was found dead with a hypodermic needle in his arm, I understand.”

  Maiya faltered for a moment, then launched into the translation. Drozdov and Belov kibitzed again, and then she asked what other information we planned on gathering. I told her the closest thing we had to a witness was Lieutenant Vanya Nikolin, who was somewhere near the front lines east of Krakow.

  “It would be helpful to understand why Nikolin and his men were transferred out, so soon after the murders,” I said. Sidorov caught my eye, flashing me a warning with a slight nod. “While I am sure they were questioned properly, an investigating officer always prefers to speak to potential witnesses directly.”

  Maiya went on in a tone that suggested she softened the seeming criticism in my question. Drozdov drummed his fingers on the table, whispered to Belov, who sat rigidly and gave no response. Drozdov finally spoke.

  “Comrade Major Drozdov questioned each man,” Maiya said. “They all stated no one entered or left the building while they were on duty. It was the custom before this crime to guard the warehouse only at night. The comrade major concluded the killer departed after the guards left. Even so, Lieutenant Nikolin requested transfer, feeling that he had lost the trust of his commanding officers. The transfer was granted.”

  “Still, we would like to speak to the lieutenant ourselves, if permission would be granted,” I said. “Perhaps he has information about Sergeant Craven’s involvement, information he did not realize was important at the time.”

  When Maiya translated that, Belov bobbed his head, seeming to like the idea. He and Drozdov came to a quick agreement.

  “General Belov will decide if he can grant your request,” she said. “Soon.”

  “How soon?” I asked.

  “We trust the general will make the decision as he feels best,” Sidorov said, cutting me off before I antagonized the old boy. “If he decides to allow us to travel, perhaps Captain Boyle could also be authorized to contact NKVD officers in the rear areas for information about his sergeant. Perhaps the local Railway Protection Regiment would know of any American airmen seeking transport.”

  That took a bit of back and forth, with no clear answer from the comrades, then Maiya told us we were dismissed. Drozdov remained at the table with General Belov, who listened intently as the major whispered and slapped his hand on the table. Neither guy looked happy, but not many generals in my army would be happy with a major talking to them like that, no matter how quietly.

  “It is time to eat, sirs,” Maiya said, ushering us out of the Quonset hut. Black held the door for her, and they walked side by side to the mess hall.

  “Major, why didn’t you tell us about the warehouse being guarded only at night?” I asked. “I’ve been wracking my brains trying to figure out how anyone could have gotten in there while it was guarded.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t think to mention it,” Black said. “It was a routine procedure, Captain. Didn’t seem to make much difference. Locked or guarded, it’s all the same.”

  “Murder is never routine,” I said. “Anything else we should know?”

  “No, I’m certain,” Black said, then quickened his step to stay by Maiya’s side. He apparently had his own priorities.

  “There is something else you should know,” Sidorov said quietly as we walked behind them. “Maiya did not translate anything about the narkoman.”

  “Who?”

  Sidorov mimed shooting a needle into his arm.

  “And I think Drozdov understood what you said. His eyes widened when you mentioned the needle and he stared at Maiya,” Sidorov said. “She understood and did not translate anything about it.”

  “Was it an NKVD man who overdosed?”

  “Sergeant Craven never said. And if everything worked as we planned, you would have to go to Tehran to ask him.”

  “What do you think our chances are?” I said. “Think Belov will let us go?”

  “I do not think General Belov makes any decisions regarding state security. He can order his airmen about and consult with your General Dawson about targets and flight paths, but nothing else. If it serves the state for us to go, we will go.”

  “And here, Comrade Major Drozdov is the state,” I said, slowing my pace so Maiya wouldn’t overhear. Not that she was likely to anyway, with Black whispering into her ear.

  “Yes. You understand the Soviet system perfectly,” Sidorov said. “Drozdov has the power, but any hint of drug use by the comrade major and he would soon be denounced as a social parasite and enemy of the workers. Then the only way he’d make it to NKVD headquarters in Moscow would be via the basement of the Lubyanka prison.”

  “No wonder he kept it hush-hush,” I said, buttoning up my field jacket against the evening chill. As we walked past the jeep, I noticed the atlas was gone. I’d left it on the rear seat and now there was no sign of it. “Looks like somebody wanted a book with pictures.”

  “Shall we add petty theft to the list of crimes we are investigating?” Sidorov said.

  “Right now, all I want to do is eat,” I said. “But if we don’t get travel authorization, maybe Drozdov would let us go into town. Might be worth visiting that bookstore to see if anyone remembers what other books Kopelev was interested in.”

  “Why?”

  “Because somebody was interested enough in the atlas to swipe it. Might mean nothing, might mean something,” I said.

  “A soldier who wishes to improve his knowledge of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, just like the dedicated Lieutenant Kopelev,” Sidorov said. “Is that not possible?”

  “Anything’s possible,” I said as we neared the entrance to the officers’ mess. “Even a girl like Maiya falling for Major Black.”

  “But unlikely,” Sidorov said. “I tol
d you not to trust her.”

  “Okay. I shouldn’t trust Max or Maiya, and the secret police run the joint. I need to be careful around Black because whatever he knows Maiya will too. What have I missed?”

  “Not a thing. Welcome to the workers’ paradise.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  We sat next to Bert Willis, skipper of the Banshee Bandit, at one of the long tables in the officers’ mess. Sidorov had loaded his plate with ham, macaroni, a mixture of cabbage and carrots, along with pickles, and a slab of black bread. I did the same, just not in the same weight class.

  “Hungry, Captain?” Willis said, eyeing the mound of food.

  “One never knows when the next meal may come,” Sidorov said.

  “Well, I’m hoping my next dinner is Italian,” Willis said. “Weather’s cleared, so we’re taking off at dawn. You coming along for the ride, Billy?”

  “Not this time,” I said. “Good luck.”

  “The Bandit will get us through, don’t you worry,” Willis said, pouring himself a healthy slug of vodka. Bottles of water and vodka were set out on the tables, and with a mission in the morning, the hard stuff was getting a workout.

  “You hear anything about the Sweet Lorraine?” I asked.

  “Zilch. No word from the Russians. Those five guys have to be out there somewhere,” Willis said, gulping his drink. “Belov tell you anything?”

  “Besides the runaround? No. But we’re hoping to get a search organized,” I said.

  “Hard to understand these Russians, if you don’t mind my saying so, Captain,” Willis said, his eyes fixed on Sidorov. “We fly all this way and bomb targets for them, and they won’t lift a finger to help our crews. What gives?” Willis asked, finishing off the booze and pouring himself another.

  “Oh, they will help, Lieutenant,” Sidorov answered, taking the bottle and topping off his drink. “The military simply doesn’t want you to know about it. Because if they fail, they will appear weak and ineffectual. If they succeed, then it appears they are helping the decadent Western capitalists, and that could be used to denounce them. But believe me, the Russian people will help your men.”

  “That sort of makes sense, Captain. Thanks,” Willis said.

  “Za vashe zdarovje,” Sidorov said, raising his glass. “To our health, gentlemen.”

  “To long life,” I said as we clinked glasses.

  “No argument there,” Willis said. “Bottoms up.”

  We had another round and Sidorov taught us a few Russian toasts. Carter joined us, and that brought on a round or two. Willis wanted to call it a night, telling us that hangovers at 25,000 feet were worse than flak. Sidorov offered one last toast.

  “Chtoby stoly lomalis ot izobiliya, a krovati ot lyubvi,” he said. “To tables breaking of abundant food and beds breaking from much love.” Everybody liked that one.

  Willis and Carter left, along with the other officers flying out in the morning. Major Black left, Maiya in tow. It looked that way, but my money was on Maiya pulling the strings.

  “Shall we discuss our plans for the night?” Sidorov whispered across the table. “The experiment with the key?”

  “I’ve got nothing else to do,” I said, perhaps emboldened by the vodka. It wasn’t often that a scheme which sounded sensible in the bright light of day still seemed like a good idea after dark, but the glow in my gut banished whatever caution I would’ve normally mustered.

  “Perhaps a stroll, to watch where Major Black goes?”

  “Sure,” I said, getting up from the table. “I have a feeling he won’t have that key on his body much longer.” As we headed for the door, I spotted Major Drozdov, carrying a sheaf of papers, strolling in with Bull Dawson and General Belov.

  “Good evening, Kapitans,” Drozdov said. “I have come from a most interesting discussion with General Dawson. Apparently, your suspect was transferred to Tehran and left this afternoon. A pity.” He was unable to suppress a smirk as he surprised us with English leavened with a clipped Oxford accent.

  “It seems like a lot of people get transferred out of here at the most inconvenient times,” I said, recovering as quickly as I could and watching as Drozdov’s eyes darted to Sidorov.

  “Your English is quite good, Major,” Sidorov said. “I detect the accent of my instructor at the Lenin Military Institute of Foreign Languages.”

  “Quite,” Drozdov said with an exaggerated British accent. “Our academic comrades from Great Britain never lose their affectations and pass them onto us. Obviously, I felt no need to announce my fluency until today. You noticed, Kapitan Sidorov, did you not, that I understood what Maiya failed to translate?”

  “Yes, Major,” Sidorov said, his voice low and his eyes wary. He didn’t know where this was going, and neither did I. Belov stood with his hands clenched behind his back, his dark eyes beneath bushy eyebrows focused on Sidorov.

  “Well, no matter. As I am sure you know from your previous association with state security, secrets are often kept from other agencies. That is the case here. It has nothing to do with your investigation, of course,” Drozdov said.

  “Of course, Major,” Sidorov said, his face pale. I wondered if he was afraid that had been his last decent meal.

  “Now, as to the substance of your report today. General Belov and I agree that you may travel to question Lieutenant Nikolin. I have made all necessary arrangements. I hope you have better luck with him than I had with Sergeant Craven,” Drozdov said, with a sly glance at Bull, who kept a poker face.

  “Thank you, Major Drozdov,” I said. Sidorov let out a long breath, as if he’d been ready for a firing squad. “When do we leave?”

  “You misunderstand,” Drozdov said. “Only you will be traveling, Captain Boyle. Alone. Your colleague will remain here. The investigation must continue, yes?”

  “Of course, Comrade Major,” Sidorov said, giving Drozdov a reluctant nod of agreement. The major looked at him, his gaze full of contempt. He gave no response.

  “These are your travel documents, Captain Boyle. The flight plan has been approved by General Belov. The documents allow you to travel within designated areas and instructs NKVD officers to provide you with support. I have radioed for them to gather information about American flyers who have been taken into custody, since you will be traveling in the same locale in which they came down. I hope you find your sergeant.”

  “So do I, Major. What is my destination?”

  “Zolynia, a small town about one hundred kilometers outside of Lwow. An NKVD regiment is assembling there as we prepare for an offensive. You will be taken to an airstrip outside of Zolynia, where Lieutenant Nikolin has been instructed to meet you,” Drozdov said. “Private Bogomozov will awaken you and take you to the aircraft at 0500. Do you have any questions?”

  “No sir,” I said, hardly believing his change in attitude. I nearly asked if he’d received new orders from Moscow but thought better of it. Why antagonize the guy when he finally got around to being helpful?

  “Here’s some more good news, Billy,” Bull said as Drozdov headed for the food. “Lieutenant Kazimierz is due in on a flight from Tehran tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have Major Black and Captain Sidorov brief him while you’re gone. Good luck and bring those men back.”

  “Wait, General. Can’t we wait for Kaz to get here? I could really use a translator.”

  “Nyet, according to Drozdov. It’s tomorrow or nothing. Besides, I understand the lieutenant is recovering from surgery. It’s probably not the best idea to get him off one aircraft and put him on another so quickly. Besides, Drozdov’s orders should get you an English speaker pronto. He may be only a major, but he’s definitely got clout.”

  “Okay. Better not to wait another day anyway. Big Mike is counting on me, I can feel it.”

  “I bet he is. I am, too. And keep your eyes open for other Americans out there. We’ve had reports o
f prisoners escaping as the Germans move POW camps farther to the west. The Russians are moving fast in places, and we know that some POWs slipped away as the Krauts marched them away from the front. I’d like to think our Soviet allies are taking care of them, but you never know.”

  “Understood, General. But do me a favor,” I whispered. “Tell Kaz to trust no one.”

  Bull nodded and followed Drozdov to the table, leaving Sidorov and me to wonder what the hell had just happened.

  “It is no surprise he was taught such good English,” Sidorov said. “I was, after all, for my assignment in England. It is the sign of a man on his way up. And it stands to reason Moscow would put an English-speaking NKVD officer in place here.”

  “And he was smart enough to keep it to himself,” I said as we walked outside. “It gave him an advantage. He looked angry at the end of the conversation. Think he blames you for revealing his secret?”

  “No,” Sidorov said. “It is because I called him comrade. I did it out of habit, but prisoners are forbidden the use of the honorific, since we have betrayed the revolution.”

  “It’s just a word,” I said, heading back to the jeep.

  “No. Not in the Soviet Union. It is a magical incantation, casting a spell of equality where there is none, justice where there is only brutality, and idealism where there is nothing left but disillusion. Kats can see through all that, like the child in the story. The one where the emperor has no clothes. So, the word is reserved for those who convince themselves that lies are the truth, that the great Stalin loves them and cares about their lives. I have committed a great crime tonight. An offense against thought. An unforgivable one, perhaps.”

  “It’ll be okay,” I said, not at all sure it would be. “Drozdov was in a good mood. He’ll eat and drink and forget about it. He needs you to run the investigation with Kaz. Is that going to be a problem for you?”

  “My escapades in London are behind me,” Sidorov said. “I have nothing against Lieutenant Kazimierz, personally. It was simply a convenient ruse to allow him to be charged as a murderer. As soon as I met you, I knew you would exonerate your friend. I simply never thought you would take it farther and disrupt my plans. I underestimated you, Billy. I hope Drozdov has as well.”