The Red Gods Page 23

  He had anticipated some emergence into the light of day, and perhaps into the light of truth, or at least, understanding, when he was put on trial. He would at least discover what he was charged with. But he had never been put on trial. He had no idea how long he had remained in the NKVD cell. When he had left it was to be taken in a closed van, along with several others, straight to the railway station to be loaded into the cattle truck. Among those others had been Rotlewi.

  Rotlewi at least had been a mine of information, but very little of it was reassuring. “Trial?” he had asked. “We’re not important enough to be tried.” He chuckled. “Or maybe some of us are too important, eh, Comrade! When the Soviets put a man on trial it is because they wish the world to know what is happening. When they do not, it is because they do not care, or they cannot risk it. So they send us to Siberia instead.”

  That was the first time Joseph had discovered that he was on his way to Siberia. “Trotsky?” Rotlewi had said. “He has been exiled. He is lucky to be alive.”

  “But why?” Joseph asked. “Was he not a national hero?”

  “All the more reason for him to go. He was Stalin’s rival, and Stalin will not permit rivals. As I say, he is lucky to have stayed alive. And that mistress of his.”

  That at least explained why his protection had been withdrawn, Joseph realised, even if he still had no idea why he had been arrested and tortured. But he decided not to ask any more questions, which might involve revealing his relationship to Sonia. Now he had to devote all of his energies to staying alive. He remembered Sonia telling him in Yelets that merely saving him from immediate execution would be a waste of time, as to be imprisoned by the Soviets meant a living death. That living death had arrived when the train stopped. To get to their barracks they had to pass through double lines of guards armed with whips.

  *

  Jimmy poured himself a scotch, and sat opposite Priscilla. “We’ve been able to trace his movements. Joseph entered Russia on September 16,” Jimmy said, speaking slowly and carefully. “He entered by train, and he went directly to Moscow. There he went to the Hotel Berlin, one of the old-established hotels in the city. He was accompanied by Sonia Bolugayevska, who left him there. He had dinner in the hotel restaurant. He did not leave the hotel. He then disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “He has not been seen or heard of since. Obviously we cannot attempt a full investigation in Russia. Our people have to be very discreet. We have contacted one guest in the hotel who says he heard what may have been a fracas in the small hours. But he considered it best to stay in bed.”

  “The staff must know something.”

  “I’m sure they do, but they are not speaking. My people are fairly sure that Joseph was arrested during the night, most probably by the secret police.”

  Priscilla shuddered. “Then where is he now?”

  “As I said, he has disappeared.” Jimmy finished his drink, got up and refilled his glass. “You?” Priscilla took the glass without a word. Jimmy sat beside her. “When people disappear in Russia, they disappear.”

  Priscilla sipped. “You didn’t believe me when I told you that.”

  “OK. So maybe our investigations have opened my eyes a bit. I’m just so happy you’re out of it. And Alex.”

  “And Joseph?”

  He put down his glass and held her hands. “Prissy, it is almost certain that Joe Cromb is dead. It seems likely his disappearance is linked with the disgrace and banishment of Trotsky and Sonia...”

  “They’re not dead. Only exiled.”

  “Maybe Trotsky is just too big to kill. Joseph isn’t. Or wasn’t.”

  “I’ll never believe he’s dead,” Priscilla said. “Never!”

  Jimmy sighed. “And spend the rest of your life just waiting, is that it? You have got to wake up and start living. You need a husband. Alex needs a father. You cannot live your life waiting on a hope. Joseph is either dead or...” he bit his lip.

  “You mean, if he ever comes out of some NKVD cell or prison camp he’ll be such a wreck he might as well be dead.”

  “I’m afraid that is extremely likely, Sis.”

  Then he said, “We’re invited to dinner at Carlie Mann’s, Friday night.”

  *

  “Where are they now?” Stalin asked, filling his pipe. Over the past couple of years he had waited patiently for the tension to get to Trotsky, and now at last it had. He had fled.

  “In Istanbul,” Gosykin said. “Our agent there reports that they arrived safely.” He grinned. “Surrounded by bodyguards.”

  “Was there any kind of official greeting?”

  “They were met by a man from the Turkish Foreign Ministry. Not the minister himself. They were taken to an apartment building. I have the address, and will investigate it. But I do not anticipate any problem with getting to them.”

  “You will leave them, for the time being,” Stalin said. Gosykin raised his eyebrows.

  “We must not be hasty, or foolish,” Stalin explained. “For Trotsky and Bolugayevska to leave Russia today, and be murdered in Istanbul tomorrow, as it were, would leave very little doubt in anyone’s mind who had commanded their execution. I have warned the Turkish ambassador that we expect Comrade Trotsky to be restrained from indulging in any overt political activity while he is their guest. I do not believe they will wish to challenge us at this time. Therefore Trotsky and his whore can safely be left to dwindle into obscurity in Istanbul. Oh, they will attract disciples, and make plans, and lay plots, but I do not believe they will amount to much. Istanbul, as controlled by a man like Kemal Ataturk, is not a place I would recommend for starting a Socialist revolution.”

  “And if they get to England? Trotsky has applied for asylum there.”

  “I am informed that he will not get it.” Stalin puffed contentedly. “Do not fret, Andrei Vassilievich, you will have them. When their deaths will not even be worth a paragraph on the middle page of Pravda. And as I was saying, I have a more urgent task for you here. This New Economic Policy launched by our great late leader, a few years ago.”

  “It has worked very well,” Gosykin said.

  “Ahem,” remarked Ligachev, as usual standing beside Stalin.

  Gosykin realised his mistake. “I am sure it has served its purpose.”

  “It has done more than that,” Stalin said. “It has caused dissension amongst the muzhiks. These nouveau riches, these kulaks, are creating a distinct new bourgeoisie, battening on the misery of those less fortunate than themselves. This is a negation of what our Revolution was about, would you not say, Ivan Ivanovich?”

  “Absolutely,” Ligachev agreed, fervently.

  “What is more, they are a potential threat to the regime,” Stalin went on. “None of them are members of the Party. Thus they are opposed to the Party and by that very opposition they are our enemies.”

  “There are a great number of them,” Andrei ventured.

  “All the more reason to bring them to heel. I intend to have the Politburo revoke the NEP, tomorrow. All farms, all land holdings, will become parts of designated collectives, managed and controlled by Party officials. This is to apply without exception.”

  Gosykin scratched his chin. “And the kulaks?”

  “They will be amalgamated into the collectives. Their land, grain and cattle will belong to the collective. Then they will operate the same as everyone else.”

  “They will object to this.”

  “I imagine you are right.” Stalin puffed on his pipe. “However, as it is for the good of the country they must be convinced. I am giving you this necessary task, Andrei Vassilievich.” Andrei sat bolt upright. “I am commissioning you colonel in the NKVD,” Stalin explained. “You will command a field force with responsibility for convincing the kulaks that their future, as does the future of the nation, lies in collectivisation.”

  “I am flattered, Comrade Chairman,” Andrei said. Colonel in the NKVD, as the internal security forces, the old Cheka, were no
w known. He had never anticipated rising so high. “But...my brief? In case of refusal to collectivise?”

  Stalin gazed at him with sleepy eyes. “We cannot afford to accept refusal.”

  Andrei smiled. “At the last estimate there were several million of these kulaks. With their families.”

  “Do several million people frighten you, Andrei Vassilievich?” Ligachev asked.

  Andrei gulped. Killing people had never bothered him. But that had been one at a time. Now he was being told to kill several million people in one go. “No, Comrade, it does not frighten me. I will do my best to persuade them.”

  Stalin knocked out his pipe. “I would not try too hard to persuade them, Andrei Vassilievich. The kulaks are a canker in our society. The more of them who refuse to be persuaded, with their families, the better. Do not the agriculturists tell us that nitrogen is good for the soil?”

  “Well?” Andrei demanded. “What do you think?”

  Jennie, on the floor playing with Tatiana, jumped to her feet. “A colonel? I didn’t know you were a soldier!” This was the first time she had ever seen her husband in uniform. How handsome he was.

  “We are all soldiers, my darling, in the service of Mother Russia. I have merely been required to start wearing uniform.”

  She hugged him. “And I think you look gorgeous. Doesn’t Daddy look gorgeous, Tattie?” Tatiana clapped her hands appreciatively.

  “My promotion carries with it an increase in pay, and...” he smiled at her. “A new apartment. Two bedrooms. What do you think of that?”

  “Andrei!” she screamed, and threw both arms round his neck.

  He kissed her. “So, champagne!” He produced the bottle from his briefcase while Jennie ran to fetch glasses.

  “I wish we had proper glasses.”

  “It is the liquor that matters, not what you drink it out of. But you will have proper champagne glasses in your new home.” He sat on the settee, and pulled her down beside him. “Now, I am going to have to leave Moscow for a while.”

  Jennie frowned at him. “To go where?”

  Andrei explained: “I have been requested by Comrade Stalin to visit all regions, and explain to the people the aims and ambitions of the state, aims and ambitions in which they will need to play their parts.”

  “It sounds awfully exciting. May we come with you?”

  “I am afraid not. It will involve a great deal of very hard travelling, and sometimes living under very arduous circumstances.”

  “We wouldn’t mind.”

  “I have said you cannot.” She bit her lip. But she had long come to accept that when Andrei said no, he meant no. He ruffled her hair. “it would be bad for Tatiana. You would not want that, would you? In any event, you will be occupied with moving house. Won’t that be exciting?”

  “Yes, Andrei,” she said obediently. And it was an exciting prospect. But she had another reason for remaining in Moscow. “Andrei,” she said. “What really happened to Aunt Sonia and Comrade Trotsky?”

  “It is very sad,” Andrei said. “Trotsky would not abandon his idea of, as he put it, exporting the Revolution, no matter what risks might be involved. The rest of us understand these risks, the impossibility of such an idea, politically, financially, and even militarily. But he would not listen to reason. So, finally, he lost his temper and resigned from the Politburo, left Moscow, and then finally left the country. We have all been very upset at his decision.”

  “Aunt Sonia never even came to say goodbye.”

  “Well, you must face facts. She has always been Trotsky’s creature.”

  Jennie couldn’t argue with that. “The thing is,” she said, “something I never told you, Andrei, but Aunt Sonia came to see me five years ago, and said that Joseph was coming to Russia.”

  Andrei frowned at her. “Joseph? He would never get a visa.”

  “Yes, he would, apparently, because Trotsky was arranging that and a safe-conduct for him. He was coming to see me.”

  “I think you should have told me, my poppet.”

  “I didn’t,” Jennie explained, “because I told her I didn’t wish to see him. He could only be coming to try to talk me into returning to England, and I wasn’t going to do that.”

  “I think that was entirely correct of you.”

  “Yes, but she said he was coming anyway. That was several years ago, and I never heard from her again.”

  “And Joseph?”

  “I haven’t heard from him either. I have written him several times, and he’s never replied.”

  “Well, he must have changed his mind. Very sensibly. It really would have been very stupid of him to return to Russia, with or without a safe-conduct issued by Trotsky. And now that Trotsky has left Russia...”

  “I know. But I can’t help wondering if he’s ill or something. After all, he is my only brother.”

  “I know,” Andrei said sympathetically. “Listen, I will see what I can find out from our people in England.”

  “Oh, Andrei,” Jennie said, kissing his hands.

  “You really are good to me.” Andrei smiled.

  Chapter 11 - The Cruel Gods

  The line of automobiles and armoured cars sent up huge plumes of dust as they clattered down the country road. Here was the true heart of Russia, a limitless, undulating plain of black earth, dotted with copses and small woods, watered by immense rivers, capable of supplying the entire nation with food. Andrei Gosykin found it strange that the Bolugayevskis had never sought to investigate what minerals lay beneath their enormous estate. “To think that one family once owned all of this,” said Captain Boldin, beside him in the back of the command car.

  “It was obscene,” Andrei agreed. They topped a rise and looked down on a valley. To the left there was a little town, to the right was a great scar in the earth; it had once been a house. “This is where they lived,” Andrei said.

  “Who, Comrade Colonel?”

  “Why, the Bolugayevskis. They owned all this. They tried to defend their house, against our people.”

  “And were wiped out,” Boldin chuckled.

  “Most of them,” Andrei said. The motorcade moved on down the road to the town, where people had turned out in their hundreds to welcome them. Andrei stood up in his car to address them, while his men in their armoured cars moved their gun muzzles to and fro.

  The hetman ushered the officers into the town hall, where the priest waited, and several members of the tzeintsvo, or village council, earnest men in their black suits, were perspiring as they faced the uniforms. “May I say, Your Honour,” said Voloshin the hetman, “that while we have perused the directive sent to us from Poltava, we feel that Your Honour may not be in full possession of the facts here on Bolugayen.”

  “I am not Your Honour,” Andrei told him. “I am Comrade Colonel. And I can assure you that I am in full possession of the facts.”

  “Our production levels are very high, Comrade Colonel. We feel that to collectivise here on Bolugayen would be a mistake.”

  “You will be telling me next that you are a landowner,” Andrei said.

  “I have some land,” the hetman said, modestly. “Earned by my own hard work, and that of my sons. This is a prosperous region. There are some twenty landowners here, and the rest of the people are well content.”

  “What you are saying is that you are a kulak,” Andrei suggested.

  “Yes, I think that is the term used,” the hetman agreed. “And you say that there are another twenty kulaks living on the Bolugayen collective.”

  “That is correct, Comrade. Which is why we feel that any attempt to turn Bolugayen into a collective, would be a mistake.” He paused, optimistically: Andrei could look uncommonly benevolent when he chose.

  “It would greatly facilitate my task, Comrade Voloshin, if you would list these fellow kulaks of yours for me,” Andrei said.

  There was some clearing of throats, but Voloshin was anxious only to please. “Of course, Comrade Colonel,” he said, and sat at the tabl
e to write.

  While he did so, Andrei looked at them all so benevolently that they began to shift their feet, uneasily. Then he took the sheet of paper offered him by Voloshin and glanced at the names. “Thank you, Comrade. Now who is that?” He pointed at the priest.

  “I am Father Peter, Comrade Colonel,” the priest answered for himself.

  “What you do for a living?”

  “I tend to the spiritual needs of my people.”

  “Your people? Do they pay you for this service?”

  “Well, of course, Comrade Colonel. How else would I live?”

  “You are aware that religious practice has been abolished by law?”

  “Well, Comrade Colonel, I am aware of the law. But people...”

  “And that therefore insisting that these people pay you is against the law?”

  “I do not insist upon payment, Comrade Colonel. They pay me because they love me, and require my services.”

  “Then they too are breaking the law. However, I hold them to be blameless, if you were not here there would be no reason for them to do so. I declare you to be an outlaw and a deviant, ‘Father’ Peter.” Andrei turned to Boldin. “Take him outside and shoot him. Do it publicly.”

  There was a moment of horrified silence and before anyone could react Boldin’s men had grasped the priest’s arms and were marching him out on to the crowded street. Voloshin was first to recover. “You cannot shoot the priest!” he gasped.

  “There are no such things as priests in Russia any more,” Andrei reminded him. “That man is a deviationist. As are you, Comrade.”

  “Me? I am the hetman of this village.”

  “All the more reason for you to be a deviationist. You will be shot, immediately.”

  Voloshin stared at him with his mouth open, and before he could recover he too had been marched to the door. As he got there, they heard a ripple of rifle fire from the street, and a great moan from the onlookers. “Now, then,” Andrei said. “This list...we will find it very useful, Comrade Voloshin.”